#and now they dare to ask her about her about him ?

[demonic0angel]

for the dragon au:

Hatchling Damian sneaked into Jason's lair after the older dragon left to go hunting. Damian is on a mission to pilfer any books about animals.

Jazz caught him red-handed.

It ended with him dozing off while Jazz read to him.

Part 1

Damian triumphantly snuck into Jason’s lair, shaking out his wings. He tip toed to his hoard, knowing that Jason kept books about animals in the corner next to the anthropology books. His tail wagged at the thought of both successfully stealing it away and also using it to convince his sire to allow him to keep the black panther for a pet.

As he stepped into the hoard, the scent of an unknown female flooded his senses. Damian tensed and just as he was about to turn and leave, a large claw moved and turned him over. Damian yelped and hissed, darting back onto his feet and turning before he froze in place.

A large dragon with black scales and bright glowing eyes stared at him, wings stretched over them both. This dragon, clearly the one who was scenting everything with her scent, was even larger than his sire and all of her appendages looked even sharper than Jason’s. All in all, she was extremely dangerous.

“Who are you?” She asked, and although her voice was sweet, Damian couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him.

He spread his own wings, widened his stance, and hissed at her. “Who are you! How dare you come into my brother’s hoard! When he comes back, he’ll kill you!”

The female dragon tilted her head. She leaned forward, muzzle coming uncomfortably close as Damian hissed again and scratched his tiny claws on her. She ignored the swipe and then nudged him over with her mouth. He squeaked as her teeth came too close to him. Then in one smooth motion, she opened her mouth and clamped her teeth over his middle. He shrieked, but she didn’t bite down, only gently holding him in her mouth before picking him up and moving to the center of the hoard.

He shuddered in between her teeth, feeling little like he always did when his father or Alfred carried him like this, but he didn’t even twitch as the female dragon moved between the piles of books to the center, where a nest was formed.

The combined scents of the female dragon and Jason made him freeze all over again. She flopped in the middle and then placed him in between her forelimbs, before licking over his head. Damian yowled but she didn’t even care. She continued to preen him before he finally found the courage to ask, “Who are you?!”

“I am called Jazz, little one. I am Jason’s mate and you have entered our nest. You must be Damian, his littlest hatchmate.”

Damian growled. Her tongue laved over his head again and he quickly melted. He hadn’t gotten cleaned in a while, and although she was not a dragon he had met before, she was family now if she and Jason were already nesting. She cleaned him and then asked, “What were you looking for, little one?”

“… I want a book on animals. I have discovered a panther cub and must do research before I can ask my sire to keep it.”

“A lovely decision,” she praised, before pressing down on him gingerly. “Stay, I will collect it for you.” Jazz left before she came back with a book delicately pinched between her large claws. “Can you read, little one?”

Damian slowly shook his head. He was going to ask Richard or Timothy to read to him.

Jazz nuzzled him. “I shall read to you then. Shall I start from the beginning or shall I go straight to the panther page?”

Damian perked up, his tail wagging. When Jazz settled back into the nest, Damian quickly followed along until he was between her front limbs, eagerly looking at the tiny book that was dwarfed by her size. “From the beginning! I shall allow you to read to me,” he said haughtily and she gave a rumbling purr before she started.

When Jason came back to the nest, a large ox and a sheep in his mouth, it was to the sight of his youngest brother between his mate’s arms, purring up a storm as Jazz read to him quietly.

“… did he bother you?” Jason asked, dropping the dead livestock in a corner away from the books before looking at his dozing little brother. Damian’s eyes were closed and he looked nothing like the bratty baby lizard that used to terrorize them for days on end.

“Not at all. He’s good practice for our hatchlings,” Jazz said, her wings wrapping around them both even closer.

Jason prowled around them for a good spot before settling under Jazz’s large wings. “As long as he’s not a bother.” He pointed a claw at the book. “Start from the beginning, will you?”

[kooggukk]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 BEYOND THE JOB // JJK

daddy jungkook (literally)

; babysitting the cutest angel on earth is the perfect job. (except when her father is fucking hot and wants all of you)

— 1/??

“seriously though, you have to fuckin’ quit that job already.”

Sasha, who happens to be your best friend ever since you started working at the local elementary school, just lectured you again. she was already teaching there when you arrived, you spent your lunch breaks with her and even be each other’s substitute sometimes.

surprisingly, she quit a few months after that. you stayed close though. at first, she was dying to know the drama happening among the teaching staff, but as shit kept going down which included you and the principal, all you ever hear from her is that you need to quit.

it wasn’t a huge surprise to her when you first told her your boss, aka the school’s principal, asked you out. it was weird, but everyone knew he was.. a little desperate. he had asked most of the female teachers out, some who agreed could only say bad things about the experience.

you declined his offer politely, explaining that you don’t want your personal life to mix with your job. it was awkward after that, but turns out he seems to be the dumbest person on earth. he asked you out two weeks after that, again.

still to this day, he keeps asking you out over and over and you keep rejecting him over and over again. sure, he got a lil’ crush on you, sweet, right? fuck no. he’s a pervert, doesn’t know what personal space is.

“but i need the money. i don’t know where else i could get such good salary.” you told her, for the nth time.

“be a stripper,” Sasha casually said, sipping on her diet coke while your eyes widened.

“don’t say nonsense, dafuq..” you both shared a giggle, but you definitely won’t put that job idea on the bottom of your list. maybe in the middle, or top 5. if you really can’t find a good place, then gotta be top 3.

“you could be one until you save enough money, then look for a less crazy one.”

“there’s never enough money, sasha.” you sighed, fuck inflation. when you grew up and finished studying, you realized the hardest part of being an adult was money. it’s crazy how difficult it is to make a living.

“if you don’t give in your quitting notice tomorrow, i’m gonna do it for you instead.” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“i don’t want to make a decision too quick. not until i know i can find another job.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

“no.”

“quit.”

…

“okay.”

she squealed in her chair, gaining some attention on the two of you.

“if you dare to lie to me right now, i’m gonna make you eat your own shit.”

you kicked her under the table, sending her a glare. “behave, bitch.”

┈ ⪩⪨   ┈

“oh, __! what brings you here today?” your boss, sehun immediately stood up from his chair, ready to greet you with a hug.

panicking, you reached your hand out with a paper, catching his attention. “this is..?”

“my resignation notice, sir.”

“your what?”

he took the paper from your grip, examining it carefully. his eyebrows fell together, eyes scanning every single word.

he backed up, resting on the edge of his table. he looked at the paper again, rereading the first sentence.

‘Kindly accept this letter as my formal resignation…’

“are you sure, __?” he asked, putting the paper on his table. he crossed his arms, frustration written on his face.

you fixed your hair, giving him a firm nod. “yeah, i’ve been thinking of it for a while now.”

“i’m glad i could be a part of this amazing team, but i just feel like,” you struggled to find the words, obviously you didn’t want to tell in his face.

‘aye bruh, stop bein’ a pervert and you might stop losing your workers’

“look, teaching isn’t my thing. and i feel horrible to find that out so late.”

“well, if your passion for teaching ever comes back, you’re more than welcomed here.”

“thank you,” you smiled, because even though he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met, your co-workers have always been kind to you.

the children also love you, and you’re extremely thankful for all the support and love you got from everyone.

during the usual lunch break, you co-workers heard the news too. they all wished you the best with a hug, some getting emotional too.

officially, this was your last week working at the school.

when you got home, sasha sent you a link to an advertisement.

‘looking for a nanny’

you laughed, dialing her contact. didn’t take her long to answer, obviously. she’s always on her damn phone, even when working.

“you can’t be serious. a nanny?” you laughed, finding the idea of you with a kid ridiculous.

“have you seen the description? girl, they pay damn well!” she said, followed by her exhaling.

“didn’t you say you’re gonna stop smoking?”

“i stopped. for three hours.”

you shook your head, putting her on speaker as you clicked the advertisement.

“fifty thousand won?” you blurted out loud, “a day?!” sasha hummed on the other side of the call.

“told ya’..”

“that’s.. nice. woah, yeah, nice.” you mumbled as you continued to read the requirements and some important details about the job.

“give it a try.” sasha said, but your eyes caught a sentence.

“they want someone with experience, as expected.” you let out a long sigh and fell back on your bed.

“you got the experience.”

“me? sasha, i never looked after a kid-“

“you work with kids. first and second graders. and they all fuckin’ love you.”

“that’s different.” you groaned.

“it’s not. a kid is a kid. 3 year olds are just as damn annoying as 7 year olds. prove me wrong..”

you laughed, she was right. they can be a huge pain in the ass, but they have the purest soul.

“true.”

“give it a try, __.” she said again, calling you by your name. oh she’s serious serious.

“yeah, i might call tomorrow then.”

“might? no, you will.” she corrected you and you rolled your eyes.

“sure.”

you called them the next day after considering it for half a day, being the typical embarrassment, you called at the wrong time.

the man was in a hurry, so you both just quickly agree on a time to meet in person. that happened to be the day after.

you looked at the address one more time after you got off the bus, realizing it was more of a wealthy neighborhood. you only had to walk about 5 minutes until you got there, hesitantly but you pressed the bell.

a tall, young man opened the door. his skin is smooth and fair, almost perfect. his hair dark, slightly wavy which was styled in a mullet cut, longer at the back.

his choice in clothes seemed to be rich, a white ribbed polo shirt with short sleeves, causing your eyes to drop to his sleeve tattoo in a second. he paired it with black tailored trousers.

“hey, you must be __?” he asked with uncertainty and you came back to life, smiling to him.

“yeah, i am.”

“great, come in.”

he stepped aside and you walked in, taking off your shoes and jacket.

the house was oddly barely decorated, not a single picture or painting on the walls, very few plants, which you’re sure are fake plants also. the house wasn’t really colorful, most of the furnitures are bright. like beige and cream white.

“would you like a drink? water, tea, soda? maybe coffee?” he suggested as he walked in front of you, leading you to the living room.

“no, thank you.” you politely refused, feeling a little.. off in such a nice home. not something you’re used to.

you sat down on the couch, carefully not to mess the neatly placed pillows behind. god you looked so uncomfortable and awkward.

“i’d like to introduce myself again, in person this time.” he spoke as he sat down on the armchair, next to the couch.

“i’m jeon jungkook, 27. i’m a dentist in the center of seoul. i’m the father of a sweet angel, nabi. she turns 5 in a few weeks, we could say she’s in her, erm,” he struggled to find an appropriate word.

“crazy phase?” you asked with a smile.

“yeah, something like that. she’s been loud lately, that’s all.” he chuckled, resting his arms on his knees.

you nodded and held your small bag tightly, “i’d like to introduce myself better too, then.”

“i’m __, 24 and i currently work at an elementary school. i handed in my resignation letter and this is my last week as a teacher, so i’m searching for a new job currently.”

you paused, hesitant what else to say.

“elementary school? so, you work with kids?”

“yes, first and second grade.”

after a few minutes of getting to know each other more, a little girl, most likely his daughter, walked down the stairs with her sleepy appearance.

“oh!” she stopped the moment she saw you, the tiredness leaving her eyes.

“nabi, c’mere.” jungkook held out his hand, “this is __. what do you say?” he asked her, holding her tiny hands.

“hello.” she greeted you and you smiled, her shyness is adorable.

“hi.”

“__ is here because she would like to look after you.” he said and she looked up to him so fast, you thought her neck would snap.

“daddy, are you leeving me?” she gasped and jungkook chuckled at her words, shaking his head.

“no, but when i’m at work, someone needs to be here and take care of you. how about __, does she seem nice? hm?”

the little girl shrugged, hugging her father’s arm. he sent her back to the bedroom, saying he would be there soon too.

“well, she’s a little shy at first but, i think she’s gonna open up fast.” he smiled and stood up, your eyes widening a bit and you stood up too.

“does that mean, i got the job?”

“see you next monday?” he asked and you almost started jumping, but you held back. instead, you gave him a huge smile and nodded.

“monday then.”

[suuguchan]

who's afraid of the ✰big bad wolf✰?

a/n: because someone asked to turn this into a drabble, and daddy kori always delivers. also it gives me an excuse to write about wolf!guru hehe. also cuz i know someone's gonna ask, the source of the pic is Muttsuri Akazukin-kun kara wa Nigerarenai (careful cuz it's noncon n the guy is crazay)

cw: hybrid/wolf!sugu. female anatomy and she/her pronouns for reader (and her puss). fingering. not beta'd. sugu's mean. knotting. p in v. breeding kink.

“'s jus' my fingers baby, don' run f'rm me,” suguru slurred so badly, his tongue almost as heavy as his mushroomy tip; painting a looong brush stroke dipped in precum, from your thigh to your plushy mound again. kneading it like dunes with one meaty palm while long, mean fingers had a field day with your pussy.

rubbing, stroking, circling, playing, entering; never had you seen your hybrid boyfriend such a mess. eyes glossy, lips glossy, tip glossy, skin glossy. and all because of you. you you you you.

the messy sheets glistened and stuck to your skin, too; view worthy of a greek erotic tale. clinging wetly to the divots in your back and specially, to the mess that became the underside of your hips, after suguru made you cum and squirt and cum and squirt, over and over until your brain was in reactor meltdown.

“a-ahhh, please! please, mmm! sugu, i n-need it!”

“so slutty”. his giggle sounded absolutely drunk, pointy tip of his nose looking red and his pupils so dilated when they focused into yours, didn't help with the way he came across.

though, he was drunk. on the sweet sweet scent of your pussy, permeating the room with your hormones, with no mercy for him, for the way they tickled in ways that made your boyfriend tremor from the bottom of his spine to the squares of his wide shoulders.

his knot was fat, and hurt. it grew with every heartbeat and solidified almost to the size of a fist. his cock, juicy and veiny and a shade or two darker than his skin, looked red and angry that alll his milky precum was wasted; didn't get to slick up the tight passageway to your empty womb. an insult, really.

“mmm mwah, mwah,” he kissed her, his sweet girl, wearing sticky tendrils of your slick on his face like a trophy that suguru didn't dare to wipe off his chin. “allll mine. all m'ne, this pr'tty pussy. m' babymaker~”

“weirdo,” you sobbed, eyes like slits barely letting any light through the fat tears he coaxed out of you.

but you couldn't blame a man for being starved for something so delicious, right? couldn't dangle meat in front of a hungry wolf and expect it not to want to hunt.

and she, his mate, the juicy and plump feast between your legs, was the meal his bloated appetite was roaring for.

his cock throbbed, one, two, three times.

“i know, i know baby,” suguru panted. pointy leaky tip kissed and kissed and kissed your clit so much, aided by both his thumbs that pulled your shy hood back, and strangled his head against the roof of his one and only home. his black fluffy ears twitched when you only sobbed harder, “i know y'miss me, sweetie, don' cry, don' cry... 's gonna be mine soon right, aaaall of thiss...”

suguru was teasing you or himself, he didn't know; caressing you with his tip from your puckered back hole, up and up and up, until his length throbbed hot and raging over your tummy. mouthwatering, and scary; like the look in his eyes, like he wished he could open a window in your belly only to see from the inside how deep he got.

fuck.

his voice dropped huskily as he said, “take my cock, baby”.

and you did, and you screamed, because he left you no choice. the pressure on your cunny from his single thrust ricocheted in your ribs and left no space for air anymore, fingers digging digging digging in your thighs and his hips mashing mashing mashing into yours.

