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lambilegs · 2 days ago

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a secret surprise (sevika x reader)

۶ৎ contains: fluff and smut (so minors dni!!), sevika has a dick, ringing in christmas with some nasty sloppy sex, breeding kink (+ pregnancy talk but it's all just roleplay, sev and reader aren't actually trying to get pregnant), reader's body is referred to w the following terms: "pussy," "cunt," "clit," "hole," reader and sev banter A LOT (v much feisty!reader-coded), degrading kink (terms used include: "slut," "whore," "cumslut"), begging, edging and teasing, light humiliation kink, daddy kink (just as a title), reader is called "girl" and "(house)wife"

۶ৎ divider by: @u1traviolxnt

۶ৎ note: just a tadddd late on a christmas-themed fic LOLL I hope all who celebrated had a great christmas, while those who don't had their own wonderful day too <33 for those whose christmases weren't the most warm or fuzzy, I hope you all get to find some relief soon, and that things ease up and you get to experience peaceful days ahead. please take care of yourselves and try to engage in things that bring you a bit of happiness-- ofc though it's also entirely understandable if you need some time to just rest your body and mind, and if so, I'm proud of you for giving yourself that time <3

۶ৎ comments and asks letting me know what you think are always appreciated!! <3 would love to hear mwahhh

from your corner in the room, you watch sevika move about the living room. she's the picture of respect when it comes to your family -- not that that's much of a surprise. she knows how to keep things polite and levelled when necessary, a practice honed from many hours of working one-on-one with her boss, silco. honestly, you're kind of impressive. sure, she's always been someone pretty reserved upon first meeting, but with your family, she's also cordial, helping around when needed and even tolerating some of your older relatives' cheesy jokes and long, seemingly never-ending anecdotes. she even watches over some of the younger kids at one point, sitting by and making sure none of them get harmed. if they bother her with inane questions, she'll give one-worded answers, and half-heartedly play with them if they bug her enough.

that's not to say she's completely absent of her usual attempts to irk you, though. when no one's looking, she pinches the side of your waist, igniting a yelp that has several heads whirling in your direction. once the shock has died down, you smack her arm with a glare, hissing, "I hate you." when everyone is moving to the kitchen to fill their plates with food, she snakes a hand down and playfully squeezes your ass, catching you with a mischievous laugh when you stumble. when you're washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone else does karaoke and plays games out in the living room, she saunters in, leaning on the wall and watching you. when you ask her if everything is okay, she slides behind you, wrapping her strong arm around your waist and nuzzling into your jaw, pressing some warm kisses there.

"have I impressed you?" she asks, her low voice making you clench down. between the travelling, all the last-minute preparations that have commenced since, and separate bedrooms, you two have barely had time to have sex this week.

"mhm," you hum, trying to ignore the throb between your thighs. "I'm proud of you, sevi."

she sighs against your skin, and you can feel the way her body loosens against yours. she's clearly relieved.

"didn't think you'd be that worried," you coo. "you trying to get their blessing or something?"

she scoffs against your hair. "I don't need their blessing." her warm palm, which has been rubbing on your stomach, slows down. "but, I'd like for them to... you know, at least approve a little."

you're unable to resist the smile that creeps onto your face. despite her little tough act, you know your girlfriend does care about this kind of stuff. she's careful and thinks about your guys' future far more than she lets on, and like it or not, she's wrapped around your finger. if you'd like for her to do something, even if it's something as old-school as win your family's approval, she's gonna do it.

"what, in case you wife me up?" you giggle, scrubbing away at a bowl with some particularly dry, stubborn stains.

"don't tell me you're expecting a proposal."

"it would be kind of romantic to do it on christmas eve," you say matter-of-factly.

"except we're not in a damn hallmark movie," she snickers. "besides," she continues, her husky voice lowering as her mouth draws close to your ear, "if I propose to you, it's gonna be when we're alone."

you gulp, just the notion of being alone with her after such a momentous event doing something to you. "why?"

her fingers trail down your stomach, sliding between your thighs. you hiss at the boldness of her touch, your hips bucking when she presses her fingers against you through the layers of fabric. "because I wanna be able to give you the marriage experience that night."

"of course your horny ass immediately thinks of sex when it comes to the 'marriage experience,'" you drawl, the last two words coated in mockery.

"oh, come on, you're telling me you aren't thinking of it right now?" she chuckles, the noise of it deep and wrapped in velvet. "doing the dishes like a good little housewife while I take care of you." her words are punctuated with the firmer rubs she's beginning to push into your clothed core.

you gasp softly, but still try to proceed with your counterarguments. sevika always has people right in the palm of her hand, and since you two have met, you've relished in giving her a hard time. "I'm anything but a housewife, you know that."

"just humour me a bit." she licks a long stripe along your neck, and you grip the bowl so hard you worry for a split second that it'll break. "like I did for you when we played boss-and-secretary the other night."

just the mention of your little night of roleplaying has you biting back a moan. sevika had looked downright sinful in her unbuttoned shirt and loosened tie, cock plunging into you as she sucked on your tits and landed spank after spank on your ass, muttering about how you were such a slutty subordinate.

"well, you enjoyed that if I remember correctly," you breathe out, the words less firm and more shaky than you'd like.

"and you're telling me you don't enjoy this little fantasy? letting me spoil that cunt rotten after a long day of playing house."

the sudden filth of her words has you bucking uncontrollably and she laughs quietly, her hips smacking right back into yours. "that's enough to get you going, huh?"

"fuck you," you whisper.

her hand releases some of the pressure it had against your mound. "such a nasty mouth. and on christmas eve too?"

you snort. "sorry, I forgot you're father christmas."

her teeth graze the lobe of your ear and you sigh in pleasure. "last time I checked, you called me something else -- though, it is kind of close to 'father.'"

you're about to retort when a sudden pound of footsteps down the hall has you yanking away from sevika, your girlfriend stepping to the side just in time for when your aunt barges in. she makes small talk with sevika as she retrieves glasses from the cabinet, luckily sparing you as you duck your head down, pointedly latching your eyes onto the sink.

when she leaves, you shoot sevika a glare. "jesus, at this rate, you're gonna do something so bad that I can never show my face here again."

"you didn't seem to mind much."

you roll your eyes. "well, it was a moment of weakness." clearly, considering you can feel the thick juices leaking from your hole now.

"been having a lot of those lately."

you ignore her because, unfortunately, she's very right. sevika can read your body like a book, and therefore, in spite of your curses and rebuttals throughout the day, she’s taken notice of every pleasured reaction her touch evokes. from the flinch of your hips, to the puff of air that shoots from your mouth, to the way you immediately grind against her hand.

not that you guys can do much about it.

at least, that's what you think until a soft knock flows through the space of your childhood bedroom that night.

you tentatively rise up, quietly calling out, "yeah?"

when sevika walks in, her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, you jerk back in surprise. "what the hell? sevi, I--"

you're immediately cut off with her broad body crawling over yours, pinning you down to the bed. without a moment's hesitation, her lips capture yours, tongue immediately slipping in and swirling around yours. you squeeze your eyes shut at the sloppiness of it, her lips massaging yours with slow purposefulness. she pulls back, flattening her tongue and roving it along the curves and plush of your lips, catching the bottom one under her teeth and nipping at it.

you gasp sharply at the sting, delightfully mixed in pain and pleasure. she tugs on it, stretching it out before letting it go and sucking on it slowly, spit dribbling from her mouth to yours. "sevi, why are you..."

"it's getting too much," she grunts. "I need -- fuck, I need you."

you slide your hands under the itchy fabric of the ugly christmas sweater you got her three days ago. it’s supposed look funny, weird even, but instead, it just emphasizes her broad shoulders and hugs her biceps just right. it's almost annoying how hot your girlfriend is.

"awe, is someone getting needy?" you tease, your point embarrassingly met with a hitch of your breath when she starts planting soft, wet kisses down the slope of your neck, pausing to suck on the spot under your ear.

"says the one who was practically dry humping me in the kitchen."

"only because you jumped me first!" you quietly snap, tugging on her short hair so that she meets your accusatory gaze. "just like now. in my childhood bedroom," you add in a deadpan tone.

"and?" her teeth flash at you in the dim lighting, her adorable little gap making your stomach flip. "you're telling me you don't like this?" her hand strokes along your stomach, reaching your breast with a tight squeeze that sends you arching, your nipple's contact with both her firm palm and the fabric of your sweater making it tingle. "the idea of getting corrupted in this bed? getting fucked by me when you know you shouldn't?"

your body twists, arousal pooling between your legs as a slew of lewd words continue to spill from her mouth as she tweaks and pinches your nipple, the sharp sting of it shooting through your chest. "so many people in this house, and here you are, being so needy and wanting."

you bite your lip. "sevi, baby, we-- we shouldn't. I -- mmph, what if someone catches us?"

"no one will if you keep quiet." she lifts your sweater up, eyes practically gleaming at the sight of your tits. she ducks her head down, her mouth encircling one of your nipples, tongue lapping it gently, the warm wetness of it making your pussy ache. your tits are so sensitive, nipples hard and aching from the chill of the night, and the hot cavern of sevika's mouth is making you lost in the mix of temperatures and sensations. her tongue is so soft, gliding so easily over the bud. she skims her teeth along the edges, clamping a hand over your mouth before you can make any noise.

"fuck, god," you whisper, hands digging into her hair as you keep her pressed to your chest.

"pretty blasphemous of you to say during a holiday."

you glare at her for the playful comment, wrenching out of her hand’s grip on your face. "please, like you're even religious."

"I'd consider it if it gives me the authority to punish you."

"like you even require an authoritative position to do that."

her teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck and you clamp your lips up together. "you've got a point there, baby." she scrapes her teeth gently down your neck, one of her thick fingers tugging down your sweater to suck a bruising mark into your chest. "you're my slut whenever, aren't you?"

with the way her mouth is lavishing attention on you, it's hard to continue being a brat with her. you want more of this, and you’re well aware that sevika possesses more than enough self-restraint to draw out your pleasure all night long if she so wishes it. even if she does have a boner pressed right up against your thigh.

"mm, I am," you mumble against the crown of her head, her black hair tickling your lips as you stroke it. "I'm your slut, sevi."

"there you go. wasn't so hard, huh?" she pulls back, tugging on the bottom of your sweater.

when you remove it, breasts bouncing out, sevika buries her face in your fully naked chest, licking and gnawing like a woman starved. your body arches up at the harshness of her touch, her large hand groping and pulling you into her mouth. your squirming causes your thigh to brush right up against her hard-on, and she grits her teeth at the contact.

"you're so hard, baby," you giggle, hand escaping to her crotch and cupping her through her flannel pajama pants (which, yes, totally match yours).

"fuck," she mutters, her head pressing into your chest. the moist heat of her panting gets your skin warm and toasty, and you shiver from the contrast of it to the rest of your body. "god, I've needed this."

"then, put it in, dumbass," you whisper, your words edged with soft laughter.

a smirk cracks on sevika's face. "maybe I have been going too easy on you, since there's so much room for backtalk."

ugh, oh, no.

minutes later, both of your pants are tossed into some corner of your bedroom, sevika grinding her bare dick on your pussy. it's firm, hardened with arousal, and the more she presses against you, the more you drip, coating her dick with your juices. whenever it nudges against your swollen clit, you writhe in her embrace, tugging on the material of her sweater for more.

"sevi, please, please," you mumble against her lips, pressing mindless little pecks against them.

she flicks her tongue along your mouth, breaths heavy. as much as she may try to act like this isn't affecting her, you can feel the tension coiling in her body and how hard she's trying to resist taking you.

"tell me you've been bad. tell me why you deserve this."

her mouth is curved into a wicked grin, clearly amused at having you cornered like this. she knows the length of her dick rubbing into the plush, soaked lips of your pussy isn’t nearly enough, and she's clearly determined to have you pathetic and begging before she goes inside.

"ugh," you groan, tossing an arm over your eyes. "fine, I've, um--"

she grips your wrist, pulling it away. "eyes on me."

you shoot her a glare -- well, at least as best as your can manage with the smooth skin of her stroking against your clit. forcing yourself to undergo the embarrassment of locking eyes with her, her amusement thinly veiled with the way her grey eyes are flashing, you continue. "I've been a bad girl. and I, uh, I deserve to be... fucked because, um, I've worked so hard this week and I'm so tired and so wound up and I-- fuck, sevi, I miss you, you idiot."

a huff of laughter quietly slides from her lips, and she pecks your chin. "have you now?"

"sevi, come on," you whine, digging your nails into her lower back, trying to pull her further into you. "I need it, please. sevi, please, I need it, daddy."

her eyes flutter shut at the title, hips jerking harder, which has you both biting back noises tantalizingly close to bursting from your mouths. "fuck, you're lucky you're cute."

she sits up on her knees and positions her dick, rubbing on some lube she snuck in from her suitcase (when she reveals the bottle to you, you grumble at the fact that she just knew she'd manage to convince you to fuck in here). inch by inch, the girth of her stretches out your hole, creating a pleasant, dull ache as your walls tighten around her, accommodating her size. through it, she rubs circles onto your clit, nodding quietly to encourage you on. if you were in the seclusion of your home, she'd be saying filthy words and praises, motivating you to take her in. but, in this position, where she's too far to whisper against your ear, all you get are her hushed words of, "okay?" and, "you ready for more?"

after you adjust, you yank sevika by her collar and she unceremoniously flops onto you, evoking a burst of laughter from you as she narrows her eyes at you, murmuring, "was that necessary?"