“fuck!” suguru panted, ears twitching for a moment before they went flat against his head in concentration. ever so collected, ever so gentlemanly, and now your mate's eyes rolled and teared up and he looked possessed. the bulge he made with every thrust up and down, up and down your belly was in its own way, hypnotizing, dancing to the primal drumming of skin on skin.

grinning down at you, or maybe at her, thumb gliding in your folds and fishing out your clit and pressing down. down until your brain finally snaped into place and you cried out, “f-fuck! sugu! s-sugu please s-slow down!”

“mmm b-but i can't!” his voice broke into drunken giggles. “she's so tiiight. ruining the fuckin' bed, sweetheart, yer so m-messy~”

there is no man as confusing as suguru geto. he, who could be so sweet and gentle: holding your hand to help you cross puddles of water; and staying the whole night up, to watch over you, whenever you're sick.

... now grabbed handfuls of your flesh, reassembling you like a doll over the bed just how he liked. until the pillow choked your keens and sobs.

you might think he did it only to torture you. with the slam slam slam thrusts targeted with pin-point accuracy all those sweet spots that were sure to make you cry. drooling on your cervix with every. single. one, getting his knot wetter and wetter with your juices for the nice finale, opening you up bit by bit by bit to the biiiig final stretch.

but, truth is, like this, you'd also not see the state he was in.

his face contorting, frowning, with drool and pussy juice and sweat pouring down his chiseled face. his shivering shaggy tail straight and glued behind him, his long, slick black tresses sticking to his forehead and shoulders and back.

your suguru was never a human man, but at the moment, he was closer to a beast.

“op'n up, f'me, all f'me”. under his breath, his words slurred, stopping just a breath to spit on the already overflowing fountain between your legs to slick it up even further. his hips went quick quick quick, thrusts short and needy molding you for him, he fucked deep like he could already savor your pussy around his knot and- fuck.

“c-can'-! c'n' take 'nymore! suguuuu!”

“you cannn, yes y'can, baby, you can”. suguru's weight drowned you further down in the sticky mess of the bed, palm not measuring his strength as he pushed down between your shoulder blades. he groaned audibly at the deeper angle, slowing down to match the heavy. mean. bounce of his hips off of your pussy.

it zapped so cute, the pleasure through your body. he could see it, you know? when your pussy opened up for him soooo easy, and your ass rippled. and the pleasure went up up up your spine, and your head bounced back, finally catching up with his hips just as the thrusted again.

“yer close, mm? right baby?” pants rebounded every thrust. a thrust, and a moan; a thrust, and a groan, a thrust, and a whimper. your mixed juices driiipped down his knot and the wet feeling made his veins throb, tail wagging like a puppy in excitement.

so close, so close, ready to breed you.

“y-yes! yes, so close!”

“cute slut can't even speak, mm? h-have to- hng, r-repeat what i s-say like a-a- fuck, fuck fuck”.

angry at himself, for losing his mind somewhere inside your body, suguru's hips picked up rhythm again and took it out on you. plap plap plap plap plap, fast fast and deep deep looking for the place in your spongy walls that always got you brainless.

“g-gimmeeee!” you squealed, body feeling your orgasm before you registered it, thighs trembling, thundering under the assault. “g-gimme y'r b-babies, mmmm!”

sharp jaw fell slack, suguru's hips turned into a blur because surely, surely if he was fast enough your pussy would just open up to him, your sweet womb would take it all and finally your walls would give in, and just let him stab his way-

“fuck fuck fuck!” he choked on the mantra because his pride won't let him whimper, and still suguru's eyes fluttered and shifted because they filled up with tears. the pressure, the snug tight killer hug around his knot was maddening, making him throb and shoot endless ribbons straight into his sweet girl's fertile mouth.

as long as he could, he kept thrusting, with whatever sliver of cock your body didn't swallow; the grip more and more and more asphyxiating, blissful, painful, until he couldn't anymore. not because he didn't want to, but because it was too hard to thrust.

and still, he kept cumming. balls visibly throbbing as they emptied spurt after spurt after spurt of thick baby batter.

the room finally settled down, everything clicking into place, oxygen heavy in your gaping mouth, filling your lungs so much your brain high and confused. but that's what suguru was for: to care for you. to collapse over you, still careful not to squish you, nuzzling into your shoulder with the shaky sigh of a nostalgic lover.

grinding deeper, deeper against your plushy globes as if somehow, he could be any further down your body.

“g-greedy pussy won' lemme go- heh, mmmph!” canines bit into your shoulder softly, marking you with their shape.

your exhausted, slack and pliant state couldn't be any more cute, he thought. his heart felt full, full of love, sides burning softly with it like sunrays on his skin, and he hoped his fingers gave you some of that as they found their way to the soft curve of your waist.

your bulging belly, which he now rubbed with a worshipping hand, was his biggest pride. “when it goes down, hm? les' do it 'gain... gotta m-make sure it takes, hehe”.

thanks for reading. ⋆ reblogs and comments appreciated.

[wuahae]

haaaiiii im back :3 Ready to get stuffed!

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

HE IS SOOOOSDFMSDFMSDFLDFK

Here, the streets are lined with dense cherry plum trees, wine-stained and fragrant. They frame driftwood-paneled shop windows housing kitschy art galleries, mom-and-pop bakeries, and patioed bistros with striped awnings. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

josh initiating the heart-to-heart...

There is an impossible hollowness inside you. You imagine Joshua, twenty-one and bright-eyed at Cambridge, hiding beneath the arch of the cobblestone bridge, the long one behind the quad, to carve hearts into the limestone. There's a girl wrapped in his jacket, her laughter like bells. She draws him close, runs a delicate hand through his hair, a shorter cut, more sporty than it is now. The night is still just as kind, forgiving, as it is now, and the moon still round like a young pearl.  / “Because it would mean that it didn’t end in vain. That it wasn’t really my fault.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

PLAY THROAT GOAT BY KIM PETRAS HELL YEAH

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

HELPWMEMSFDLKDFSFD

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

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

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But the rest—definitely my fault. I made myself busy because I felt like I had to.”  You’re growing to really hate that word. Jeonghan had to grow up, Joshua had to break up with his first love, you had to learn to pick up all the pieces of both of these things and try to fit them back into your life.  “You didn’t even look back.”  “I was scared, cricket. That if I kept looking back, I wouldn't be able to go forward. And I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I did. I think there was a happy middle somewhere, I just couldn’t find it.” 

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

“I think the only dancing I know how to do is half drunk in the dark. Can’t exactly throw it back on you in front of God and country.”  Joshua grins, a big one, and you, traitorously, feel your cheeks get prickly.  “I wouldn't want God looking at you like that,” he teases.  “And country’s already seen it all.”  “They should consider themselves very lucky, then.” His eyes meet yours, lit by the scattered light of the chandelier. “It's my turn to ask you to let me lead.” 

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

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

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

Saying it is like getting peeled back, terrible layer by layer, like you wrapped a hand around your heart and ripped it out your chest. And yet you’re glowing, newly-bitten with something that feels like freedom.   “I thought you said I was perfect,” Joshua says, the pink of his lips already unraveling into a smile. This one, you think, finally reaches his eyes.  “Shush, you—” And amongst a chorus of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! (which would be, quite frankly, humiliating in any other scenario), you finally give in to your adoring public, and kiss. 

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

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

GOD HES SO LAAAMEEEMDFSJLSDFKM

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful. Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.”  And you say yes, for the very first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. [read part 1 here!] (please)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Party?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I called, you know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink hard; you waver. ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

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

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

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

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

“Sounds lonely.” 

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

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask what happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

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

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

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

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

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

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

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

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

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

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

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

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

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

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

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

Bang. Bang. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

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

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

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

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

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that an order?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

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

“Everything ok?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t even look back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I think about it?” 

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

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

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

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

“Truce.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

For what? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

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

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.” 

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

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

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

“Are you flirting with me?” 

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

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

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

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

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

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

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

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

“I thought this was champagne.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it really that obvious?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

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

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

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

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

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

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

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

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The act?” 

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

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

“Oh nooo.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[chdarling]

ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so

here is a lil snippet from TLE3

as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.

Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End

“So, what do you think?”

Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.

“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.

“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.

“She has a name, does she?”

“Of course she has a name, you pig.”

“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”

Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”

“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”

Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”

“She’s…very shiny.”

“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”

“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”

Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.

James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”

“Ha. Touché.”

Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.

“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway, “I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”

“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”

This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.

“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”

Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”

James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”

Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”

“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.

“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”

“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”

“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”

A pause.

“She’s a work in progress, okay?”

“Knew it,” grinned James.

“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”

“Yep,” sighed James. “Completely bonkers.”

[am-i-interrupting]

hii how are you doing?

so, i have this idea for a silco fic - reader is his assistant and they become close friends, like, even though she’s younger than him, he trusts her and values her opinion. they like discussing books and philosophy and stuff, but silco refuses to believe he’s falling in love (he sees it as weakness ig) . reader starts feeling like her feelings are one sided. idk lots of hurt and drama but with a fluffy end!

Kingpin’s Office

Sevika was laid back on the couch in Silco’s office. From one hand dangled a large bottle of alcohol. Her other was hidden behind her cloak.

Her leg bounced up and down. It’d been a stressful week for everyone. Especially her because it’s been a stressful week for Silco.

Numbers were piling up. They were growing larger and larger and more and more. Silco didn’t have time for the unimportant shit and she wasn’t the best with numbers. Most people in Zaun weren’t.

It wasn’t like there was some education system. No, most of those who did things that topside would use math for just used common sense and trail and error.

That wasn’t possible for things like payroll and equipment costs. This was important but it shouldn’t be taking up Silco’s time and they both knew it.

It’s only now, in the trenches with a storm on the horizon, that Sevika dared open her mouth with a suggestion, “There’s a gal in the Promenade I know. Owned a shoe shop for a while ‘til some enforcer’s wrecked the place and she wasn’t able to pay to get it fixed.”

“Your point?” Silco asked, smoke from his cigar slipping from his lips with the words.

“She’s good with numbers,” Sevika said, getting to the point, “and she’s looking for work.”

Silco paused. He thumbed the corner of the paper in his hands. He brought his cigar towards his mouth and slowly, thoughtfully took a drag. His lower lip curled to his right side as he blew out the smoke.

“Bring her in.”

That’s how you met and were then employed by the Eye of Zaun. At first it was just the numbers. Then your work began to expand. It wasn’t officially but you were given different papers to go over, the ones not so important to be looked over by Silco himself.

It was easy to be intimidated by the man. However, without an official office and Silco still wanting to keep a close eye on you at first, you learned the man wasn’t one who needed to be feared all the time. He certainly had his scary moments, yes, but he also had his softer ones as well.

You noticed little habits within that first month of doing paperwork on the couch. He would tap his cigar once, twice and then twist it to put it out. He enjoyed the sound of ice clicking against glass. He would pick up his cup and empty it just to hear the noise. He wasn’t found of music while he worked but he couldn’t say no to the blue haired girl who would fall in from the rafters.

The first time you met Jinx was an experience.

“I’m busy,” Silco had said causing you to look up but the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You jumped slightly in your seat when a voice responded to him, “Isn’t that what she’s head to fix?”

He took a deep breath. “She is here to look over documents which don’t require my attention. That doesn’t mean I don’t still get busy.”

“Blah, blah, blah. You know what I’m hearing?” the voice asked. “A bunch of big fat excuses.”

Silco didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply let the scribble of his pen answer what he thought about it.

A mere moment before a loud bang sounded through the room, Silco gathered the papers and spun his chair to face the side instead of the desk. A flash of blue and then you saw a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, sitting on the desk.

She groaned as Silco still focused on the papers in his hand. Her head tilted back and her body followed it to fall. She laid on the desk.

Two braids angled over the side and her bangs followed the pull of gravity. Her eyes looked at you. She smiled and waved. A pen between your fingers, you waved back.

“It’s so quiet in here,” she said.

“Jinx,” the word (which you realized was actually a name) was said in a low, warning tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she righted herself. She got right in his face. “You’re no fun.”

“Hmm.”

He moved his chair back to its previous position and placed his papers on the table top. Jinx moved to a cabinet and flung it open.

“What kind of music do you like?” she asked, head reared back to look at you.

“Oh, I— I’ll listen to anything,” you said, startled to have the girl’s attention directed towards you.

“Anything,” she repeated with a sly smile coming over her face.

“Jinx,” it was said in that same tone.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Put out on a record regardless of the warnings. It was not what you would expect him to have. It carried a strong bass with a nice tune, guitars and drums, a beautiful singing voice. The track was lovely but rock music instead of the instrumental you assumed he’d have.

You quickly learned that Jinx seemed to be Silco’s soft spot. It was cute. The towering figurehead of the Undercity was wrapped around the finger of a blue haired teenager.

You were now approaching a year of working with Silco now. You had your own office but occasionally (most days) you would end up bringing some of your work into his.

“Ballad put in a request for a raise,” you told him. “What would you like me to do?”

He waved a hand. “Whatever you see fit.”

That was another unexpected thing. Once he realized, about four months in, that you were actually competent, he let you do what your gut told you to. He didn’t question it. He trusted you with it.

He actually began to frequent your office the past few months nearly as much as you frequented his, bringing a piece of paper with him and asking your opinion.

He never simply left after getting that answer. No, he commented about how you decorated the space. This led to talks about all sorts of things.

You learned that he enjoyed to read. He had an entire collection of books, some of which he’d even let you borrow. They were all well taken care of even if the spines were a bit worn.

You noticed they were also mostly from Piltover proper. Upon questioning him about it he said, “If we ever hope for them to take us with an ounce of seriousness and give us the tiniest bit of respect, it’s important to know how to speak like them.”

The two of you had many talks which lasted minutes at the least and hours at the most.

You had learned you rather enjoyed his company and held onto a spark of hope that maybe he enjoyed yours as well.

You gave Ballad that raise they asked for. They deserved it and there was money for it.

You continued on with you work, completely unaware of the eye which kept flickering towards you.

Silco had been feeling things which he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a warmth in his chest which occasionally spread downward towards his groin. He recognized it as attraction.

He waved it off as though that was all it was. It was simply being attracted to his beautiful employee. A common trope, he supposed, but nothing dangerous.

Recently though, as he’d gotten to know you more and more, that warmth was becoming something softer. If he could run it through his fingers, he knew it would feel like silk.

He was still trying to figure out what this was. He was racking his brain, trying to see if he could remember something like this.

Then, as your lips curled around a word which was left unspoken while you read, he was struck with an urge.

He wanted to kiss you. Not like he’d imagined before where it would be hard and rough, with clothes coming off.

No, he wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to cup your jaw and tilt your head up. The want was to look into your eyes and then pull you close. He yearned to press his lips against yours, soft and lingering.

Were your lips as soft as they looked? Would you make a soft noise? How would your tongue feel teasing against his?

He tore his eyes from you. He looked down at the papers in front of him.

Those sort of thoughts were dangerous.

Dangerous for himself because that would give him something to lose. Jinx was already enough. It was dangerous for you because you would have a target placed upon your back.

This needed to stop.

He put an end to visiting your office. He stopped speaking to you when you visited his unless directly spoken to. He made his words short and curt.

He needed to separate himself from you before he did something he couldn’t take back, not after.

You felt the change. You noticed it instantly. You brushed it off at first. Perhaps he was just having a bad couple of days. However, as it continued on, it couldn’t help but feel personal.

What happened?

You had a rather nice, comfortable relationship with Silco and now it was suddenly upended?

A part of you laughed at yourself. You really thought the niceties would last? You thought you could be important to the kingpin of the Undercity?

How could you be so naive? So utterly stupid?

You took the hints. You began to retreat. You stayed in your office.

It was empty in there. You’d come to have a warmth in the air because you knew once a day, Silco would find his way in. Now it was cold.

“You’re getting harsh on my girl,” Sevika said one day. “Why?”

Silco flipped the page to the other side. “I don’t know what it is you’re talking about, Sevika.”

“Yeah, bullshit,” she said. “You go in her office every day for five months and she’s doing the same thing in yours. Now, all of a sudden, she asks me if she did something wrong and you’re always cooped up in here. You’re telling me you’re not being hard on her?”

Silco continued to ignore Sevika. Even though his pen halted for a moment.

You were worried you had done something wrong? To the point of going to Sevika? His stomach turned.

Sevika walked up to the desk. She placed her hand down on it with enough force his ashtray jumped up.

“Why?” she asked.

He finally dignified her by letting his eyes turn up. “I am her employer, not friend.”

Sevika gritted her teeth before a wide, harsh smile crawled across her face. “Oh, so that’s what this is about,” she said. “Okay.”

Silco raised his right brow.

“You caught feelings,” she stated. “Yeah? Doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. Our line of work is dangerous. Doesn’t matter what her relationship is with you, she’s gonna have a target on her back regardless, just like me, just like Ren, just like Jinx.”

His lip twitched slightly at the mention of Jinx. Sevika expected as much. That’s part of why she did it.

“Do us all a favor,” she said as she yanked open the door, “just get this over with and fuck already.”

She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t have a death wish despite what she’s just done. The display left her blood and skin jittery. She needed a smoke.

Nothing changed over the course of the next couple days, other than the fact that Silco was extra snippy with his second in command.

You were supposed to close the door and go back to your office. That had been the script for the past couple weeks. Instead, you took a step into the room and closed the door behind you.

“Should I put in my weeks or wait until you fire me?” you asked.

Silco halted. His pen slipped in his grasp. His eyes turned to you. “Why would I fire you?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. Did I overstep? Was it something I did? Something I said? You’ve been avoiding me and I don’t know why.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he said.

“Well, you certainly have been avoiding something then!” you exclaimed. “Is it me? My office? The work I do? I’m confused and I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep dancing around you without even knowing the steps I’m supposed to take.”

“You don’t need to dance around me.”

“Well it sure feels like it. So am I quitting or are you biting the bullet and firing me?”

“You’re not getting fired. Stop being dramatic.”

“Okay.”

You rocked back and forth on your heels. You wrung your hands in front of your torso. Your jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Then I quit,” you said even though it pained you to do so.

“You’re not quitting,” Silco said.

“Well, why not?”

Silco stood. For the first time in nearly a year, you felt the full effect of the Eye of Zaun. He was imposing and demanded attention.

Maybe you had a death wish though or maybe you were just really stupid because you weren’t scared.

“Because I am not upset with you.”

“Then what are you?”

He rounded the desk. His hand reached for your own. He stopped where your nails had begun to dig into your skin.

His head bowed down. You could feel his breath against your own. His eyes darted down. You wetted your lips. He met your gaze.

He tilted his head. Your eyes began to flutter. For a second you thought. . . But he pulled back. He looked you over once more.

His hand traveled to your elbow. His knuckles grazed your torso. He let them trail down. His hand wrapped around your waist. He used it to guide you closer to him.

Then his lips met yours.

[daydreamabout]

A Deal with the Grumpy Officer [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: You find the perfect opportunity to leave a date.

Y/N sat in a booth at the small, local diner, stirring her drink absentmindedly. Derek, her date, was talking about his job, but her mind was elsewhere. She smiled politely and nodded in all the right places, but something felt off. The conversation was nice enough, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t fully invested in it.

She glanced around the diner, hoping to distract herself, when her eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Tim Bradford.

Standing at the counter, holding a takeout bag and looking as unimpressed as ever. His blonde hair was a little messy and his tan looked like it had been freshly topped off. The t-shirt he wore—bright yellow with the word "Lakers" sprawled across it—stood out against his usual grumpy expression, giving him an almost comically serious air.

Y/N’s heart gave a little leap. She knew exactly what to do.

“Sorry, Derek,” Y/N interrupted him, her voice suddenly a bit too cheerful. “I think I need to leave. I, uh, just remembered I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

Derek blinked, looking caught off guard. “What? Already? But we were having a great time.”

Y/N’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile. “Yeah, but my ex is here, and I really don’t want to deal with it. He’s a bit... intense.”

“Your ex?” Derek looked confused, but Y/N didn’t wait for him to process. She gestured subtly toward Tim, who had just finished paying for his food and was heading toward the door.

Y/N leaned in close to Derek, trying her best to look embarrassed. “Yeah, he’s just over there. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Derek glanced over and noticed Tim—arms crossed, face stoic, staring at him like he could turn him to stone with just one look.

“Oh... uh, okay. Yeah, I get it,” Derek stammered, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You should, uh... go take care of that then.”

Y/N nodded, already standing up. “I’ll text you later, okay? Thanks for understanding.”

Before Derek could say anything else, she quickly made her way toward Tim, feeling a little rush of adrenaline.

“Hey, Tim!” she called out, her voice unexpectedly chipper.

Tim glanced up, his grumpy demeanor softening slightly when he saw her. “Y/N? What’s up?”

She quickly lowered her voice, stepping closer to him. “I need your help,” she whispered. “I need you to play along. It’s for my... ex-boyfriend. He’s here, and I need you to pretend to be, well, him.”

Tim gave her a blank stare, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You want me to pretend to be your angry ex?”

Y/N nodded frantically. “Please. I just need to get out of here, and he’s already looking at us.”

Tim sighed deeply, looking over at Derek, who was still sitting at the table, confused and nervous. “You owe me big time for this.”

“Deal,” she said quickly, glancing back at Derek. “Just make it look convincing.”

With a grunt of agreement, Tim walked past her, glaring in Derek’s direction as he passed. Y/N quickly followed him, turning back toward Derek with a resigned expression. “Sorry, but I’ve really got to go. He is being difficult and... you know how that goes.”

Derek’s eyes widened when he saw Tim, his arms crossed and his expression downright terrifying. “Wait, your... ex is that guy?”

Y/N nodded as casually as possible, taking a few steps back. “Yep, him. I should really go. I’ll text you later.”

Derek looked from her to Tim, then back to her. “Uh, okay... no problem. Take care.”

Without another word, she turned and quickly walked after Tim, not daring to look back at Derek. She couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at her lips as they stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air.

Tim didn’t say anything as they walked toward his car, his usual gruffness returning. He unlocked the door with a click and tossed the takeout bag into the passenger seat before getting in himself.

“So... what now?” he asked, clearly unimpressed by the situation.

Y/N slipped into the passenger seat, glancing over at the bag of food. “Well, I’d say we go somewhere comfortable.Maybe watch the Lakers game?” She shrugged casually, trying to sound lighthearted despite her nerves. “I mean, you’re already here and, well... I could use the distraction.”

Tim gave her a sidelong look but didn’t argue. “You really think I’m going to share my food with you?”

She grinned, reaching over and tugging the bag closer. “I’m sure you’ll be generous. After all, you’re the one doing me the favor.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This is the last time I help you out, you know.”

Y/N laughed, feeling a little more at ease now that they were both in the car. “Oh, that's what you said last time as well.”

---

The drive to Tim’s place was short.They were sitting on his couch, the game on in the background. The Lakers were playing their rivals and the tension in the room was palpable, but for once, Y/N wasn’t focused on the game. She was too busy stealing bites of Tim’s fries when he wasn’t looking, trying to ignore the way his presence was oddly comforting.

Tim’s focus was entirely on the TV, but every now and then, he’d glance at her and she could see the faint hint of a smile on his face.

“So, the Lakers, huh?” she said, taking a bite of his burger when he wasn’t paying attention.

Tim didn’t look at her but there was a dry edge to his voice. “Yeah, they’re not bad.”

“Not bad?” Y/N asked with mock disbelief. “They’re amazing, Tim! You’ve gotta be more invested than that.”

“Sure, sure. Amazing,” he muttered, shaking his head with a slight chuckle.

Y/N smiled to herself, watching the game for a bit, but then her gaze drifted to the take-out bag again. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself. “You know, I’m pretty sure this isn’t how I expected my night to go.”

Tim glanced at her, his expression unchanging. “What, you didn’t think you’d be eating my fries and watching a game with me?”

“Definitely not.” She chuckled. “But I’m glad it turned out this way.”

Tim didn’t respond right away, but when he finally looked at her, there was something a little warmer in his gaze. “Yeah, me too.”

And just like that, the night stretched on in comfortable silence, the Lakers playing in the background as they shared food and time in each other's company. Despite everything, it was exactly what she needed.

[ramp-it-up]

Worth the Fall

Summary: James Bucky Barnes WAS an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. Despite the fact you have questions about Bucky and your parents’ conversation at Thanksgiving, you’re hitting your groove as a couple, but there is no time for alone time.

Word count: 3.4 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This part of the story is getting everything caught up to a month ago, lmao. Thank you for continuing to rock with this story. And let me know if you like it (I hope you do!)

This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both You've Got Me Thinking and the Steve Rogers fic Peach III.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Initial angst, Steve and Peach, Bucky’s anxiety. No time for nookie! Flirting Intimations of sexting and phone sex. Praise kink, fluffy Bucky, horny Bucky, dom Bucky. F@cking versus making love, wall time, sex with clothes on, raw p in v, creampie, after care, intimations of oral (f receiving!) dirty talk, Bucky applies for a second job. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

————

You walked along the sand and inhaled the ocean air.

You were shaken to the core. 

Bucky Barnes had surely just taken your parents out to ask for your hand in marriage. But it was so soon, how could he be so sure?

Also, you were an independent woman. How dare he talk to your parents before he asked you to marry him!

He wasn’t your feudal lord.

You were scared witless and turned to the waves to try and calm down. 

“He loves the hell out of you, you know.”

Steve had fallen in beside you as you stared at the ocean. You looked up at him, trying to smile, but failing. To Steve you looked terrified.

“It’s just so….”

Steve smiled to himself, remembering that Bucky had purchased the ring weeks before, after just a few days of knowing you. But that wasn’t his story to tell.

“Just know that I’ve never seen him like this. And I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s never been so open, so determined with a woman before. You make him a better man. It’s truly amazing.”

Steve looked so earnest. Your cousin had done quite a number on him.

“You don’t have to be scared. You are ‘The One’ for him.”

This time you managed a smile and an arched eyebrow. You had a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about his best friend.

Steve chuckled.

“Gah. Don’t look at me like that. You and Peach and that eyebrow.”

You laughed at that and grinned, more relaxed now.

Steve looked off into the waves himself.

“So fucking cute…”

He looked down and kicked a rock, a small smile on his face. You could tell he had it bad.

“Thanks for the pep talk Steve-o. And I get what you’re saying. I love Bucky Barnes with all my might, making every other relationship I’ve ever had seem… trivial.”

You glanced at Steve, who was nodding at your sentiment.

“I’m just spooked at the possibilities. I mean…this seems…like a lot.”

“I know. Bucky gets intense.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Understatement of the year. And you’re a lot like your friend.”

Steve looked at you, one eye closed from the sunlight in his eyes. He didn’t have any sunglasses and the sun highlighted his windswept hair and the planes of his handsome face. You were squinting at him and you could totally see why Peach let him touch her goodies. 

Steve was kinda hot.

You sighed.

“Listen. I’ll be alright. Bucky and I just need to chat.”

Steve smirked.

“Chat. Is that what the kids call it now?”

You laughed and swatted him on the arm as you continued walking again.

“Fuck you, Steve. But for real. Thank you for checking on me. I appreciate it. And I love you for it. I just wish my cousin could see this side of you.”

Steve scoffed.

“Fucked that up good, didn’t I?”

“Not gonna lie, she’s kinda blinded by rage right now. But don’t give up on her. She’ll come around.”

Steve looked at you skeptically and you shrugged.

“80– 75% chance she’ll come around.”

You both laughed.

“Just remember what I said yesterday. She’s a tough nut, but she has a huge heart behind that wall. She is determined about the success of that dance school and she is competitive as fuck. You know what to do.”

Steve grinned. 

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

—-

You and Steve re-entered the kitchen laughing, you holding on to his arm. 

Peach was at the table drinking coffee and dedicated to ignoring Steve.

“Thanks again for the pep talk Steve. I appreciate it.”

You gave him a long hug and when you separated, you saw Peach’s eyebrow cocked in what you could only imagine was the way Steve described. You stifled a giggle and leaned up on your tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“You better stop before Bucky comes back and chops me in the throat.”

Peach humphed, and you knew exactly what she was thinking.

You laughed at Steve as he headed toward the stairs, ignoring Peach right back.

“I’m gonna go get my running shoes. A turn down the beach will help me get some of this tension out.”

You watched Peach as she watched Steve roll his neck and stretch on his way out of the room, her coffee stalled in mid air. Her head was on a swivel as he walked out of the room, checking out his formidable ass. She sighed and then remembered that you were there.

You looked at her and she looked at you.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I didn’t say a word, cousin. Yet. But we will talk later. Any coffee left?”

—-

The week ended up smoother than when Bucky and Steve arrived, and before you and he and Steve left on the jet back to New York, Bucky surprised everyone with an invitation to Vermont for Christmas. 

Your heart did a funny little thing because why would he invite your entire family on an all expense holiday vacation from Christmas Eve to New Years unless he was going to…

You couldn’t dwell on what ifs, and you didn’t want to spook yourself. You just decided to appreciate the moment.

It was funny watching your cousin’s face and the corresponding look on Steve’s. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be stressful at all.

Perhaps there would be entertainment.

—---

Later, back in Brooklyn, there was a whirlwind of activity as the Rebirth Foundation geared up for the annual summit and gala. 

During the second week in December, Rebirth Endowment recipients (which included your cousin this year!) flew in, were oriented and toured around New York City. The two culminating events were the summit, held at NYU, where there was an art lecture series, a panel, and the gala. 

Steve usually participated in the summit by himself, with Sam or Natasha sometimes joining him on stage along with the city’s movers and shakers in the art scene.

But this year Bucky was participating.

He said he wanted to be more prominent in the Art community moving forward as a path toward legitimacy, and you knew that tangentially, that had something to do with you.

When you got back from Thanksgiving, there was a week to prepare for the activities. Your Arts and Culture Alliance in Brownsville, as a part of Rebirth through the Howard Benson exhibit, was a stop on the tour, and you had a ton of work to do. 

Bucky and his three partners obviously had their own long list of to dos, but he also needed to be there for Steve, who was a wreck at the thought of Peach coming into town. 

Steve was so far gone.

But James Buchanan Barnes.

You’d never seen Bucky Barnes shook. 

Sure, you’d seen him excited, impatient, horny, angry, and a little irritated, but never truly nervous.

And you shouldn’t have thought it, but it was adorable. 

Friday night, you met your cousin at the airport and witnessed the beginning of her downfall. The cocktail reception later at the hotel had her, and by proxy your own, head spinning. 

You grinned at the way Steve was handling everything. 

Bucky was beautiful and you admired him as he toasted the guests, his beautiful tenor a nice contrast from Steve’s baritone as they both gave their salutations. Only you knew how anxious he was to speak in front of people and for everything to go well. You felt privileged.

You realized that James Buchanan Barnes was a good man who just wanted to be better for you and for his community.

And suddenly you were not afraid of a future with him.

—-

During this time, you two shared brief cuddles and quick kisses, furtive touches and brief bouts of handholding when you saw each other at events. The mornings meant salacious pictures and quick phone sex to take the edge off, but you weren’t able to luxuriate in each other as you usually did.

You missed Bucky’s full attention, but the fact that you were working together on something worthwhile was the shit. You loved this man and you wanted to work beside him as an equal, not just be his sex toy.