"mhm, I got to have pleasure and a comedy show."

she scoffs. "glad to be of service, I guess."

your giggles fade out as she meets your gaze, her pretty eyes soft and creased from the small smile on her face. you cup her face and bring her closer to you, gently kissing her. sevika returns the gesture, her lips amorous and slow as her cock, heavy in your hole, twitches.

when you part, you whisper, "you gonna move or what?"

apparently, she isn’t in the mood for a challenge, for ten minutes later, she's pumping into you, your old headboard creaking and bumping lightly against the wall as sevika fucks you quietly. in your twin bed, the two of you are cramped up in the limited space, but you couldn't care less. you relish in being this close to your girlfriend, her strong arm wrapped around your body and holding you close to her as your guys’ skin smacks together, the sticky sweat produced from your efforts creating a wet squelch.

"mmph, daddy," you whine against sevika's ear, nuzzling close to her face and biting on her ear, which ignites a sharp intake of breath from her. "feels so good."

"yeah, princess?" she rasps, her voice hushed. "you like feeling my dick split you open like this? getting fucked and keeping quiet so no one finds out what a slut you are?"

you dig your nails further into her back, raking them along the muscular length of it. her dick has you feeling so full, plugging your hole up in a weight that's so comfortable and familiar. the deep, satisfied ache flows through the entirety of your pussy, from the widened rim of your hole to your clit to your thighs, which are clenched tightly around her slim waist.

"I'm your slut, daddy," you gasp against her ear. "I love being your slut, letting you fuck me till I'm filled with come."

"oh, yeah?" she chuckles. "is that what you want? for me to fuck my come into this tight little hole?"

"yes, yes, daddy." your hips buck up to meet hers, the pleasure making it hard to not flinch and jerk at the way it rolls through you.

nasty little squelches roll through the room from the way your juices slosh around her dick, droplets slipping out every time her cock rocks out and only the tip is hugged by your entrance. when she pounds back into you, her balls smack against you, and the weight of them has you nearly squealing in pleasure, thoughts of how come-filled they are overtaking your brain.

you wrap your legs around her, the lift of your hips causing the tip of her cock to hit your g-spot. the pointed curve of it nudging against the spongey softness has a deep, tingling sensation flooding your insides. your mouth hangs open, a small moan choking out of you.

sevika, still thrusting into you, raises her head up and covers your mouth with hers, shoving her tongue in as your sweaty bodies push and pull together. she breathes out, "so fucking mouthy, even in bed."

you're so turned on that her bullying only has you tightening on her, which, of course, observant woman she is, immediately arouses an arch of her eyebrow. "does my girl like that? hearing about how you're such a noisy cumslut? just begging and babbling for some come to be leaking out of your pretty cunt?"

"f-fuck," you stumble over your words, head tossing into your pillow, eyes squeezing shut. "please, daddy, please, want it so bad."

"I know, baby, I know. give it to me, yeah?" she coaxes, her rough thumb beginning to stroke your stiff bud side to side, having mastered the pressure and speed that'd get you tipping over the edge. "wanna feel you milk it out of me."

"I will, I will!" your torso arches against her, tits rubbing the rough fabric of her stupid, patterned shirt. "m'gonna come so good for daddy."

"yeah, you will, gonna let your pussy latch onto all that come till these sheets are fucking drenched." she speeds up her thrusts, your mind going dizzy and weak at the mixed sensations of her pushes into your g-spot and fast flicks against your clit. "gonna be so fucking embarrassing tomorrow, to have to come up with some excuse for why these sheets are so nasty."

"it's your fault too!"

her voice, rough and heavy, is practically mesmerizing when combined with the surges of ecstasy shooting through your body. "guess I am just as bad, right? can't go too long without trying to get you knocked up."

those words are enough to shove your over the edge, your walls beginning to clamp down on her cock relentlessly as the tension in your stomach snaps, sending waves of hot, molten lust coursing through your body. you bite onto the material of sevika's clothing, muffled whines bursting from your lips as she continues rutting into you and rubbing insistently on your clit, tugging out more and more pleasure until you're sated and batting her hand away. meanwhile, she's shuddering on top of you, the sensation of your orgasm clearly taking its toll on her.

"please, please." you wrap your arms around her back, pliant and soft as the exhaustion of your orgasm wears you down. your pussy is sopping even more now, sevika's dick moving in and out with ease. "come, daddy. sevi, please. wanna feel how warm it is."

"fuck," she curses, her fingers digging hard into your waist. "gonna get you so loaded. gonna look like such a whore, leaving this trip nice and pregnant."

her words have your aftershocks heightened, your pussy clenching down on her cock again. the moment it happens, sevika's body jerks hard against yours, her last thrusts messy and running on pure instinct, deep and rough. she stills on the third one, her mouth falling open as she trembles, her come shooting into you, sticky and hot, coating your walls and making you feel entirely smeared and tainted.

you clutch onto her through it, your clit aching at the feeling of her load being pumped into you, streams of it leaking into your tight hole as she half-heartedly jerks into you a few more times.

"shit," she mutters, her body heaving as she catches her breath. "that was good."

"good?" you ask, your lips quirking up. "you sound like you're talking about mittens."

she rolls her eyes. "sorry, was I supposed to pull out a dictionary to compliment our sex life?"

you look away, pouting. well, you aren't that demanding.

"baby," she murmurs, kissing your cheek. "it was amazing, alright?" she grunts softly, nuzzling into your neck. "you know it just makes me, you know, to say these things."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'shy,' sevi."

she clears her throat. "well, sure." a moment later, she looks up at you, her face pure magic when coated with the blue light wandering through your windows. "it was really fucking good, okay?"

a sudden shyness seizes at you, your lips curling up as your eyes dart away. "I'm glad. it was amazing for me too. it's just, I need to hear that, you know. from you."

"I know." another quiet kiss lands on your chin. "I'm trying for you. that's not gonna stop."

"you're sweet." you run a hand through her hair, pausing to look down at her, smile widening. "hope it didn't hurt your rep to hear that."

she snickers, though her lips curve up ever-so-slightly. "eh, my rep isn't that fragile. nothing a few words can break."

"true. you being pussydrunk is probably what'll break it."

"actually, I thought it's what'll break you."

you flick her forehead, giggling at the little pout she makes without realizing. "so cocky. at this rate, you're gonna get on the naughty list."

she hums, stroking your hips. "I already got my present, so it's okay."

your face warms at the tender words. "I got mine too." you tug on her hair, bringing her up for a kiss. "merry christmas, sevi."

she meets your lips with a smile.