This was the week that you fell completely in love with Bucky Barnes.

Thursday was the day of the Rebirth Art Summit and Bucky was pacing up and down his home office, reading glasses switching locations from perched on top of his head, to his delectable mouth, to his handsome face as he reviewed his notes.

You looked up from the ones in your hands with which you were quizzing him and smiled at him.

“Jamie, it’s going to be okay.”

He stopped to look at you, a faint smile on his face. He came over and pecked you on the lips and gave you a hug.

“‘M so glad you are here tonight, even though you tried to stay away.”

You sighed into his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his Bucky smell.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I was just giving you space. I know tomorrow is important to you and I don’t want to distract—”

“Frumoasă. You don’t distract from anything. If anything, you add to my life. You add so, so much. I love you. And I miss you. I want you here with me tonight.”

You melted into him, chuckled and shook your head as he held you. This feeling was crazy.

“What?”

You heard his voice in his chest, but he didn’t move, except to sway just a little, as if soothing you. It worked.

“I love you too, Bucky. And I miss you too. So much. It’s wild to feel so much in such a short amount of time.”

You and Bucky had only been together about three months, but you knew this was it.

“When you know, you know, my love. And we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

You hugged him tighter. What was understood didn’t need to be said.

He kissed the top of your head and then moved back so he could see into your eyes.

“And having you in my space while I get ready for an important event is everything.”

You looked him in the eye, thinking of sucking his dick for being such a dream.

“Bucky…”

Bucky took your hand and raised it to his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that, Frumoasă. I will be forced to fuck you all night long, something that is long overdue.”

He kissed your forehead.

“But there is much work to do.”

You cast your eyes down and whispered, “You’re right.”

Bucky took you in, looking so demure and being so patient with him. It was such a turn on.

“Such a Good Girl for me.”

You wanted to fall to your knees, but you just bit your lip and went to sit back down, crossing your legs as you began quizzing him again. 

Soon, you told your pulsing pussy. Soon.

You worked late into the night and soon dozed on the leather couch in his study. The next morning, you woke in Bucky’s bed with a sweet note on your pillow. You smiled and knew that he’d carried you to bed and held you all night long.

—--

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

You sucked your teeth at your cousin’s comment, but you didn’t pull your gaze away from Bucky up on the dias the next day at NYU. 

You were proud and in awe of your man. Your smirk turned into a grin as he glanced at you and started to speak.

You were down bad. And Bucky was too. After almost two weeks with little to no physicality, your energy was at supernova strength and about to cause a black hole in the universe.

That’s how intense this thing was. 

You were wet and hard and soft in all the right places.

Bucky had to pause frequently for the interpreter, and it gave you a chance to make googly eyes at each other. You ignored Peach’s subtle retching noises as you concentrated on Bucky. But you cut your eyes over to her while Steve spoke and found her visibly eye fucking him. You smirked when she noticed you noticing.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

She was trying to distract you. You laughed.

“Fucking-A.” 

You nodded up at the stage.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You were shocked as hell when she responded.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

You elected not to tease her about her response. It seemed as if Steve was working the plan.

You resumed watched as Bucky did his thing. He was glowing, handsome and impressive as hell. No one would believe he was as introverted as he was. But he was flourishing in the spotlight, seemingly born for his. He exuded confidence. 

It was such a turn on.

—-

Bucky watched you watching him and talking to your cousin and knew your tells. You were probably wet and ready for him. He briefly thought of what he was going to do to you later before he refocused on the task at hand. Knowing you were there for him was such motivation.

When he made his way back over to you, you were an angel, giving him a huge hug and exclaiming, “You were so fucking good up there, Jamie! I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky felt his heart explode and although someone was pulling him away from you, he mouthed a promise in your direction.

—-

“Later...”

You definitely read those sexy lips and your heart started racing. You looked around for your cousin, expecting to be roasted, but she was nowhere to be found. You shrugged and made your way to the subway, assuming that she was gathering with the other recipients. There was more work to do in Brownsville and you were busy anticipating the night.

You waited all day for Bucky’s text to tell you what time Nico was picking you up, but it never came. The rest of the day flew by and by the time you were walking home, daydreaming of dressing up for the gala tomorrow night and what Bucky might wear, you happened to check your phone and saw messages he’d sent just 10 minutes before:

You looked so good today. Especially this morning. Good enough to eat.

I’ll be at your place in 30. Wear that bra, no top, that skirt, no panties, and those heels.

You blushed and thought of the mirror selfie of the cream lace lingerie set you were wearing underneath your cream colored cowl neck sweater and grey wool pencil skirt that matched your grey wool coat.

Yes, Daddy, you replied and picked up the pace to make it to your brownstone ahead of him, your heart beating a mile a minute.

You thought you were prepared when you opened the door after Bucky knocked, but you weren’t.

In fact, you were shaking with anticipation.

There he was, bundled up from the cold, but those blue eyes sparkling down at you.

Bucky stared at you for a beat, and then walked toward you, taking your face in his hands and backing you up against the entryway wall, kicking the door closed behind him.

“My Frumoasă. So good. So perfect”

And then he leaned down and kissed you.

—-

Bucky had the strangest thought as you opened your door.

I’m home.

Although this was not his place, he realized that you were his home and that he couldn’t wait to make you his wife. His eyes swept down your form, pleased that you had followed instructions. You were such a badass, capable woman and partner and he just had to be inside you soon. 

He complimented you and his cock stiffened as your mouth parted in desire. He knew your praise kink very well. Bucky cradled your beautiful face and moved inside to kiss you.

His demanding mouth parted your trembling lips, sending tremors through your body. You clung to the lapels of his coat to tether you to earth as his tongue invaded your mouth. You suckled it, previewing what you wanted to do with his cock later. 

He pulled away, his bright blue eyes blazing, and his jaw clenched so tight as he shrugged out of his winter coat. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d think he was angry, but the look was desire. 

And only for you. You grew warm from the inside out.

“I can’t wait. Wanna make love to you, but I have to fuck you now.”

Bucky bent his knees and grabbed your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him and hold on to him as he walked you over to your couch.

You attacked his face as you were sat down firmly on the bulge in his pants and Bucky accepted your assault, chuckling as you kissed him from his hairline, to his forehead, down his nose, each cheek, skipping over his lips to his stubbly dimpled chin and finally back to that mouth. When he kissed you again, his hands were everywhere, starting at the nape of your hair, pulling so your neck was exposed as his mouth moved down to mark you up, then trailing down to your fine lace bra cups.

Bucky palmed your full breasts, weighing them in his hands and watching your face as he twisted your nipples. You nipples tightened under his touch and you arched your back, moving and giving him a view of what was underneath your skirt. He admired your ardor, you squirming and moaning on his lap.

It was his dream come true.

“So fucking hot, Frumoasa. I’ve been craving you. All day. All week. Ever since Thanksgiving. Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Bucky…need you.”

You grasped the lapels of his jacket as his hand traveled down your torso and as he leaned down to travel under the hem of your skirt. Your soft fingers peeled his jacket away and unbuttoned his shirt. You opened it and ran your hands down his chest, rubbing his nipples with your thumb and trailed your hand down to his happy trail and proceeded to try and undo his belt buckle.

Bucky grew hot at the warmth of your thick thighs and the way your cunt was so hot that he could feel it through his pants. 

He had to have it. 

Panting now and desperate, Bucky tugged your skirt up, flashing your bare pussy, but it was difficult to get rid of because it was still buttoned. It slipped out of his hands and he grunted in frustration.

“Ah, poor baby…” 

You leaned forward, brushing the locks of hair that had fallen into his flushed face, grazing your nipples across your chest with a sexy smile.  Bucky whimpered and you smirked at his desperation. You slowly reached behind you to your zipper, pushing your chest toward Bucky’s face. He licked his lips and pulled your bra cups down, causing your warm breasts to spill out and his hands to be drawn to them again like magnets as he watched you loosen your skirt.

When you grabbed the hem to bring it over your head, he released you, watching as the fabric moved above your crotch.

Your pussy. Fuck.

Bucky could never get enough of staring at it, the dark petals, which were spread open for him as you sat on his lap were calling his name. He licked his lips, suddenly parched.

“What are you thinking about, Bucky?”

You had a pretty good idea, but you wanted, no needed, to hear Bucky’s voice right now. You reached behind you again as you unclasped your bra and suddenly you were naked on an essentially fully dressed Bucky Barnes.

It was sexy as hell. 

“I’m thinking that your pussy is a work of art, Frumoasă. It’s perfect. I’m thinking that I want to spend at least eight hours a day between your legs, make you cum over and over again, make you beg me to stop, and to start again. How I want you to taste you and make you squirt so I can swallow you down…”

You moaned and started grinding on his bulge, causing Bucky to curse.

“Damn, Baby. You’re gonna make me jizz in my pants like a teenager.”

Bucky grabbed your ass and reached between you to tease your clit, feeling how wet you were.

“Fuuuuuck, you’re so wet.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled as he grabbed your waist and lifted you to your knees on either side of him as he unzipped his pants and pulled them and his underwear just down past his ass to get his cock out. He grabbed your cheek as he stroked himself and rubbed his thick cock head in your juicy pussy.

“Fuck me Frumoasa. Slide down this dick for me.”

You brushed Bucky’s hair off his forehead again as you nodded and started to slide down his fat, hard cock. Your head lolled back on your neck as you reached the root of him.

“Oh… Bucky… Fuck….”

You could feel Bucky pounding inside you, long thick cock battering your cervix and you whined, leaning back and working your hips as Bucky fucked up into you and thumbed your clit while the other hand guided you up and down his dick. 

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were shining as he looked up at you. You knew he was close and you couldn’t take it.

He started to speak and you knew it was over.

“Frumoasă. I-I’m gonna need you to… oh holy fuckkkkkk!”

His stutter made you start to cum.

As soon as your pussy started spasming around him, Bucky started shooting his spend all over your warm walls causing you to convulse and hug his head to your chest. He clutched you to him, whimpering as he held onto you for dear life as he came.

He collapsed backwards, taking you with him as you became boneless in his arms. You rolled off of him and curled up on the couch as Bucky stood and untangled himself from his clothes.

You closed your eyes for a minute as he got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth to clean you up. When he finished, he kissed your forehead and gathered you up in his arms.

“You turn me on like no one else, Frumoasă. You’re it for me. I love you.”

You cuddled into him as he lay you in your bed.

“Me too, Bucky. You’re my one. I love you, too.”

Bucky kissed your forehead again, and then proceeded to move down your body.

“Good, now. I need to clock into my main occupation. Hour one of eight.…”

—-

If you like it, hit Reblog! ☺️

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

It would be a good ritual. Just and right for what Nikolaos had done. Somnus knew all the soldiers. Some just by name and small details of their life else, but he made an effort to know them all. After all, he had taken on the leading them into battles and on misisons. He trained with them since years. It was like a second family. One that understood. And one that had seen the worst of him and still followed.

The farmland’s royal family seemed to respect that’s entiment, too. There was no question to the fact that if not for Nikolaos, the prince would not have survived. If no one had fought off the daemons and protected Roran for a while, Aerith and Somnus would have arrived to a much more gruesome scene.

Somnus did not even want to imagine it.

The parents agreed, and so did Aerith. That earned her a small glance from Somnus – after all now their field of view was free again since Glenn was with the Queen.

Roran seemed a little hesitant, but then nodded. The boy looked as if he was thinking about it all deeply again, the little spitfire from bickering with his siter had left a mark, sure. But overall he was still sullen. And no one could fault him that.

“I want to go outside a little…”, he announced and carried his baked treat to the small balcony attached to these chambers. He couldn’t go far from there. But sitting in the sun probably was a good idea.

To face death was a strange thing. Somnus recalled his own first brush with that. And though he had been way more prepared than the boy, he had not been able to sleep for days.

This might be a step too far. But the question burned on his mind. He did not dare to ask it to the Queen yet, though. So he turned to Aerith, actually getting a little closer on the seat so she could hear his ushered words.

“I can cast a spell. Sleep. I… I mean, if it is not too far… it has no ill effects. Just a deep slumber. I know it could help. But I do not want to overstep…”

In an almost comical lean forward, Aerith peered around her father to look across at Somnus with a curious blink. The way that he spoke of Xemos, and added a sprinkling of facts that she wasn't aware of made her want to pester him for more information.

Her father's sideglance shifted from the Prince to her instead. She almost felt the deep exhale from him which prompted her to sit up proper and share a small stare-down with him.

Their gazes broke when Roran spoke again.

Ifalna shifted beside him with a warm little smile, encouraging his thoughtfulness. "That is a lovely idea." she supported his trail of thoughts, thinking of others and sharing were fine traits, the type that she sought to nurture in her children.

Though even her smile gentled when those thoughts turned to the fallen soldier. She raised her hand to gently smooth over Roran's blond spikes before leaning to press a kiss upon his sweet, thoughtful head. "Nikolaos. That was the brave soldier's name." she informed her son. "He would be gladdened to know you are thinking of his family."

What Somnus said next sparked a silent conversation between the Queen and Prince Consort. She creased her brows and silently pleaded to him. He seemed to tense his entire body at the thought, though dipped his head in a very small nod.

Ifalna hugged around Roran's back and dipped to look at his little face, her smile sympathetic. This was his first brush with death. It was important he understood the customs surrounding burial rites, even those that were different from their own. "Your father and I will pay our respects to your hero. Would you like to come too?" she thought it best to leave it as a choice.

Aerith perked up a little. "I'll be there too." she chimed in, extra support for Roran's decision. "You won't be alone, Ror. We can farewell Nikolaos together."

[figutii]

fem!reader x arkham knight!jason todd: angst w/ comfort

into my arms.

you didn't know how much you could take until you scream into the grey sky. the sun hides behind the tall skyscrapers, adding to the misery of the city. the harsh wind slaps against your face with every tiring and steep step. you could cry when you think about tomorrow's tasks.

keys rustle.

there was no denying how shocked yet reliefed you are when he illuminates your room, cosmic yet out of place within your confined walls. "jason-!" no denying the timeless prayers for him.

none of his limbs moved, armor standing right before the window. the silence should intimidate you, make you embarassed and ashamed, yet you gulp again, "…arkham knight, sorry."

"spare yourself the formality." you hoped he would put an end to the generated voice and instead reveal himself. you had no choice but be grateful to even have him in front of you.

"…how are you doing?" all the wishes and thoughts from sleepless nights turned into dust. you didn't know how else to cope with the sickening silence.

he breaks into a fit of laughter, helmet pushing back as the fabric around his neck gets exposed.

your arms cramp up, fingers intertwined like a child who's being ridiculed by her teacher in front of the entire class.

"how i'm doin'? how delighted i am! couldn't get better than this." his hand moves down from his stomach. by how sarcastically he mimics your phrasing you can't recollect ever attending a stand-up.

it was betrayal - no, he was never yours to have the right to be mad at him. just a boy from back then, another prey of the dark knight's injustice. you know it. but whenever he opens his mouth to you, you are left with conflict.

"what's it that you want?" you finally inquire, desperately wanting to know what it truly is that fuels him to treat you this low.

"impatient now, aren't we?" you swallow down the lump in your throat as subtle as possible. showing him another sign of weakness would only make you a laughing stock. especially when sweat drenches the inside of your hands.

no matter how much you try, you can only understand him to a certain point. you can refrain from the thousands causes that have crushed his young soul to an inhumane degree, but not this.

"i don't get you- what you want. why come here and berate me?" you clench your teeth in unease, surpressing the shaky words that leave your lips.

the robotic voice is scratching the inside of your ears. "don't act as if you're blind… thought you were smarter than… this. oh, how mistaken i was."

you eyes widen. how dare he talk to you like this? adressing you like you are his enemy? comparing you to the men who inflicted harm on him.

"what the fuck is wrong with you jason? what the hell do you," your palms open up, "want?!" tears assemble between your eyelashes, your head heating up.

"what's wrong with me?" he takes slow steps towards you, the enormous suit making you hold your breath. "since when have you been this blunt reader, huh? what's wrong with me you ask? - tch, turning into the batman now, aren't we?"

your eyeballs could bulge out of their sockets. you pant for breath. "batman?" your jaw shakes under his shadow, eyes not knowing where to see through him. "s-so now i'm the batman? him… seriously?" you weren't sure if you were mad or just sad. out of everyone: the man who let him die.

"you don't make sense jas-"

"ohh, has anything ever made sense to you? after all, you haven't had it very difficult, have you?" he wittily remarks.

nothing has ever made sense indeed. "FUCK YOU JASON! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" your shoulders jerk forwards, face never this close to anyone before.

"shut it."

you breast heaves, the sharp edges of his words letting you relive another case of shame. you can only watch the pixels on his helmet. at this point you just want to chuckle.

"… now i'm bruce, no? are you also gonna fight me? do you ever think about pointing a gun at me, jason - wanna shoot me?" all you see are blue pixels. it's been ridiculous since the start, dumb enough to let it get to this point.

"i might."

sweat drops tickle down your neck.

it's been a very long time since you've lost hope in batman or the remaining vigilantes in gotham. here, away from the wealthy parts you're doomed to be stuck in this madtown. you curse bruce.

the tears escape.

you don't care anymore about his presence - you anticipate his departure through the window like on other occasions so he will leave you by yourself for once and all. you were delusional enough to feed into the lie of being able to fix him. there is no fixing when you aren't the cause nor the remedy.

you hand swipes along your cheekbone, escaping his gaze. the hatred has outweighed the compassion, the trauma that made you look out for him every night from the corner of your window. there is a slight glimpse of that broken little boy and you don't know what to do.

you must have really failed him before you could acknowledge it. oh, how naive and stupid of you. maybe you weren't meant to be in his story. it doesn't matter anymore.

it's all quiet as before when you walk to the door. he knows where the exit is after all.

a big hand engulfs your wrist.

"don't you touch me."

"or else what?"

it feels like another kick to your face. you try to yank him away from you, but it's a failure.

"look, this is my apartment. i don't want to have anything to do with you - so fuck off," you remind, brows furrowed.

your body jolts, the skin around your upper arms pinched. it's getting warmer, his helmet towering right in front of you. "mind repeating that again sweetheart?" the brightness burns your eyes and when you look down he squeezes you harder. "i demand an answer - i don't like rude girls."

something deep inside of you is denying to waste more tears. if this is the end then you might as well deliver your own part.

"i refuse. 'm not talking against a wall," you exhale, which should get you a blow against your skull.

it's blurry at first, but you listen to his cackle instead. "if that makes you feel better about yourself," the translucent shield comes off.

your lips quiver at the scar next to his nose, eyes widening at the J. idioms stammer into disjoined noises. you don't want to see anything anymore, your sniffs echeoing inside four dull walls.

how did it come to this? you have become consumed with rage, no empathy left for the little boy in him. robin. the news caught up with the dissapearance of boy wonder until every part of batman's dirt was swept under the carpet, forever. your past self wouldn't have pushed him away, not like this.

the root of your hair grinds against his armored chest, the picture of the ground too foggy. you have failed him, abandoned your principles. no matter how difficult it would get - you promised to stand next to him and make the child inside him feel safe.

both of you have gone wrong.

"look… at me." memories come back, the once juvenile voice shining through his deep one. blue orbs stare back. there is resentment in his expression yet his strained brows and mouth tell you otherwise.

the firmness around you is gone and he steps back. there isn't more space than before but simulates more distance. you don't know what's next.

you search for eye contact, which he denies with a turn to the window. you know his mouth was agape just seconds ago, arms floating around his thighs in an unsure manner.

he's leaving. what happened to you trying to help him? no words, no action, no sympathy. another unsolved day, the pattern has repeated itself too often to open your mouth now - to change this vicious cycle when it's too late.

the old curtain slides to the side.

his broad back is the only thing that's highlighted by orange light before he gets completely engulfed.

"jason," you say out loud and he almost pauses, but it doesn't stop him.

can you really allow this - another time? again and again? you know you won't see him for a long time after this. no, you won't ever catch him again.

"jason!" you run up. he slowly rotates until his profile takes you in, commentless. the tense skin around his mouth and half-lidded eyes scare but tell you everything you need to do, even if they aren't thought-out.

he observes closely as you get to the windowsill, your hand stretching out. he scrunches his face prominently, while following how you gently lay your fingers against his jaw. you forget about how it could trigger him. the day has been too invasive.

his face reminds you of a bunny, glossy eyes and tense brows. that's the ultimate signal - bending down to his level and at a leisure pace just watching each other. his dark lashes stick together, skin covered by perspiration. there is a mild tang of soap, locks sticking to his forehead.

his hair reminds you of the lucious curls from his teenhood, innocent and cute. the man in front of you hasn't changed much, lips seperated like a curious boy. his breathing haltens, eyes awaiting.

and then you just throw your arms around his shoulders, carefully as your own breathing excelerates. you are too caught up with calming yourself down, not noticing how he freezes. his eyes and mouth are wide open. he is frightened.

his wet hair presses against you. the warm feeling mixed with the material of his upper body is foreign. you want to squeeze yourself closer to him. you endulge it as much as you can, not knowing what will happen after this.

"you don't have to fear jason. it's over, i'm here. i promise you i'll be here with you," the sunlight penetrates your shut lids, its warmness making it feel less darker. you are now ready for whatever is to come. the sunset's red shades haven't been this freeing since years. it could be the last time.

but if this could last longer, you would be the happiest.

something vibrates against your side, guttural voices ringing in your ear. you can't make much out of it, until you hear sobbing.

you are at loss for words.

he's shaking, big arms hindering you from taking a glimpse at his face.

it's now that he needs you the most. your palm has turned numb from rubbing his back at a slow pace. sitting with one leg on the roof shouldn't be this sentimental.

"it's all right big boy, cry. it's okay."

something inside him snaps. he weeps like a child.

reblogs are very much needed

reblogs and comments are much appreciated!! feeling extra girlie sad after reading this :( doing this after escaping uni. i´ve already had a comfort fic with arkham jason so this is kinda diff.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (duty)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the price

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis

Jaime approached Cersei’s chambers. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one a reminder of the conversation he’d been avoiding for days. Confronting his father about leaving the Kingsguard and marrying you had been difficult, but this… this was something else entirely.

He reached her door, the ornate lion carving glaring back at him like a silent judge. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open without knocking.

Cersei was standing by the window, her hair catching the last rays of the sun as it spilled into the room. She turned at the sound of the door, her face immediately hardening when she saw him.

"Jaime," she said, her voice low and cold. "You dare to come here?"

Before he could respond, she crossed the room in three quick strides and slapped him hard across the face. The loud crack echoed in the stillness, but Jaime didn’t flinch. He stood there, his cheek stinging, as she glared up at him with eyes blazing.

"You promised me," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "You swore you’d always stay by my side. That nothing would come between us. And now? Now you throw it all away—for her?"

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting her words wash over him.

"For a Stark," she spat, the word dripping with venom. "For that girl you barely know, with her pretty face and her noble airs. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you’ve changed since Winterfell. Even then, you were weak for her."

"It’s not like that," Jaime said finally, his voice calm but strained. "This isn’t about her—"

"Don’t lie to me!" Cersei shouted, cutting him off. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her chest heaving as she struggled to contain her rage. "You think I don’t know you? You think I can’t see what’s happening? You’ve convinced yourself that there’s some… bond between you. That she’s different. Better. That you can save her, and somehow, that will make you whole again."

Jaime looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line. Cersei’s words were cruel, but they struck dangerously close to the truth.

"You’re pathetic," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "You think this will make Father proud? That throwing away everything we’ve built—everything we are—for her will somehow redeem you? You’re fooling yourself, Jaime."

"It’s not about redemption," Jaime said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. He turned to face her fully, his gaze meeting hers. "It’s about doing what’s right."

Cersei let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Right? You? Since when do you care about what’s right? You killed the king you swore to protect. You pushed a child out of a window to protect us. Don’t pretend you’re some noble hero now, Jaime. It doesn’t suit you."

"I’m not pretending," Jaime said firmly. "I’m trying to be better. And maybe it’s too late for that, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep living for you."

The silence that followed was deafening. For the first time, Cersei seemed genuinely stunned. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the anger gave way to something else—hurt, perhaps, or disbelief.

"You don’t mean that," she said softly, her voice trembling. "You can’t mean that."

Jaime exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his words had drained him. "I do," he said quietly. "Cersei… we’ve been lying to ourselves for years. This—us—it’s not what it used to be. And maybe it never was."

Her expression hardened again, her eyes narrowing as tears glistened unshed. "So, this is it?" she asked bitterly. "You’re walking away? For her?"

"This isn’t about her," Jaime said, though he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. "This is about me. About what I want. And what I want… isn’t this."

Cersei stared at him for a long moment, her face a mask of fury and heartbreak. Then she turned away, her voice low and venomous. "Get out."

Jaime hesitated, his good hand clenching at his side. He had loved her once—had lived for her. But now, standing here, he realized that love had become something twisted, something that no longer felt like love at all.

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he walked back through the dim corridors of the Red Keep, Jaime felt an unexpected sense of liberation. The weight that had hung over him for so long, the chains that had bound him to Cersei, seemed to loosen with every step. It wasn’t a clean break—nothing ever was—but it was a start.

Jaime Lannister felt like he was finally free.

The training yard in the Red Keep was quiet in the early morning, the sun still low in the sky. The usual bustle of squires and guards was absent, leaving the space empty save for Jaime and Bronn. The loud clang of steel against steel echoed across the yard, followed by the grunts of effort and muttered curses.

“Keep your wrist steady,” Bronn said, stepping back to observe Jaime’s stance. He twirled his own blade lazily, the smirk on his face widening as Jaime adjusted his grip on the practice sword.

“I am keeping it steady,” Jaime snapped, his tone sharper than his strikes.

“Doesn’t look like it from here,” Bronn replied, dodging Jaime’s next swing with infuriating ease. “You’re too stiff. Relax a bit, will you? Or do you want me to carve you up like one of those roasted pigs in the kitchens?”

Jaime huffed, his left arm trembling slightly from the strain of holding the sword. Every move felt wrong—awkward and unbalanced, as if his body had yet to accept that this was his only option now.

Bronn stepped closer, rapping Jaime’s blade with his own. “Again,” he ordered. “And this time, don’t hold the damn thing like it’s about to bite you.”

Jaime adjusted his grip, narrowing his eyes as he swung again. Bronn blocked effortlessly, his smirk never faltering.

“You’re improving,” Bronn said casually, sidestepping another strike. “Still terrible, but less terrible than last time.”

“Glad to know I’m meeting your high standards,” Jaime muttered, his tone dry.

Bronn grinned, lowering his blade momentarily. “So, word around the Keep is you’re leaving the Kingsguard. Trading white cloak for lordly robes, huh?”

Jaime stiffened, lowering his sword. “Let me guess—Tyrion told you.”

“He might’ve mentioned it,” Bronn admitted, his grin widening. “Said something about you giving up the sword for a girl. Didn’t think you were the type, Kingslayer.”

Jaime glared at him, raising his sword again. “Tyrion talks too much.”

“Maybe,” Bronn said with a shrug. “But he’s not wrong, is he? Leaving all that glory behind for… what, exactly? A pretty face?”

Jaime lunged, his swing harder this time, though Bronn blocked it easily.

“It’s not about that,” Jaime snapped, his irritation bleeding into his movements.

“No?” Bronn asked, dodging another strike. “So, it’s not about the Stark girl? Not about making sure she doesn’t end up flayed alive by Bolton? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jaime gritted his teeth, his swings growing more forceful. Bronn danced around him, letting the blows glance off his blade with practiced ease.

“Careful now,” Bronn said with a chuckle. “You’ll wear yourself out before you’ve even started. And I’d hate to see you keel over before you’ve convinced her to stop hating your guts.”

Jaime froze for a split second, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “She doesn’t hate me,” he said, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

“Doesn’t she?” Bronn countered, stepping closer. “From what I hear, she’s not exactly thrilled about this whole arrangement. Can’t blame her, really. A Stark marrying a Lannister? That’s the kind of thing that makes bards weep.”

Jaime swung again, the force behind his strike making Bronn take a step back.

“And how’s Cersei taking it?” Bronn asked, his tone deliberately casual. “Bet she didn’t like hearing you’re shacking up with someone else. Especially not a Stark.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He feinted left before swinging right, his strike glancing off Bronn’s blade.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Bronn asked, grinning. “Let me guess—she slapped you, screamed a bit, told you you’d regret it. Am I close?”

Jaime lowered his sword slightly, his chest heaving from the effort. “Cersei’s reaction doesn’t matter,” he said curtly.

Bronn tilted his head, his grin fading slightly as he studied Jaime. “Doesn’t it? Funny, I’d have thought you’d care more about her opinion.”

Jaime’s silence spoke volumes, and Bronn’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “Ah,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “It’s not Cersei you’re worried about, is it? You’re more concerned about what Y/N thinks.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his gaze hardening as he raised his sword again.

“Careful, Jaime,” Bronn said, his voice lower now, almost serious. “You keep thinking about her like that, and you’ll end up doing something stupid. Like falling in love.”

Jaime lunged again, but this time, Bronn disarmed him with a swift twist of his wrist. Jaime’s practice sword clattered to the ground, and Bronn stepped back, grinning.

“Not bad,” Bronn said, nodding approvingly. “Still need work, though. Lots of work.”

Jaime glared at him, retrieving his sword. “We’re done for today.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Bronn said with a mock bow, his grin never fading.

Jaime turned and walked away, his thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and confusion. Bronn’s words lingered in his mind, poking at something he wasn’t ready to confront.

But as much as he tried to push it aside, the truth was undeniable: you had taken up residence in his thoughts, and there was no escaping it.

The solar was warm, the golden light of the afternoon spilling through the tall windows, glinting off the polished wood and gilded ornaments that adorned Tywin Lannister’s private chambers. Jaime sat in a high-backed chair near his father’s desk, his gaze fixed on the servant kneeling before him, carefully securing the golden prosthetic Tywin had commissioned to replace his hand.

The weight of the metal was heavier than Jaime had expected, its surface smooth and cold against the sensitive skin of his stump. The fingers were articulated, though they served no practical purpose. It was a symbol, more than anything else—a statement of wealth and power, a reminder to anyone who saw it that Jaime Lannister, even diminished, was still a lion.

Tywin sat across from him, his pale green eyes watching the process with an air of detached satisfaction. He looked every inch the lord of Casterly Rock, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him.

“It suits you,” Tywin said finally, breaking the silence.

Jaime glanced down at the golden hand, flexing the wrist experimentally. “It’s flashy,” he remarked, his tone dry. “Almost garish. I suppose that’s the point.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “It’s a reminder of who you are. A Lannister. Even in loss, you project strength.”

Jaime let out a faint scoff, though he didn’t argue. The servants stepped back, bowing as they left the room, leaving father and son alone.

“You’ve adjusted well,” Tywin said, his tone even but firm. “That’s good. There’s much to be done.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I assume this is the part where you outline my duties as the prodigal heir?”