#s.writing #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #nsft #arcane x you #arcane x reader

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linearities · 2 days ago

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ᅟᅟᅟ☆ ｡⁠ UNDER THE MISTLETOE ～ !!

a mistletoe hanging above your bed? surely your roommate is just getting into the Christmas Spirit... right?

pairing: roommate!seonghwa x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT!!! +18 MINORS DNI!!!! oral (fem receiving), pussy drunk seonghwa, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cursing, kinda perv!seonghwa (?), not proofread!!!

notes: why hello there my loves :3 it's been a long while since i've written smut so please forgive me if this is bad :/ merry (late) christmas and happy new years to all of you!!!!

taglist form. · masterlist.

divider here.

you should've suspected something when you got home from work and found a mistletoe hanging above your bed. you thought it was just a cute little detail your roommate did, a cheeky little thing as a lot of others he had a habit to do. sliding into the christmas spirit, you know?

walking inside the apartment, seonghwa was quick to take your bags and help you out of your coat, even going as far as kneeling in front of you to help you take off your shoes. you found it suspicious, yet didn't say anything, knowing that sometimes he'd go overboard on the pampering and all of that, catering to your every whim. according to him, he just wanted to "be a good roommate". you shrugged the thought away, letting him guide you to the bedroom, chuckling as soon as you saw the garment hanging on the wall.

"what's this?" you asked, looking at him with a playful undertone in your voice. he shrugged with that cheeky smile of his, looking at you with soft pleading eyes as he brought his hands to the first button of your blouse. "fuck it, why not?" you thought, nodding at him in encouragement. slowly, he started unbuttoning your blouse, taking his time popping every button. you could hear his breath hitching as the fabric slid off your arms, falling on the bed.

in your defense, you had always found seonghwa pretty cute, and having him undress you like that after a long fucking day of work was almost a dream come true. he was that boy who's jacked and kind Sabrina Carpenter had talked about, so you wouldn't complain at all. he laid you on the bed, softly brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"you're so beautiful…" he murmured, admiring your features like you were his dream come true. his christmas miracle, "can i kiss you? since we're under the mistletoe and all?"

that got a giggle out of you, and you nodded, joining your lips in a sweet kiss. it was christmas, after all. what could possibly go wrong? except his kisses grew hungrier, greedier, and his hands slowly started to roam over your upper body. you held his wrists, breaking the kiss to properly look at him, only to find pure and raw adoration and desire in his gaze. where the fuck did this come from?

"hwa, i don't know if that's a good idea-"

"please," he interrupted you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, "i promise i'll be good for you." you sighed softly, thinking about it. again, what could go wrong? it was just harmless fun between roommates, under the excuse of a mistletoe.

little did you know you were in for a long night.

"tasting so good, my christmas gift," seonghwa groaned, your legs hooked on his shoulders as he kept relentlessly making out with your pussy, licking, sucking and kissing your clenching core like it was his death row meal.

you, on the other hand, already had tears in your eyes, coming out of your third orgasm of the night. you couldn't get him out of you at all. you had pushed him only to have him place your legs on his shoulders. you had tried to crawl away, only to have him grab you by your hips and drag you closer, burying his face on your sweet cunt again. seonghwa was completely pussy drunk, pushing you over the edge again and again and again until you were a shivering mess, whimpering and sobbing in overstimulation.

"hwa… hwa, f-fuck, 's too much… too much…" you cried out, hands on his head trying to push him away, your protests falling in deaf ears since he was too far gone to even register what you were saying, murmuring praises on how good you were for him, how beautiful you were, how sweet you tasted, how divine you smelled.

"so perfect f' me… so sweet… so wet, so tasty…." he kept praising, not even realizing how your legs were shaking and ready to give out.

he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, only stopping when he was satisfied, your clit swollen and your legs spasming on his shoulders. sweet little kisses trailed up your body, worshipping your soft skin in pure adoration. his eyes roamed over your face, admiring your fucked out features and the tear streaks on your face.

"so beautiful…" he murmured, peckering his sweet little kisses all over your face, capturing your lips and making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"you're insane," was the only thing you could get out, panting and sweating under him, "and a pervert."

he giggled, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, "don't act as if you didn't enjoy it."

that earned a smack on his shoulder and a chuckle out of him, "shut up."

"merry christmas to you too, roomie," he murmured, laying on top of you and pecking your lips.

"merry christmas, seonghwa," you chuckled, wrapping your legs around him and finally surrendering to the feeling, allowing yourself to relax under his weight.

hi hello it's your girl meggie :3

if you read until the end thank you so much i literally love you mwah mwah mwah

merry christmas and happy new years, babes <3 gonna bring more treats to y'all soon, just you wait.

xoxo, meggie.

#meggie writes!!#seonghwa #seonghwa x you #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x fem!reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez fluff #ateez park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez hard thoughts

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moralesluvr · 3 days ago

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RE-TAKE | b. eilish.

ꨄ︎ delivering some more teacher!billie for you… <3

you’re halfway out the door when her voice stops you.

it’s a call of your name, laced with an angry and frustrated tone. you freeze, hand tightening on the strap of your bag. the classroom is empty now, the faint sound of footsteps fading down the hall as everyone clears out for the day.

but you’re still here.

you swallow thickly, turning on your heel to face your teacher. her hair that was previously flowing down her shoulders is now placed in a messy bun, her blazer already discarded on the back of her desk chair— now only clad in a white, too-tight button up and a black skirt.

“we need to talk,” miss eilish says, her voice low and steady. her eyes don’t leave you as you start to walk forward, and she tuts at you harshly.

“no, shut the door.”

your skin feels clammy as you shut the door behind you quietly, dropping your bag on the floor and standing next to the doorframe, awkwardly. the air is thick and hot with tension, and you’re even more scared because you already know what this is about.

it’s about the fucking quiz. the one you didn’t even finish because your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of thoughts that all seemed to lead back to her. it wasn’t your fault that miss eilish decided to wear tighter dress pants and a flowier, lower-cut top that day. she had looked so pretty, and she still had that hickey on her collarbone that you had given her the night before, that she tried so hard to cover up with that small collar of her polo.

“come here,” billie says, snapping you out of your intrinsic thoughts. your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you toward her.

she waits until you’re standing in front of her desk before holding up the paper, “do you want to explain this?”

your eyes drop to the paper, to the bright red “F” scrawled at the top. even her handwriting was angry with you.

your face burns with shame, and you smooth your hands over your own skirt in hopes that it’ll calm you down. “i… i just had an off day,” you mumble, not even daring to meet eyes.

“an off day,” she repeats, her tone laced with amusement. she gives you a cocky, mocking nod, “that’s funny, because it seems like you’ve been having a lot of those lately. why is your shit not together?”

you swallow hard, your hands clenching at your sides. you don’t even dare to respond.

“look at me,” she says, and your heart stutters in your chest.

you lift your eyes, and there it is— that look she always gives you, the one that makes it impossible to breathe. she knows you down to a T, and her eyes are sharp, knowing of you, like you’re her prized possession.

“you really are better than this,” she says softly, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk. “i know you are.”

you nod, your throat too tight to speak. you fight for your eyes not to drift down to her exposed cleavage, so you flutter them shut before you make any more mistakes.

“but…” she trails off, tilting her head slightly, a loose strand of her black hair slipping over her shoulder. “i’m not happy with you. the retake date has already passed, so you’re going to have to show me that you want to pass my class.”

the way she’s looking at you, eyes slit and low, nearly makes you fall to the floor that your shoes keep twisting on, anxiety fueling you.

truth is, billie was always so big on not fucking you in school. it just seemed too risky, but today, it was like she couldn’t care less. she was already pulled closer to you now, unbuttoning your cardigan slowly as you gulped.