Tywin ignored the sarcasm, reaching for a stack of documents on the desk. “Your position will require careful management. I expect you to oversee the transition of power at Casterly Rock. Your presence there will reinforce our authority, particularly with the unrest in the Westerlands.”

Jaime nodded slowly, though his gaze remained distant. The idea of returning to Casterly Rock, to the place he had left behind so long ago, felt strange. Foreign.

“And,” Tywin continued, “there’s the matter of the upcoming wedding.”

“Joffrey’s and Margaery’s,” Jaime said, his tone growing sharper. “Yes, I’m well aware.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver. “After the wedding, there will be another announcement.”

Jaime stiffened, his jaw tightening. “The betrothal.”

“Yes,” Tywin said, his tone calm but final. “Yours and Y/N Stark’s. The timing is ideal. With all the noble houses gathered for the king’s wedding, the news of your union will send a clear message: the North may be fractured, but it is still under Lannister control.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, his golden hand resting heavily in his lap. “And what does Y/N think of this grand anoucment?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Her opinion, while noted, is irrelevant. She is a Stark. Her value lies in her name, her bloodline. She will understand her role in time.”

Jaime clenched his teeth, his gaze darkening. “She’s not a pawn, Father.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his voice hardening. “She is whatever I need her to be. You may have developed a misguided sense of sentimentality, but I do not share your weakness. This union is about strategy, not affection.”

The words stung more than Jaime cared to admit, but he forced himself to remain calm. “And what exactly do you intend to say to her?”

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his gaze cold and calculating. “I will speak with her personally. She needs to understand the importance of this alliance, the role she is to play. I expect you to keep your emotions in check, Jaime. This is not a negotiation.”

Jaime’s hand tightened into a fist, his golden prosthetic gleaming in the sunlight. “She’s not going to agree easily,” he said quietly.

“She doesn’t have to,” Tywin replied, his tone final.

The room fell into silence, the weight of Tywin’s words settling heavily between them. Jaime’s thoughts churned, a mixture of frustration, guilt, and an unwelcome sense of helplessness.

Finally, Tywin stood, his movements precise as he gathered the documents on his desk. “The wedding is in three days,” he said. “You will attend, you will conduct yourself with dignity, and you will ensure that this house remains united.”

Jaime nodded stiffly, rising from his chair. “Anything else, Father?”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he spoke. “Yes. Remember who you are, Jaime. And what you represent.”

Jaime turned and left the room, the golden hand heavy at his side. As he walked down the corridor, his mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had always thought he understood his father—his cold pragmatism, his relentless pursuit of power. But now, standing on the precipice of a life he chose to save you, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if there was still a way to claim something for himself.

And if there wasn’t, he wondered if he could live with the man he was becoming.

You sat by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the distant horizon. The door creaked open behind you, and you turned sharply, your features hardening when you saw who had entered.

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, strode into the room with the air of a man who owned everything he set his eyes upon. His lion brooch gleamed against his crimson doublet, and his gaze, as sharp and cold as ever, settled on you.

"You seem comfortable," Tywin said, his tone devoid of warmth as he gestured to the sparse chamber. "I trust your accommodations are adequate."

You stood, your expression icy. "They’re a cell, no matter how you dress it up. But I doubt you came here to discuss my comfort."

Tywin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging your sharpness without reacting to it. "Indeed, I did not. I came to speak to you about the future."

You crossed your arms, refusing to be intimidated. "Jaime already informed me of your so-called plans for my future. My answer hasn’t changed. I’d rather die than marry him."

Tywin didn’t flinch, his face as impassive as stone. He stepped closer, clasping his hands behind his back. "You may find that choice taken out of your hands, Lady Stark. This union is not about your personal desires. It is about strategy, stability, and the survival of your family’s name."

"My family’s name?" you scoffed, anger flaring in your voice. "You destroyed my family! You orchestrated the death of my father, you allowed the Boltons to betray my brother, and now you dare to speak of my family’s survival?"

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice calm and measured. "The war destroyed your family, not I. I merely ensured that House Lannister would emerge stronger from the ashes. And now, I am offering you a chance to secure what remains of your legacy."

"My legacy doesn’t need securing by you," you snapped. "And certainly not through marriage to Jaime Lannister. He may have convinced himself he’s doing this to protect me, but I see the truth. This is about your power, your games. I won’t be your tool."

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression growing colder. "You misunderstand, my lady. This is not a negotiation. Your marriage to Jaime is a necessity, and it will happen. Your consent, while preferable, is not required."

You clenched your fists, your chest heaving with frustration. "You’re no better than Bolton," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "You speak of honor and stability, but all you care about is control. You think you can break me the way you’ve broken others, but you won’t."

Tywin stepped closer, his towering presence filling the room. "This is not about breaking you, Lady Stark. It is about ensuring your survival. You may not see it now, but this marriage is the best option for you. For your sister. For whatever remnants of your house remain."

"I don’t want your protection," you spat.

"That much is clear," Tywin said evenly. "But your wants are irrelevant. You are a Stark of Winterfell, and your name carries weight—weight that must be used wisely. Refusing this union would be foolish. And I do not tolerate foolishness."

You turned away, your shoulders trembling as you fought to keep your composure. The room felt suffocating, the walls pressing in as Tywin’s words loomed over you like a shadow.

"I won’t forgive this," you said finally, your voice low but firm. "Not you. Not Jaime. Not any of you."

Tywin inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging a fact that held no consequence to him. "Forgiveness is not required," he said. "Only compliance."

The room fell into a heavy silence as his words lingered in the air. Tywin stepped back toward the door, pausing briefly before he left.

"You have three days to prepare yourself," he said. "After the king’s wedding, your betrothal will be announced. I suggest you consider your position carefully. Good day, Lady Stark."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet, your chest burning with a mixture of fury and helplessness.

Three days.

You stared at the window again, the world beyond seeming farther away than ever. But despite the storm raging inside you, one thought burned brighter than the rest.

You would find a way out of this. No matter the cost.

The midday sun poured through the windows of your chambers the next day. You sat by the window, staring out at the distant horizon, your thoughts a swirling storm of anger and despair. The faint sound of footsteps approached, and you stiffened as the door creaked open behind you.

Turning your head slightly, you weren’t surprised to see Jaime standing there, his golden hand catching the sunlight and gleaming like a trophy. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression unreadable.

“Lady Stark,” he greeted, his tone light but cautious. “I come bearing news.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you said flatly, turning your gaze back to the window.

Jaime stepped further into the room, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. “It seems my father has granted you some leniency. You’re allowed to leave your chambers.”

You looked at him sharply, suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Under what conditions?”

Jaime smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “An escort, of course. You didn’t think Tywin would simply let you wander the Red Keep freely, did you?”

“I suppose I didn’t,” you replied, your voice tight. “And I assume you’ve graciously volunteered to be my shadow.”

“Graciously, no,” Jaime admitted. “But I thought you might appreciate some fresh air. The gardens are quiet this time of day, and we could... talk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your suspicion deepening. “Talk? About what, exactly? My upcoming forced marriage? Or perhaps you’d like to reminisce about Winterfell and the time you pushed my brother from a tower?”

Jaime flinched slightly, the smirk falling from his face. “I deserve that,” he said quietly. “But I thought you might prefer to have this conversation somewhere other than here. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay cooped up in this charming little cell.”

You glared at him, the temptation to refuse clear in your expression. But the thought of stepping outside, even briefly, was too enticing to ignore. With a sharp exhale, you stood, brushing past him without a word.

Jaime followed you into the corridor, his steps measured and deliberate. The silence stretched between you as you walked, the distant hum of activity in the Red Keep filling the void. Finally, Jaime broke the silence.

“You’ve been here for days,” he said, his tone softer now. “I thought you’d want the chance to breathe.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips pressing into a thin line. “And I’m sure your father approved of this... gesture.”

“Not exactly,” Jaime admitted, his smirk returning faintly. “But he didn’t object, which is as close to approval as Tywin Lannister gets.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as you descended a flight of stairs. Jaime studied you from the corner of his eye, noting the tension in your posture, the way your hands clenched at your sides. He wanted to say something, to ease the burden he could see weighing on you, but every word he thought of felt inadequate.

As you neared the doors leading to the gardens, Jaime hesitated briefly before speaking again. “Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard.

You stopped, turning to face him, your expression guarded. “What?”

Jaime met your gaze, his own softened by something you couldn’t quite place. “I know you don’t trust me,” he said, his tone steady. “And I don’t blame you. But for what it’s worth, I meant what I said. I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

Your eyes narrowed, your voice sharp. “Protect me? From what? From your family? From the man you’re forcing me to marry? Oh, wait, that’s you.”

Jaime winced, the barb hitting its mark. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But... I’m trying, Y/N. For whatever that’s worth.”

You stared at him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all you saw was a man weighed down by guilt and something that almost resembled regret.

Without a word, you turned and continued walking, leaving Jaime to follow in silence.

The gardens were a riot of color, their vibrant blooms softened by the afternoon light. The air was thick with the scent of roses, lavender, and freshly turned earth. You walked a few paces ahead of Jaime, your shoulders stiff and your hands clenched tightly at your sides. The gravel path crunched underfoot, and the faint chirping of birds filled the silence between you.

Jaime, keeping pace just behind you, broke the quiet. “It’s strange,” he said, his voice softer than you were used to.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your expression guarded. “What’s strange?”

He gestured vaguely to the gardens around him. “Walking through here without a duty hanging over my head. No orders to follow, no kings to protect.” He paused, flexing his golden hand absently. “I can’t remember the last time I walked through these gardens simply… to walk.”

You raised an eyebrow, your tone sharp. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, Jaime? That your life as a Kingslayer and Lannister golden boy hasn’t been a constant stroll through roses?”

Jaime stopped, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t expect your sympathy. I just… thought I’d share.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you turned back to the path, continuing onward. “Well, don’t,” you said curtly.

Jaime followed, the faintest chuckle escaping him. “You have a sharp tongue, Y/N. I think it might be sharper than your brother’s sword.”

“That sharpness has served me well,” you replied coolly. “Especially when dealing with Lannisters.”

The hostility between you eased slightly as you walked further, the path winding through rose-laden trellises and carefully pruned hedges. But the moment was short-lived. As you turned a corner, your gaze landed on a small group gathered around a table beneath a shaded pavilion.

At the center of the group was Lady Olenna Tyrell, her distinctive headdress unmistakable, flanked by Margaery and Sansa. Servants flitted around them, pouring wine and arranging plates of fruit and sweets. Several of Margaery’s ladies-in-waiting sat nearby, chatting and laughing softly.

It was Sansa who saw you first. Her face lit up, her blue eyes wide with surprise and joy. She pushed her chair back abruptly, nearly knocking over a goblet in her haste. “Y/N!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying across the garden.

Lady Olenna’s keen eyes flicked toward you, her lips curling into a faintly amused smile. “Well, well,” she said, her voice dry but not unkind. “It seems we have unexpected visitors. Come closer, dear, and bring Ser Jaime with you. Don’t linger in the shadows like conspirators.”

You hesitated, glancing at Jaime, who looked equally uncertain. He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, it seems we’ve been summoned,” he said lightly.

You sighed, bracing yourself as you stepped forward. Jaime followed close behind.

As you approached, Sansa moved toward you, her hands reaching out to clasp yours. “Y/N,” she said again, her voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t know you were allowed out of your chambers.”

“Only under escort,” you replied, your tone clipped as you glanced at Jaime.

Lady Olenna watched the exchange with obvious interest, her shrewd gaze flicking between you and Jaime. “Quite the escort,” she remarked, her tone laced with dry amusement. “Ser Jaime, it’s rare to see you outside the Red Keep without your sister at your side.”

Jaime inclined his head slightly, his smirk faint. “A pleasure to see you as always, Lady Olenna.”

“Is it?” Olenna replied, her tone cutting but not cruel. “I suppose even Lannisters can appreciate good company now and then.” She turned her gaze back to you, her expression softening slightly. “And you, my dear. You look well for someone who’s been hidden away like a prized relic. Sit. Both of you.”

You hesitated, but Sansa’s pleading expression was enough to sway you. Reluctantly, you took a seat beside her, Jaime settling into a chair opposite you.

Margaery offered you a warm smile, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “It’s wonderful to see you, Y/N,” she said graciously. “Sansa has spoken of you often.”

You returned her smile with a faint nod, though your focus remained on Sansa. “Are you well?” you asked her quietly.

Sansa nodded, her voice soft. “I am, for now.”

Jaime remained quiet, his gaze flicking between you and the Tyrells as the conversation continued. Despite the tension that lingered in the air, he found himself strangely at ease.

The servants poured more wine into the goblets on the table as you settled into your seat, the scent of fresh roses mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit arranged artfully on silver platters. Lady Olenna studied you and Jaime, her lips quirking in faint amusement as Margaery leaned in to speak with you and Sansa.

“You’re fortunate to be out of those dreary chambers, Y/N,” Margaery said warmly, her hands folded gracefully in her lap. “The Red Keep can feel so suffocating, don’t you think?”

You nodded slightly, your tone clipped. “More like a gilded cage. I wouldn’t call it fortunate.”

Margaery’s smile faltered slightly, but Lady Olenna’s laugh cut through the air. “Spoken like a true Stark,” she said. “Blunt as a hammer and just as subtle.”

Jaime smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “She’s certainly mastered the art of subtlety. Why use a knife when a sledgehammer will do?”

You shot him a glare, your fingers curling around the stem of your goblet. “And why speak at all when silence is an option, Ser Jaime?”

Lady Olenna chuckled, her gaze darting between the two of you. “Oh, this is delightful. I can see why you’re escorting her, Jaime. It’s not every day you find someone who can keep up with your wit.”

Jaime tilted his head, his golden hand resting lightly on the table. “I’d say it’s more a matter of survival than wit. She’s had plenty of practice hating Lannisters.”

“And for good reason,” you snapped. “It seems you lot make it your life’s work to ruin everything you touch.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, his gaze softened. “Not everything,” he said quietly.

Lady Olenna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the exchange. “I must say, the two of you make quite the spectacle. It’s been some time since I’ve seen a proper sparring match outside a tournament.”

Margaery glanced at her grandmother, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Perhaps we should give them swords, Grandmother. It might make things more interesting.”

Jaime chuckled lightly, his eyes flicking to Margaery. “That wouldn’t be fair to Y/N. I’d hate to embarrass her.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist the bait. “Embarrass me? I’ve seen your swordsmanship, Ser Jaime. Perhaps you should focus on keeping that golden hand attached before you worry about embarrassing anyone else.”

Sansa stifled a giggle beside you, her expression brightening at the familiar bickering. “You haven’t changed at all, Y/N,” she said softly, a touch of relief in her voice.

Jaime’s smirk returned, his eyes glinting with amusement. “And here I thought we were making progress.”

“Progress?” you scoffed, setting your goblet down with a clink. “You mistake tolerance for progress. The only reason I’m sitting here is because your father hasn’t given me much choice.”

Lady Olenna leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “Ah, Tywin. Always so practical. But tell me, Y/N, how do you find his golden son? Has he been insufferable as ever?”

You met Olenna’s gaze with a faint smile, your tone dry. “If anything, he’s more insufferable now. The golden hand’s only made his ego worse.”

Jaime placed his hand over his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, my lady. And here I thought we were bonding.”

“Bonding?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call this?”

Lady Olenna chuckled, her laughter cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, I do enjoy you, Y/N. You’re exactly the sort of entertainment this dull court needs. If only we could bottle your wit and sell it to the Tyrells.”

Margaery smiled, though her gaze lingered on Jaime for a moment. “And you, Ser Jaime? How do you find Lady Stark? She seems to have quite the talent for keeping you on your toes.”

Jaime hesitated, his smirk softening as his gaze flicked toward you. “She’s… spirited,” he said finally. “A rare trait in the Red Keep.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unsure whether to take the comment as a compliment or an insult. Before you could respond, Lady Olenna clapped her hands together, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Well, I must say, this has been thoroughly entertaining,” she said. “But don’t let us keep you from your walk, Jaime. Do try to keep her out of trouble, won’t you?”

Jaime rose from his chair, offering a faint bow. “I’ll do my best, Lady Olenna. Though I make no promises.”

As you stood to follow him, Sansa reached out to squeeze your hand, her eyes shining with unspoken gratitude. You offered her a faint smile before turning to leave, Jaime falling into step beside you as you exited the pavilion.

The faint sound of Olenna’s laughter followed you down the path, her sharp wit lingering in the air like a pleasant sting. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth, even if it was fleeting.

Jaime walked in silence beside you, his smirk faint but genuine. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but feel that something between you had shifted, though you couldn’t quite name what it was.

[gr1m-c0l0rs]

My WHB!MC’s relationship with the Kings

OVERVIEW: To Sunny, his relationship between the devils is strictly fwb, mainly because of his insecurity that the reason the devils only like him is because they see him as Solomon and not as his own person—no matter if the devils say otherwise. She does have a slight crushes on all of them and had thoughts about staying, but she quickly pushed down these feelings. Sunny really doesn’t want to stay in Hell for the rest of his life but he also doesn’t want to pull a Solomon and leave them forever (which sets up for future angst potential >:))

SATAN:

The first devil Sunny met and the first devil that got really close to

Helped Sunny realize that she was a sadomasochist (never really explored outside of vanilla sex with her other sexual partners on Earth)

Constantly has flirty banter with each other

Sunny gets really irritated easily which Satan loves, following behind him to egg him on so Sunny could hit him

Sunny retaliates by picking him up by his waist and teasing him on how small he is (of course this pisses him off a lot

MAMMON:

Literal sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship

Sunny gets incredibly flustered around him, not used to being spoiled

Tries to reciprocate by it’s kinda hard as she don’t have money (which she is embarrassed by, but Mammon finds endearing)

Was weirded out being called “Master”, constantly reiterating to Mammon to just call him Sunny, but eventually gave up and ended up loving being called it (big dominant looking men calling you master>>>)

Slightly jealous of how strong Mammon is, constantly teetering between “do I want him? Or do I wanna be him?”

LEVIATHAN:

Absolutely DESPISED Leviathan we they first met, especially since they tried to kill him when they first met.

Sunny thought he was ethereal at first, but when he tried to kill her, Levi went from a 10/10 to -3/10

They constantly bicker and hate-fuck sometimes

After learning about Levi’s childhood, Sunny did feel a little bit of sympathy about his situation; still has Levi’s name as “fuckface” on his contact list

Gradually becoming soft for Levi (so is Levi as well to Sunny) but wouldn’t dare admit it (not yet at least)

LUCIFER:

Sunny was absolutely terrified after meeting Luci, especially after learning that he still has beef with his whole bloodline due to Solomon

After eloping with him, Sunny became a little more comfortable with him (still a bit of underlying fear tho)

Tries to be polite and quiet around him, talking to Luci like a doctor and not like a best friend (goofs around with Gamigin whenever he goes to Paradise Lost tho)

Sunny likes to listen to his stories about God, Heaven & Hell

Always asks Luci if she could visit to have tea with him, whenever he gets overwhelmed by the other devils

BEELZEBUB:

Practically shares the same braincell

Sunny only saw Beel as a horny goofball until he learned the real reason why he wanders around, and now feels guilty for thinking that he didn’t have depth

Flirty banter pt. 2

After finding out that Sunny used to party on Earth, Beel always make sure to take him out whenever he gets stressed out about angels

Sunny likes to leave little trinkets and food in his coat pocket that is covered in his scent as a way to thank him (something Beel appreciates even though he wants the real deal.

BELPHEGOR:

Was really indifferent about Belphie at first but sees him as a cool dude to hang out with occasionally

His “don’t care” attitude annoys Sunny sometimes but brushes it off

Sleeping buddy (literally)

Watches anime at Belphie’s palace, and discusses about it with him (even if it’s a short amount of time)

When not cuddling, Sunny likes to help Beleth with work (sometimes even carrying Belphie on her back since he’s warm and squishy ‘like a pillow’)

ASMODEUS:

Sunny was (understandably) afraid hearing the stories about Asmo

After meeting him, Sunny ends up becoming slightly annoyed with Asmo’s antics

Sunny constantly threatens to spray Asmo with a hose (especially after finding out he doesn’t shower) which Asmo laughs it off

Likes listening to him gushing about his kids

Sunny feels nothing but sympathy about the loss of his first love Solomon and his second love, his wife, but doesn’t have the heart to break his heart a third time

HEIGHT COMPARISON:

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 20 Finale

Masterlist

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

`

I was vibrating with excitement and nerves. I wasn't going on stage, but I would be in backstage videos and photos, so I did get mild hair and makeup. The outfit they put me in matched my boys perfectly.

I was sitting in a green room with my Omegas going to and fro around me. Doing their own things to get ready both mentally and physically. Stretching, warming up, snacking, resting, chatting, and joking around. I was flushed with joy and having a blast.

I snapped photos and little videos on my phone and tablet cameras. They weren't nearly as good as my usual, but I still wanted to document and remember this day. This first concert with my Omegas. How much fun we were having even while everyone worked so hard. It was worth documenting, even at lower quality than usual.

We all quieted down when there was a knock on the door. Like we wanted to keep our joy and chaos for ourselves. Even if there was a backstage talker camera going around.

"Oh great! Thank you so much!" I heard Chris exclaim happily to the person at the door. It's his Australian accent that catches my attention since most the crew were still Korean speaking.

HE clicked the door shut again, a plain brown handled shopping bag in his hand. His eyes searched for and found me and he baby step beelined for me. I was sitting on a chair, Ayen sitting between my legs. The odd walk caught several others attention.

Lino straightened. "Did it arrive?" Chan nodded. "Just in time!" Lino sounded as excited as Chan looked. I was even more confused.

"What came?" I asked. I didn't know anyone ordered anything. Was it a food delivery?

Chan handed me the bag. "We got you something. I wasn't sure if it would be done before the concert started." He looked a little nervous now as all eight of them stopped what they were doing to watch me open my surprise.

Giving them one last suspicious look, I peeked into the bag, only to gasp in absolute shock. Slowly, reverently, I reached inside and pulled out my previously broken camera.

She looked better than she had in years, and I took great pride in taking care of her. Brand new shiny casing, broken lens and buttons replaced and policed enough to sparkle. Even the strap, which had been wearing down in some spots was reweaved and stitched. I was in awe.

"This is far too much! How did you even find someone to fix this in just a day?" My hands shook as I smoothed my fingers over the camera in worship. This was beyond anything I ever dared to even think about hoping for.

"We all pitched in. And manager found the camera shop." Lino said.

"It was worth every penny just to see this look on your face." Minnie teased with a small, sweet smile on his lips.

"We know how much the camera means to you. How much photography means." Ayen started, patting my thigh. He was twisted oddly in order to watch me. And you are so good at it. Honestly, your work is better than some of the big-name photographers to have worked with.

I half smiled at him. "Hardly but thank you. Thank you all so much." I bit my lip to keep from tearing up. "I am so glad I became your Alpha. Even if I was terrified through most of our journey so far."

"There is a catch to this gift, though." Felix announced.

"What's that?"

"You have to take our social media photos for the tour. We have a higher standard now that we have posted your photos." Hyunjin answered.

I huffed out a laugh, eyes tearing up, and nodded with a wobbly smile. "Of course. I'll be glad to." I whispered wetly.

"And y/n?" Han prompted.

I hummed in question, waiting for his answer expectantly.

"We are really glad you're our Alpha too. Our Unwilling Alpha. Perfect in every way." Bin answered.

~Fin~

A/N: Originally, I had the intention of writing the entire concert of their first stop on the mini tour. However, this organically came out, and it just felt like the ending as I was writing it. And I'm all for listening to my writing. It sometimes knows more than I do. So, it's short, but it feels like a natural ending to me, and hopefully to you too.

Thank you for riding this roller coaster with me, and I really hope you enjoyed this short little goofy take on A/B/O dynamics.

Ko-fi fund

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng @kpopandmusicpassion @jasmin-loves-k-pop @cookey-lock @possum-playground @demigoddreamon-blog @rei-reia @dreamerwasfound @jasmin-loves-k-pop @ms-flowergirl @princess-sunshyn @technicallyimportantsweets @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @bluesoobinnie @threeopossumsinacoat @katchowbbie @kkamismom12 @whoreforeverythingspice @alienbyhan @tinyelfperson @bitterbluemorningstar @jiniretsleftear

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

[shanblackrx]

ADDING TO THIS:

I've talked briefly about this when analyzing the marriage pillow talk scene, but quote on quote, "those (forehead to forehead scenes) were not that lowkey confessions in my book" is right. And I think these forehead touch scenes basically show the development of Jack's feelings. So to expand the logic about these scenes a bit:

this one - Jack has just realized and accepted his own feelings, and gave hints. Even if he was uncertain about Joke's (or if Joke realized his own feelings, bc by now it'd kind of be pretty clear lol but he still didn't want to pressure him), and didn't outwardly say he's in love, he still made Joke promise to be by his side in the most important moment of his life - when he achieves his dream. It's the easiest way to be by someone's side, when they're at their best, but he did want to share that moment with Joke. Confession 1.

the one at the hospital - it was when everything went to shit, he didn't have a choice but to pause any further development of their potential romantic relationship, or it'd put everyone's life on the line, especially grandma's. He asked, almost pleading, if Joke would still be by his side if the worst would happen, because he wanted him to. He wanted Joke to be by his side even when he'd be at his worst. It's not easy at all to be by someone's side when they hit the bottom of the barrel, and especially Jack who never wants to bring people down with him, he still wanted Joke there with, FOR him. Confession 2.

the kiss - Kind of self-explanatory since he literally confessed, but something important to note: not only did he get free of what was holding him back, I think the whole deal with Rosé made him reach his limit. After staying so long with someone he didn't love and having a bad falling out with Joke because of it, he could no longer starve off his feelings and that's why he told Boss he couldn't do it anymore. He left Rosé and her house with the goal of coming clean. And even then he didn't do anything on impulse - he still 'baited' Joke into asking who he liked. There was literally no other reason for the truth or dare game after saying he turned Rosé down because he liked someone else. He pulled more or less the same move of the first scene, creating a chance for himself to confess, but this time he wasn't just testing the waters. I'm pretty sure he'd confess either way. He did it because he wanted to be with Joke that very moment and no later than that. So, Confession 3.

We don't see Jack's POV too often, and even when we do, the feelings are so subtle, so under so many layers of self-protection, self-sacrifice and self-control it's hard to see them clearly. So that's why I think these scenes say a whole lot about Jack and how his mind works, even if it's hard to see.

Most of you probably already know this but I guess it doesn’t hurt to say it.

We all know how Jack is.

He is methodical. He thinks things through. He doesn’t do things by impulse.

So this? Why would he pick those words, particularly? Love, Confess, Promise??

WELL

I think Jack was already thinking of confessing, cause he already knew his feelings here

and this

was a test run.

So, when all Joke gave him was that cute little “huh?”

it became too much, too real, suddenly

so he of course chickened out, which is understandable.

and backs away from it

I think about this all the time and I haven’t seen anyone mention it so I thought I should, cause like I mentioned, Jack isn’t one to act on impulse.

No, he gave himself a chance to confess his feelings by creating the perfect setting for him to throw a smoke bomb if it didn’t go well so he wouldn’t have to do any damage control.

Jack you’re very smart, but I see right through your thirsty ass, my babes.

[itscloudsocks]

Time and Time again - chapter 1

cw: minor injury

The first time Viktor meets Jayce, he´s nothing more than nine years old. He´s been growing a lot lately so he might need to get a new cane soon. But since his dad has died and it´s just been himself and his mum, money´s more than just tight. His mum keeps picking up shifts at that big house where the people come and go and whenever she comes home early in the morning, she smells like sweet smoke and alcohol. Viktor doesn´t like it, but he says nothing, just snuggles closer once she slips into bed next to him, chasing all the warmth he can get. His mother is skinny but she still fusses over him. Over his messed-up leg and his hair that keeps on growing, over his scrubby little hands and the motor oil that seeps into his clothes and stains his pants. Over the little cuts and bruises he comes home with every day. She´s worried that other kids are mean to him but he just shakes his head. They don´t play with him, they can´t be mean if they don´t even look at him.  

Viktor plays alone, usually. Down down down in one of the deepest, darkest parts of Zaun, where the sun hardly shines and the smog is thick and bitter on his tongue, Viktor usually plays near the small canal. It´s water coming from the Topside, he´s heard some kids say, a crack in the earth, a passageway up for everyone who´s brave enough. There are official ways, apparently, a bridge and an elevator, but they´re guarded. He´s never seen them, has never dared to wander too far from home, frightened by his mothers warnings.

They don´t play around, malá hvězda. They kill everyone from down here, they´re not your friends. Don´t ever go up there, don´t even try, you hear me?

Viktor has only ever nodded, too frightened to ask what they are. Mama had told him that they´re too far from the river and the bridge, that they don´t dare to come down here, that they´re too scared. That this means safety. Viktor isn´t too sure about that, but he trusts her. Who else can he trust, if not his Mama?

So he stays down there, rummages in the trash for metal and builds little toys. They´re wonky little things, crooked and ugly, but his mother still puts them all on the little shelf above their bed and gives him a kiss to the forehead. So Viktor keeps making them, keeps showing them to his mother who keeps kissing his forehead, keeps putting his little figurines up on the shelf for the both of them to see. 

Sometimes Viktor wonders about that place up there, where the water runs clean and the sun is supposed to shine all the time. He wonders if there are kids like himself up there, not dirty and hungry, but curious, adventurous. He wonders what he´s done to deserve the life he and his mother have to live, what he needs to do to change it. Because he would. For his mother to stop having to work in that big house where the people come and go and the air is sweet and pink and heavy, for them to be a family again. He wonders if the kids up there have dreams, or if they have everything; if they can even dream because they don´t wish for anything more, they can´t wish for anything more. That´d be sad, Viktor thinks, not being able to dream. He dreams, he does nothing but dream. Mama always calls him malá hvězda, little star. A few years ago shes told him about the place where he´s been born. Where she and his dad came from. About the clear, blue sky and the deep rich nights, about the moon and the stars. He´d love to see it some day. But he probably won´t. 

He´s nine now and last week he´s met a man named Singed. While he´d been frightened by Singed and the strange cave-like house he lives in, he´d liked his pet. A big, soft pink thing with big big eyes and a slobbery, soft tongue. Rio, his name is. He had licked the grime and dirt from Viktor´s hand as a greeting and Viktor had laughed. He´d left with the promise from Singed, that he´d be allowed to return any time, take care of Rio with him.

He´s nine and on his way down the dim, wet alley, he hears a sound. It´s strange enough to see other kids his age in the immediate vicinity of his home, but to hear someone crying? Following the sound, Viktor tries but fails to keep the tap tap tap of his cane to a minimum. People don´t cry down here. Crying means weakness and weakness means death. Sometimes, when he was younger and still afraid of the dark, he´d cry into his pillow until his mother came home in the early early mornings and pulled him against her in a bony embrace, reminding him that crying would get him nowhere. 