“what—what does that mean? i thought…” you stammer, but she just continues with undressing you, her smirk deepening.

“you’re my smart girl,” billie says, her voice like honey. she passes you a wink, “i think you’ll figure it out.”

that nearly kills you. your cardigan’s now on the floor, discarded like it’s worth nothing— and it really isn’t worth anything, not in this moment.

billie doesn’t kiss you with the usual softness she gives you, she kisses you like you mean nothing to her, like you’re worthless, like you’re just her pathetic little student who can never pay attention in class.

it’s quick, the way that billie rips your clothes off, propping you up on her desk as she fumbles around in a locked drawer of her desk, pulling out a thicker, longer, harder strap that you’ve never seen in your life.

“what the—?” you speak shyly, half due to confusion and half because there’s no way she’s going to use that on you. but your eyes turn wide as saucers when you see her slip her skirt and panties off, slipping on the strap and fastening it to her liking.

she pulls you by the hips without saying a word, the tip of the faux cock aligned with your entrance as her tattooed hand snakes around your throat, “don’t fucking talk at all, you hear me? you’ve done all the talking you need to in my class, giggling and whispering instead of doing your work. such a slut..”

you wince as the strap stretches your cunt out, your walls stretching to accommodate how fucking big it was. billie starts off slow, but that doesn’t last for long— she slams into you at a brutal pace, your stomach twisting as her hand slaps over your mouth to block your moans.

“shut up.” she seethes in your ear, her free hand kneading at your ass as her grip on your lips tightens, “you wanna get caught? you want someone to come in here and see me fucking you like this?”

you think her question is rhetorical until she slaps the flesh of your thigh, pushing you to answer her. and she lets you, her hand coming off of your mouth so you can mumble quietly, “n-no! please, billie….i’m so sorry…”

your eyes blink away tears as you feel a mix of pain and pleasure erupt in your abdomen, and it almost feels like too much, the way she’s fucking into you so hard. but deep down, you wanted this, wanted her to put you in your place. you wanted to fail that quiz so you could be where you are right now— legs shaking, pussy clenched against her strap. it was so wrong, but it felt so right.

a moan passes through your plump lips, and it makes billie’s frustration with you only worse. it’s like something snaps in her, the pace that she’s fucking you at almost seeming inhumane as your ass collides with her thighs, the sound echoing off of the classroom’s walls.

“such a dirty whore,” billie growls, her lips right against your ear, “know you could do much better in my class, but you’re just so distracted… may have to have a talk with the counselor, hm? do you need to be switched to another teacher?”

“n-no! miss eilish…please, wanna stay with you…wanna stay in your class…” you whine pathetically, and billie chuckles at how desperate you look.

tears find themselves streaming down your cheeks as you feel your orgasm closer and closer, your pussy clenching around the strap sporadically. almost inaudible whines leave your lips as you fight to stay upright, “i-i’m close— m’gonna cum, please, i—“

“cum for me.” billie orders, though her voice still drips honey. her hand snakes between your legs to rub your clit, assisting you through your orgasm as you heave, your cum sticky and hot as it races down the length of billie’s strap and onto her thighs.

billie fucks into you slowly a few more times before pulling out, watching as your cum seeps out of your cunt and onto your clit, glistening in the dim lighting of her classroom. billie gives you a kiss on your back, “good job, my girl— took me so fucking well.”

you thank her through puffy lips and teary eyes, laying on your back on her desk as she flips your paper over, writing a new grade on the front.

A+. Good job. :)

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staylovesmiley · 2 days ago

Text

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 6

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

The coming weeks were filled of soft moments with the hybrids. Ever since you had confronted Chan about the flowers the wolf had warmed up to you a considerable amount, though he still never initiated any form of affection with you. Instead he chose to bask in the moments you would give him a warm smile in passing or when you would come to tell him dinner was ready, your voice so sweet he thought he’d surely get a toothache. The best though, was the morning he seemed to sleep in a bit too late. It was unusual for him to miss breakfast and you had been so worried you made your way into his room and sat on the edge of his bed where the wolf hybrid was deep in his slumber. You couldn’t help but stare at how peaceful and handsome he looked in his sleep. Carefully you carded your fingers through his soft dark curls, admiring his strong features until suddenly his hand shot up and wrapped around your wrist.

You startled lightly, jumping at the contact before you were pulled down against his chest snuggly. You were only dazed for a moment before giggling as you cozied up against him. “Sleepy?” You whispered to him, fingers still combing his hair back and scratching lightly behind his tall dark ears the way Jeongin seemed to like. “Hmph-“ he grumbled, nosing against your neck as he slowly gained consciousness. “Pretty?” He sounded so soft and confused, your heart melting as you pulled back to meet his gaze. “Yeah?” He smiled, a goofy half-asleep smile and shook his head before nuzzling back into the crook of your neck, the opposite side from where Jeongin’s bite was quickly scarring over. “Nothing, just making sure I wasn’t dreaming…”

Today you were in the living room, curled up on the couch with Hyunjin laying his full body over yours as you played with his long dark hair and absentmindedly twisted it into braids before undoing and redoing them again. The small fire place was lit, heating the cabin nicely from the chill of winter outside and casting the two of you in a soft orange glow.

You could hear Minho in the kitchen rummaging around, about to get up and check on him when you heard the older cat call out for someone else. “Changbin! Come here for a second?”

The bunny hybrid came down from his room upstairs, a confused look on his face as he approached the older. “What’s up, hyung?” Minho smiled sweetly, pointing to the fridge and cabinets. “We are out of a lot of things we get from town…do you think you could take Pretty with you and pick these up for me? I made you a list.” At the sound of your name you perked up, looking over the back of the couch to see Changbin watching you with an unreadable expression. “Um, yeah okay. Pretty? Borrow Lixie or Sung’s winter coat and meet me outside?” You nodded, giving Hyunjin a kiss to his forehead as an apology for having to leave him so abruptly before jogging up the stairs to find the two hybrids in Felix and Minho’s room. “Hey can I borrow a winter coat from one of you? Minho asked me to go to town with Changbin?” You were slightly confused, having thought the town was too far of a walk and you hadn’t seen any car around the property in your time living there. You weren’t about to question them though and decided to just go with it.

Felix was up in a second, grabbing a thick coat and sweater from the closet before holding them out to you. You see, even though they had brought your clothes from your camp they had all been of the summer variety since you hadn’t been planning to be in the forest for so long when you had originally packed.

Since it had gotten so cold you had to resort to borrowing clothes from the hybrids, your current attire consisting of a pair of sweatpants from Jisung, though the hole made for his tail had been sewn shut temporarily for you, and a long sleeve from Jeongin.