Rounding a corner, Viktor narrows his eyes. Nothing. Besides houses, stacked upon each other like the empty liquor boxes Viktor sometimes stumbles upon when exploring the trashcans of the bar just a couple of blocks from home. It smells like trash and smoke and very faintly like fried pine tart and Viktors stomach grumbles painfully. The noise continues, a bit louder now, and Viktor narrows his eyes at two large wooden boxes stacked upon each other against the side of a brick wall. Peaking around the corner, all he sees for a moment is a mop of dark hair and a pair of tan arms wrapped around knees. It´s a kid, he notices, a very clean, very well-dressed kid with a nasty gash on their knee. 

“Hey,” he blurts out, because he´s curious and adventurous and because nobody else is here to see him.

Startled, the kid shrieks and pulls their legs further towards their chest. Still, the kid lifts their head. Big, hazel eyes blink back at Viktor, round cheeks dirty and streaky with tears, blood trickling down the right side of their face. It´s a boy, he notices, and he´s around Viktors age. 

“Please don´t hurt me,” the boy whimpers, wiping his snotty nose on his shoulder. Tilting his head, Viktor watches the boy gasp for air and gasp for air and gasp for air. He starts breathing in a way that doesn´t sound quite right, all tight and short and shallow, so Viktor smacks his foot with the bottom of his cane.

“Ouch! What was that for?”, the boy whines, putting his hands over his feet.

“You were freaking out. Who are you? You´re not from here,” Viktor demands to know, still staring down at the boy.

“I´m Jayce,” he sniffles, then coughs. “I…was playing…and there was this crack…and I wanted to check it out and - and then I fell down and and I hit my head and my knee hurts and -”

Viktor ignores the rest of his rambling. He fell down. He could´ve only fallen down when he was at up there, the top.

“You´re a Topsider,” he interrupts, taking a little step back.

“I…I just wanna go back home to my Ma!"

A fresh batch of tears appear in Jayce´s eyes; while wiping them away, clearly frustrated, he bumps against the injury over his brow and starts crying even more, interrupted by the occasional cough that in the end makes him hiccup. He truly is a Topsider, he´s struggling with every inhale down here.

“Why´d you fall in the first place? Are you stupid?”

“N-No, I´m not stupid! Ma says I´m super smart!”

Tilting his head, Viktor absentmindedly taps his cane against the ground.

“What is that, anyways?”, Jayce asks, curiosity in his eyes while tears still roll down his cheeks. 

“My cane. Problem?”

“Hm? No! Why do you have it?”

“I need it to walk. Mama says my leg was fucked when I was born so I can´t walk like the normal kids.”

With a gasp, Jayce stares up at him.

“You said a bad word,” he whispers. “Ma always gets mad when I curse.”

“Your Ma sounds weird,” notices Viktor.

“She´s not! She´s the best in the world! Did you make that cane yourself? Can I see?”

“Don´t break it, you hear me?”

Hesitantly, Viktor hands his cane into Jayce´s patiently waiting hands and leans against the box for stability instead. But Jayce doesn´t swing it around like a sword like the other kids used to when they stole his cane - when they still paid attention to him. Instead, he carefully places it in his now folded legs and lets his finger travel over the bolts and screws and folded metal.

“You really made that yourself?” When Viktor nods, Jayce´s entire face lights up. “That´s so cool! Dad sometimes lets me help out in the forge but he says I´m too young to build my own stuff yet. I really really badly want to, though! Did your dad teach you that?”

“No,” frowns Viktor, taking his cane back. “My dad is dead. I taught me all myself.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Jayce looks unsure of what to say next. 

“I think I know how to get you back home. Come on.”

Viktor watches Jayce struggle to stand and wince when he puts weight on his hurt leg. Still, he pulls his brows together in determination and shows Viktor to lead the way.

They mostly get through without problems. Viktor has only been in the Lanes a couple of times, mostly because his mother showed him where to get help, if anything ever were to happen to her. From time to time Viktor pushes Jayce into the shadow of houses before following him. Most people here aren´t unkind to kids as long as you stay out of their way. By the time they reach the Last Drop, Viktor is shaking in exhaustion and Jayce is back to being whiny and teary-eyed. Viktor doesn´t dare enter through the main door because Jayce is a Topsider and he´s not sure what people might do if they find out, so he sneaks around the back. It takes some knocking but then, the wooden door creaks open and a large shadow falls into the alleyway.

“Viktor! Boy, are you lucky I´ve been back here. Who´s your friend?”

Vander looks like always, big and hulky and kind. He´s one of the few grownups Viktor likes. 

“That´s Jayce,” he explains. “He´s from the Topside, he´s hurt. Help him.”

He´s about to turn and leave when Vander, a laugh on his lips and a heavy hand on Viktor´s shoulder, stops him.

“Not so fast, young man. You two are gonna come inside and tell me exactly what happened. Come on, no need to look at me like that. In you go. Felicia will be excited to see you.”

Lighting up a bit, Viktor slips past Jayce and Vander and enters the backrooms of Vander´s bar. Here, between boxes upon boxes of drinks and food, stands an old, sat-through couch. Jaycee sneezes when Viktor flops down on it and temptively sits on the edge next to him, looking around with big, scared eyes.

“I´m Vander, kid, it´s alright. I´ll be right back, yeah?” Jayce nods lightly and follows Vander leaving with his eyes before turning towards Viktor.

“What is this place? I´m scared…”

“A bar,” Viktor explains, stretching his aching leg out in front of him. “Mama said that if I´m ever in trouble, Vander would know what to do. So that´s what I´m doing.”

The door opens again and Vander returns, followed by Felicia. Viktor has only seen her twice out of the few times he´s been here, but she´s nice. Her dark purple hair has been braided and she´s wearing a dress similar to the one his mother used to wear years and years ago. Nervously, she glances over towards Vander, who rolls his eyes and nudges her closer.

“They´re kids, Fel, you´ll be fine.”

Upon coming closer, Viktor notices her holding a small leather bag in a hand that she, once she´s in front of Jayce, places on the ground. 

“I´ll just patch you up, yeah?”, she smiles softly, warm eyes taking in Jayce´s frightened, dirty appearance. While his wounds get cleaned, Felicia wraps him up into a conversation exciting enough for him to chatter on and on and completely forget about the pain.

“Tell me, kid,” Vander starts, sitting on a chair opposite of Viktor. “What exactly happened here?”

“I found him,” Viktor frowns. “He was crying and I heard it. Said he fell through a crack all the way down here.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Felicia sighs, patting Jayce´s hair while putting a bandaid over the wound on his forehead.

“I was just playing and wanted to check it out,” mumbles Jayce quietly, eyes cast down to his trembling hands. “I…tried to ask for help but this guy just…yelled at me…so I ran.”

“You did good, bringing him here.” Vander nods approvingly, making Viktor´s chest swell in pride. “I´ll bring you back up, yeah? To the bridge, the Enforcers will bring you back home.”

“But my mum can´t find out where I was! She´s gonna be so mad!”

“We´ll see what I can do,” calms Vander him down, chuckling. “Let´s get you boys some food and then it´s time for you to go back home, hm?”

Vander leaves the room again, taking Felicia with him. It´s quiet for a moment before Jayce speaks up again.

“She was nice,” he mumbles, cheeks rosy. Viktor frowns, but says nothing. 

“Can…can we meet again some day?”

That makes Viktor turn his head, staring at Jayce in disbelief.

“What?”

“Meet…again…I don´t have many friends my age and…you helped me and…maybe you can teach me how to build things? I´m a really quick learner!”

“How in the world would you even manage to come down here? Fall through another crack?”

Frowning, Jayce crosses his arms in front of his chest. “No. I´ll let you know that I´m very fast and sneaky. I´ll find a way!

“You have a deathwish,” Viktor notices. It´s the next plausible explanation of why anyone would voluntarily come down here.

“I don´t! I just…don´t have anyone to play with!”

Blinking, Viktor tilts his head to the side, thinking. He would´ve thought that people up there live in gluttony, having too much of everything, even friends. Huh. 

“...fine. But I´m not coming up there. Ever.”

“And I don´t want to go back to where you found me…the air was very bad down there.”

“It´s bad everywhere down here. It´s your peoples fault,” grumbles Viktor, feeling protective for reasons he doesn´t quite understand.

“I´m sorry that my people are mean to your people,” mumbles Jayce, eyes large and honest. It´s a bit unbearable to look at him. “But I won´t be mean to you! Promise. We can be friends and friends are never ever mean to each other!”

“...okay.”

“You´re Viktor, right? Cool! Ma says it´s important to say thank you, so, thank you for helping me!”

Vander comes back with two smoking bowls of silverberry porridge and Viktor eats so fast, he burns the roof of his mouth. It´s so worth it. Jayce, next to him, is slow and careful in trying it but when he does, his eyes light up again and he grins at Viktor.

Because Jayce is a topsider and apparently gets a lot of food at home, he has some leftovers that Viktor happily devours as well. The hot food has made him warm and sleepy but there´s no time to take a nap before Vander returns once more, this time with his coat in his arm.

“Ready to go?”

Viktor follows the two outside but stops at the corner of the Last Drop. Never before has he gone even a step further. Jayce, holding onto Vanders hand, takes a couple of steps before noticing that Viktor is not behind him. Instead of asking, he just turns and waves, a huge smile on his face that shows a gap in his teeth Viktor hasn´t noticed before. 

“See you soon, yeah?”

Nodding, Viktor timidly raises a hand and waves back. He stays until Vander and Jayce, now no more than two figures in the smog, fully disappear. Then, he turns and starts the tiring, gruesome walk back home without waiting for Vander to return. That night, he doesn´t tell his mother where he´s been, what has happened, who he´s met, he just nods when she asks if he had a nice day and lets her pull him closer, lulled into sleep by her stroking his hair.

[is-on-its-way]

ripples

inspired by this wonderful story

Read on AO3

The first time he asked her to marry him he was joking… sort of. They’d been on a case buried two basement floors deep in the bowls of the NIH library in Bethesda. He was turning the big wheels to get a row open to check for a journal they were searching for, and she’d walked past him without glancing at him.

“Why are you looking in physiology…” mind control will be under psychological capacities in… philosophy.” She said almost absentmindedly as she cranked the handle on the end of the shelf ten feet away from him.

He’d felt the familiar jolt in his chest he’d gotten so used to, being around her. That rush of adrenaline when she took charge, or knew better than the men in the room, or knew better than him. Her brain was a wealth of information in topics he hardly understood, and he was forever thankful for her expertise. But when she revealed she knew about topics that interested him as well? It was electrifying. Literally- he could feel his brain short circuit, so, staring at her, smirk on his face, it had just tumbled out of his mouth before his good sense managed to catch up.

She’d looked at him like he was insane, not an unfamiliar look even then. Hands on hips in the florescent light with the beige walls and grey rug and white endless stacks, a divinity standing in front of him when anyone else in her place would’ve seemed lesser for it. To his surprise she’d broken into a smile and then a giggle. He’d laughed with her savoring her rare joy in this private limbo among the stacks. Buttoned up as she had to be back then, practiced in long days working in mens fields, her laugh was dangerous, raw, uninhibited. Men didn’t know how to deal with that kind of power. So she hid herself most of the time. He knew it was second nature, from even before the FBI, from years in a cutthroat hospital culture and med school, she’d graduated summa cum laude. She was destined for men to be jealous and angry at her for daring to be who she was from the beginning. 

He thought it was sexy, even sexier how she gave herself up to him in tiny fits and starts over the years. He waited for each moment, feeling like a kid running down the stairs on christmas every time it happened. After that there’d been no opportunity to do it again. There had been no right moment after she’d been taken, to joke lightheartedly about such things, or remind her of the normalicy she might’ve had if not for him. For the x files. He’d tried to give her an out even, asked her to quit so she could feel like she wasn’t quitting on him or the mission, but she’d refused, even more resolute to find the truth now. He could’ve asked her again right on the spot if he had been more selfish.

If he was honest, if she’d said yes that first time, he thought he might’ve gone along with it, just for the mere fact someone like her, could want him. He would’ve been too terrified to fuck everything up then though, and probably would’ve messed it all up and hurt her more than she deserved.

The next time he asked her, he had never been more serious about anything in his life. He loved her, but it wasn’t really about that. It wasn't really about the fact he knew she loved him either.  It was the knowledge that before his life was done, he would make her his wife. It was just a fact, like how humans breathe air and fish water. Like how the sun rises in the morning and the moon only faces one way. It just was. He was hers and she was his and letting her leave this earth without declaring that, without letting her declare that to her god, was unthinkable. He should’ve felt insane. They had not even so much as been on an official date, but when you’re insane do you know it in the moment? 

She’d had tears in her eyes and panic in her voice, so strangled she could hardly breathe. He was on his knees at her bedside, chair kicked out as he realized the panic she had arrived at on the fifth day in her hospital bed hooked up to the poison that was saving her and killing her in front of his eyes. She let all her walls break then, let might’ve been putting it kindly. Her walls had been broken against her will and she was looking at him to save her. He wished with all his might he could but all he could do in that moment was hold her hand and wipe her tears and blink his away angrily at the audacity of his body to think this was about him. 

She told him things she’d never have said to him if she wasn’t feeling trapped like an animal against the end. Things he’d read in her diary entry to him. Things deeper than that. He’d told her he didn’t need to hear any of it, he knew already, she could leave him without worrying about him. 

“I’ll be okay Scully.” He rubbed his thumbs over the thin pale fingers in his hands. He pulled them to his cheek, head bowed over hers nose brushing the flyaways of her natural curls.

She looked at him wild eyed, on her side, pushing herself closer to him.

“What if I wont be? “ she whispered. “What if I…” 

A tinge of regret. He felt it in his own stomach before he saw it form in her eyes, but she went on “I wanted to be a wife.” her voice quivered, stopping before the rest of it. But he understood. She wanted a life, a husband, children, every normal thing you naively expect from life when yours hasn’t been stolen from you. She cried quietly into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her, committing it to memory, stroking her hair. Saying nothing because there was nothing to say.

He would’ve held her for hours if she’d needed, knees screaming, but when she pulled away, his heart shattered at the look in her amber ringed, warm sea, eyes. He couldn’t let her regret, couldn’t let her feel shame for opening up to him when their affection for each other had never before been debased by the simplicity of words.

So he said words back. Threw a stone into the still waves of the spacetime realm they alone inhabited now that the damn was open. He offered the only thing he could in that long list of regrets she would leave with. 

“We could get married.” A hand brushed down her cheek, her face blurry as he blinked furiously. “Marry me Dana.” Voice between a whisper and speech, between pleading for her soul and offering his. 

Her answer then was also no. Dragging herself back to reality, she politely pretended he was joking. And he politely smiled along with her. It was easy to play along with her, easy to ignore his shattering heart. He would do anything for her. Port in her chest, eyes the color of fresh bruises, sinking deeper into her hospital bed every moment of every hour, holding his hand at his insistence despite her chemo induced clamminess. The look in her eyes though, the sorrow, haunted him every time he closed his eyes until she was cured, and then occasionally after.

So polite to pretend he’d been joking… 

After she was cured, to stymy the sour feeling in his stomach every time his mind brought him back there; her sweetest little ‘Thank you, but we shouldn’t. I can’t break your heart any more than I already have and you’re breaking mine…”; he made a habit of asking her to marry him. Dilution of that moment was his tactic. Rewriting the honesty into lighthearted jokes so as to calm the waters in their little world.

Mostly he was joking. Mostly he was pretending to joke. Mostly he wanted her to say yes. One day, he would ask, and she would make a ripple.

🦋🌀🦕🔹🐋 @today-in-fic