You took the items from the cat and gave him a smile as you thanked him, slipping the sweater and coat on over the shirt you already wore before heading back downstairs to slip on your sneakers. The only thing you couldn’t borrow from there were shoes, unfortunately, so they would have to do. Walking out the front door you saw Changbin waiting with his fluffy black ears tucked under his beanie and his tail completely covered by his pants and coat. He gave you a soft smile before waving you over. “Ready to go?” You nodded, looking from the hybrid to out over the forest. “How long is the walk?” You asked, voice a bit wary at the thought of how long it could take them to get down the mountain and back in the cold.

Changbin gave you a funny look before shaking his head. “We won’t be walking.” You then saw that he was standing beside a bicycle with a metal basket attached to the front of it. “Oh! Oh that makes a lot more sense…” the bunny laughed at your reaction, shaking his head as he began pushing the bike towards the woods. “Come on, we’re gonna wanna get going so we can get back before dark.” You nodded, following behind him quickly to not lose track of him once you entered the forest.

The ride to town wasn’t terrible, with Changbin riding and you standing on the little pegs on the back wheel with your arms wrapped tightly around his waist. The wind bit at any exposed skin as you flew down the winding road down the mountain.

by the time you made it to town your cheeks were ruddy and your nose tinted pink. “You okay? You were holding on pretty tight back there.” The hybrid teased, causing your already flushed cheeks to deepen a shade as you ducked away from him. “Just worried I might fall off with how fast we were going…do you do this often?” You were quick to change the subject, following behind him closely as he chained the bike up and headed for a small shop that seemed to be somewhat of a convenience store.

The town was pretty small, nestled in a rural area on the side of the mountain near the base. It was clearly still very far from most of civilization, perfect for locals who lived scattered around the vast forests or hikers passing through on the way to or from a trip on one of the trails your husband had been telling you about, although that could have all been a rouse for him to create a reason for the two of you to go on a camping trip to the mostly isolated mountain in the first place.

The shop keeper greeted Changbin and yourself kindly, going back to reading her paper as the two of you perused the shelves. In a cloth tote bag he had brought with you the hybrid began putting things like canned fruits and vegetables into the bag, looking over the list Minho had given him briefly as he continued shopping.

As you stayed in the shop longer you began wandering off from him, looking over what the store had to offer when you noticed a display full of Christmas ornaments and your eyes widened. Was it really already Christmas? You couldn’t believe it had been that long since you had been on the mountain. “Bin?” You called out as the hybrid was already up by the shop keeper to purchase the items he had collected. An idea had sprung up in your mind and you absentmindedly fiddled with something deep in the pockets of your coat that you had remembered to grab before leaving. “Yes, pretty?” He answered, joining you after paying for the groceries. “Can I look around without you for a bit? I just wanna check out the different shops…it’s been so long-“ He smiled, nodding as he understood how much of an adjustment it must have been for you to go from living in a more populated area, at least he assumed, to living so isolated in the woods for months. “I’ll be a few doors down at the butchers, okay? Meet me by the bike when you’re finished.”

Once left alone you smiled triumphantly and began picking up a few things of your own, your plan slowly coming together in your mind the more stores you visited.

It was about an hour later when you finally met back up with the bunny, his smile bright when he saw you coming towards him. “There you are! Thought for a moment you’d run off or gotten kidnapped.” You laughed, hitting his arm playfully before walking alongside him back the way you came.

Since the way back was mostly uphill you both chose to walk with the groceries both in the basket and hanging off the handlebars. “So what all did you end up getting? Looks like there are a lot of bags here…” You shrugged, trying to hide your smile. “Just some stuff I needed…ya know- I didn’t have too much with me when I was left here.” He nodded slowly, feeling like you weren’t being completely truthful but decided not to press the issue further. “So how are you able to pay for things from the stores here if you guys don’t have jobs?” You asked, the curiosity had been eating at you since Minho had asked you to go to town but you hadn’t been able to find the right time to mention it. “Hyunjin. You know how sometimes when we finish our chores he is in our room painting?” You nodded slowly, confused as to where this was leading but you waited for him to continue. “Well we bring them to town and a shop owner lets us sell them there and we come by to collect the money from them every other week.” Your eyes widened comically at the revelation. You knew that the ferret hybrid enjoyed painting and sketching in his free time, and he was extremely talented, but you hadn’t realized he sold the paintings he made. “That’s so smart- I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots earlier considering he is always working on a new project but I never see them around the house for very long.”

The rest of the walk was spent in relative silence, the freezing wind and uphill trek making it a bit difficult to catch your breaths as it was.

By the time you arrived back at the cabin the sun was already setting and the two of you wasted no time putting the bike back in the shed next to the chicken coop and carrying your purchases inside. You were quick to place the things you had bought in yours and Jeongin’s room, joining Minho in the kitchen afterwards to wash up and help with dinner like usual.

“What are you up to, pretty? Changbin says you’ve been being very secretive since you were in town…not plotting to leave us, are you?” Though his tone was teasing you could tell some worry laid behind it. “Never. Just needed some…uh- feminine things.” The cat made a face, his curiosity quickly killed as he finished putting away the things Changbin had purchased for him. “Got it, no more questions from me.” You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you began working on the nights meal.

Late that night after everyone had already gone to bed you snuck out into the living room with the bags of stuff you had purchased earlier in town and got to work, trying your best to be as quiet as possible as to not wake the hybrids either their sensitive hearing abilities.

You were up all throughout the night making sure everything was perfect, having passed out on the couch once you were done as you were too tired to make it back to bed.

That’s where they found you the next morning, curled up with one of the throw blankets and clutching a couch cushion to your chest. “Pretty? What are you doing sleeping out here?” Jeongin was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, focusing on your sleeping form and not noticing the decoration now covering the room.

At the sound of his voice you woke, rising slowly to meet his gaze but it was no longer fixed on you.

There was tinsel wrapped around the bannister and handrailsof the staircase, as well as lining the mantle over the fire place with a set of warm toned string lights. You couldn’t figure out how to sneak a Christmas tree into the cabin, or where you would be able to find one unless you went out into the forest and chopped one down yourself, so instead you had set the presets you had wrapped along the hearth of the fireplace. There were four on each end, one for each of the hybrids, and more tinsel was laid out around them making them look like they were resting in little sparkly nests.

The whole house smelled of the sugar cookies you had stayed up baking as you decorated, the finished product placed on a tray for you all to decorate later with icing and sprinkles you had also gotten while in town.

Jeongin stared in wonder as he did a little spin around the room to take it all in, the other hybrids slowly filing into the living room as well as each of them woke up to start the day.

“Pretty what is all this..?” Minho questioned, a soft smile playing on his lips as he approached you. “Well- when we were in town I saw the decorations and realized it was almost Christmas! So…I wanted to do something nice for you all as a thank you for taking me in-“

Everyone was looking around with wide, curious eyes as the entered the room…all except for Changbin who looked physically tense at the sight. “Um- I know it isn’t much but i promise I’ll clean it all up afterwards!”

They all stood around, clearly unsure of what to do and you looked at them a bit confused until Minho spoke up. “You did amazing, pretty.” The older cat said as he made his way over to where you still sat on the couch and have a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ve just never had a Christmas before.” Oh, you hadn’t realized that they may have never had the chance to celebrate holidays before. Now their hesitation and curiosity made more sense to you.

Moving over on the couch you patted the spot beside you before motioning to the rest of the living room. “Okay um- come and take a seat and then I can give you guys your presents?” That seemed to snap them all out of the trance they seemed to be placed in, making their way over to find a seat either on the couch, an arm chair, or the floor. “We get presents…?” Jisung said softly, brown eyes as wide and soft as ever as he looked towards you hopefully. “Of course you do! You were all on the nice list this year.” You teased, a mischievous grin on your face as you got up and began passing out the gifts you had bought for them one by one. “Don’t open them until I say to, okay?” You instructed them as you handed Jisung his gift, seeing how excited the chipmunk was to be receiving a present.

When you got to Seungmin the hybrid in front of you looked confused, eyeing the small box you had placed in his hands curiously as you moved on to the next person. Changbin still looked frigid where he sat on the floor next to the beagle, causing you to hesitate as you held out a small bagged gift to him. “Um…Binnie? Is everything okay?” Your voice was soft and the bunny looked up at you slowly before forcing a smile once he saw the worry creased in your brow. “Yeah, I’m fine just- this isn’t technically my first Christmas…” you frowned slightly at his words, looking to Minho who simply shook his head and nodded back to the hybrid in front of you. “Oh- well um…you just look a little tense? I’m sorry if I upset you I know some people don’t like how overwhelming this kinda stuff can be I should have-“ Taking pity on you Changbin cut off your ramblings, shaking his head as he placed his hands over yours where they still held on tight to his gift. “Thank you, pretty. This is all so nice….I just don’t have very fond memories associated with the holiday is all. I’ll be okay.” Nodding slowly, you allowed him to take the bag from your hands before moving to sit back down in your spot on the couch next to Jeongin.

You eyed the bunny carefully, feeling there was still more to be said before you turned to look at the rest of the hybrids. Jisung in particular looked like if he didn’t get to open his present soon he’d vibrate out of the chair he was sitting on so you giggled a bit before speaking up. “Okay, you can open them-“ Before the words were even fully out the hybrids all began tearing into the wrapping paper excitedly, even Chan seemed to be full of childlike joy as he opened his own gift.

It wasn’t much, just things you were able to find in the small gift shops that were in town. Minho got a new cook book with recipes you looked over to make sure they used ingredients you had ready access to and would be easy for him to recreate.

Jisung got a romance novel as the hybrid seemed to always want you to tell him stories with similar plot lines, the hybrid didn’t know how to read but you could read it to him and teach him how to read it himself over time.

Felix got little soaps carved into the shape of a cat and little paws that smelled like vanilla and peppermint since he had been complaining about the scent less soaps they had currently being too boring.

Hyunjin got some new pencils and a sketchbook as you were sure his old one was on its last few pages and he was always misplacing his other pencils.

Chan got a bracelet woven with dark leather cords and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him stare at it with so much joy as he asked Felix to help him put it on.

Jeongin got a stone carving of a fox about the size of his hand, something he could use to decorate his room as he didn’t seem to have many personal effects and the way his face lit up and he nuzzled against your neck with soft whispers of thanks made your heart flutter and something in you preen with satisfaction that you did good in picking his gift…a strange new feeling washing over you as if you could feel the exact joy and excitement as the fox.

Changbin got a pair of thick wool mittens where the tops could be folded back and held in place by a button to turn them into fingerless gloves, something to come in handy on trips to town or when our doing the laundry as you had noticed he didn’t have any when you went out with him the day before.

Lastly, Seungmin, who stared dumbfounded at the baseball he held. You had noticed one day when you were helping Changbin put away the laundry that he had a mitt sitting on his dresser but you didn’t remember seeing a ball anywhere, thinking that maybe he had lost it or never had one to begin with your eyes lit up when you saw it in the little shop. The beagle blinked once, twice, before he suddenly felt wet tears slipping down his cheeks. Quickly, before anyone could notice, he wiped them away and got up silently to go to his room.

You watched with a twinge of sadness as he left, feeling like you may have made a mistake with the gift you had gotten him but oh how wrong you were.

A chorus of thank yous rang out, Jisung even launching himself into your lap and begging you to read to him from his new book which you happily promised to do later after the chores for the morning were finished.

“I also made some cookies for us to decorate if you’d like..? It’s not the healthiest breakfast but it’s something we used to always do as kids growing up was decorate cookies in the morning before our lessons…” Felix’s eyes lit up as he jumped from his seat, almost knocking Chan over with the force where the wolf had been leaning against him to show off his new bracelet. “Yes! I mean- yeah sure that sounds nice..” You giggled at him, shaking your head as you carefully moved Jisung out of your lap and gave both him and Jeongin a kiss on the temple before getting up and following the younger cat into the kitchen. “Can you bring the cookies and decoration supplies to the table? I’m gonna start on making us some hot cocoa to go with them.” The hybrid beamed, nodding so fast his fluffy ears seemed to bounce as he took the trays of cookies to the dining table along with all the various sprinkles and icings you had bought.

As you busied yourself with stirring the chocolately mixture in the pot on the stove, you felt someone come up behind you and give a gentle tug on the sleeve of the sweater you still wore from Felix. “Hm?” You questioned softly, not turning to see who it was though you smelt the strong smell of cedar washing over you. How odd- “Um…P-Pretty?” Oh- that was…Seungmin’s voice. You turned to face him slowly, afraid any sudden movements would scare him off. “Yes, Seung?” The hybrid had his eyes downcast, hands nervously playing with the hem of his sweatshirt as he visibly took a deep breath. “Why did you get me a present when I’m always running away from you…?” His voice sounded so small, so….afraid. Your heart ached to reach out and pull him close but you didn’t want to overwhelm him when he was finally opening up to you. “Like I said…you were all on the nice list. The nice list means you get presents.” You shrugged it off like it was so simple, but the hybrid let out a little huff. “That’s just what they tell small children to get them to behave all year…I saw it in movies.” He was pouting, and god was it so adorable you had to fight the urge to poke his cheeks. “So why did you really get me a present?” You frowned, still stirring the mixture of chocolate and milk as you turned your focus back to your task and away from the hybrid. “Because you deserve nice things, Seungmin. You all do. I know you’ve had to go through so many hardships in your lives and it wasn’t fair to any of you…I don’t know exactly what happened to all of you but I know that it wasn’t right and that you deserved and still deserve so much better than that.” For a moment the room was silent, save for the sounds echoing from the dining room where the hybrids seemed to be creating a competition out of the cookie decorating task you had given them.

Suddenly you felt arms wrapping around you and hot breath fanning over your neck where the beagle nuzzled his face against you seemingly to hide himself or maybe mold into you until you became a single being, you weren’t sure but the embrace was tight and you could feel his body trembling against yours lightly. “Thank you….for everything you are doing for us, for me-“ you felt his tears suddenly wetting the back of your neck and causing the hair there to become damp. “Seung-“ you went to turn around, to embrace him back but his hold on you tightened. “Don’t move! Please- just…just stay like this? Please….” You nodded, the desperation in his voice breaking something inside you and made you want to comfort him more but you listened to him, continuing to stir the hot chocolate in the pot as he silently sobbed against you before pulling away a few moments later. You stayed still a bit longer, getting the feeling he didn’t want to be seen in that state and when you finally did look back he was already gone.

You portioned out the hot chocolate for everyone, bringing it into the dining room on a tray and setting it down before noticing Changbin was still sitting on the living room floor with his mittens in his hands, staring at them with such a blank expression worry began building up inside you once more. You made your way over to him and took a seat beside him quietly, your shoulder brushing his gently as you settled. “Are you sure everything is okay, Bin?” You knew you didn’t have as deep of a connection with the bunny hybrid, his interactions with you having always been neutral even if they were in the more positive side. He always seemed to keep you at arms length, not outright avoiding you like Seungmin or being somewhat hostile like Chan, but not quite the warmth and openness you seemed to receive from the others.

He sighed, blinking slowly before he responded. “I was a Christmas gift.” Oh- you thought for a moment, unsure how to respond to that but before you had a chance to he continued. “I was bought for a little girl, probably about five or six years old? I wasn’t much older than her at the time either…She begged her parents for a bunny but they thought a hybrid would be easier to take care of than a normal pet…” A frown settled on your face but you stayed silent, nodding for him to continue. “At first everything was fine, she would dress me up in her dresses and we would have tea parties and play games but then sometime in the spring she got bored of me…She got new toys for her birthday and seemed to forget all about me. I don’t know why her parents kept me for so long, but I lived there for ten whole years…” at that your eyes widened, your voice softly escaping you. “Ten years?” Nodding, Changbin took a shaky breath and you watched as a few tears slid down his cheeks before landing on where his hands still clutched onto the mittens. “After the first two they moved me out of her room and down the hall…I think they forgot about me too. If it wasn’t for their maids remembering to feed me every once in a while I probably would have starved. I don’t think they even noticed when I climbed out the window and finally escaped but….I’m sorry-“

Confusion painted your expression instantly, why was he apologizing to you? “Changbin why-“ cutting you off, the bunny turned and pulled you close to him as he cried. “You did something so nice for all of us and all I can think about is how if there was never a Christmas then I never would have been placed in that awful home….and all this time I’ve been keeping this- this wall up between us because I’ve been so afraid that eventually you’ll forget about me too and I’ll have to lose you like I lost her-“ immediately you pulled him closer, his salty tears continuing to dampen the hairs at your neck as Seungmin’s had earlier but you didn’t mind. You just held him close as you ran your fingers gently through his soft curly black hair. “Shhh it’s okay, Binnie…I understand. I don’t think I could ever blame you, any of you, for being hesitant or distant with me. It means so much to me that despite all of your negative experiences with humans in the past you’ve given me the chance to stay here…and I’m going to do my dammdest to undo any of the harm those awful people before me caused. You know why?” He sniffled, pulling back just enough to wipe his tears before blinking up at you. “W-Why?” You smiled softly, poking his cheek before leaning in to kiss his forehead gently. “Because you deserve kindness, warmth, love…all of you. Even if it takes time, years even- I’ll continue to try and prove it to you all and make you feel it.”

Softly, you heard a different voice speak up from beside you as Hyunjin came to sit on your other side. “I was a present too…for a little boy on his thirteenth birthday. He didn’t really want a pet or a hybrid but his parents thought he needed to learn some responsibility….it was so lonely in that house- I tried so hard to get him to like me or spend time with me but all he wanted to do was go play out with his friends or play video games. I think I stayed for a few years but I didn’t really keep track of the time…it wasn’t until he got himself a girlfriend that he kicked me out and told me that if I came back he’d send me away to a facility where they use hybrids for test subjects-“ the ferret shivered at the memory, cuddling up to your side as he closed his eyes tight as if to will it away. “You’re so much nicer than he was…and you smell sweeter too- I never thought I’d meet a human who didn’t mind how clingy I can get. Even the others sometimes get annoyed with me for it-“

You gasped, thumping his head lightly before pulling him closer with one arm while the other stayed wrapped around Changbin’s still sniffling form. “Don’t you dare say that, Hyunjin. They aren’t really annoyed with you, only teasing…we all love how soft and sweet your cuddles are. I mean I know I do- and if they were really annoyed they would be a lot more forceful when they tell you to stop. Trust me, I notice things and they always have a goofy smile after telling you to get off them as if they don’t really mean it.”

Hyunjin looked back at where everyone was still decorating cookies, laughing and enjoying each others company, then back to you with soft tearful eyes. “You really think so?” You smiled warmly, leaning in to give a peck to his cheek. “If you want I can ask them to dial it down on the teasing towards you.” He shook his head, laying with his head resting against your shoulder. “No, it’s okay. I can always come to you for snuggles when they are being too mean.” He said with a smile, a slight teasing tone of his own in his voice that made you laugh as you reached up to ruffle his hair gently.

You stayed like that snuggled up with the two hybrids as you both watched the rest of your little family have a playful competition over who had decorated the best cookies. It wasn’t until you heard genuine shouting and arguing that you jumped up to intervene, having to pull Jeongin away from a very smug looking Minho while Chan scolded him for eating the fox’s cookie before he got the chance to show you and you began petting the youngest’s hair and reassuring him that he could make another one and you would watch to make sure you got to see the finished product.

Far away from the mountain, with the busy city life buzzing outside, a young man sat in a police station at one of the lead detectives desks as he fidgeted nervously with his wedding band.

“Tell me again sir, from the top, when was the last time you saw your wife?”

author’s note; dun dun DUUUUNNN~~~ hehe Merry (belated) Christmas!! This was an emotional rollercoaster I feel but I hope you all enjoy~ (mild spoiler warning but you may wanna prepare for like- some of the most angst I’ve ever written to come in the next two to three chapters- SORRY)

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @wolfo2027 @kiaralynn3838 @ateez-atiny380 @daceyena @bookswillfindyouaway @blackcatpandora @popcatx0 @corgilover20 @marshmelonie @sassy-snassy @straykidslover2024 @xgridx

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husbandhoshi · 11 hours ago

Text

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

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

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

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

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

"No, he's on duty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks.

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother clears her throat.

"We have arranged for you to marry someone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does Jeonghan know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's me."

Jihoon.

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

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

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

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

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

"I'll be in the foyer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Late spring is kind to Acros.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Didn't know you had a choice."

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

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

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

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?"

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

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's not around, right?"

Jihoon shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

“yeah. usually that’s a good thing. i’ve fucked people i know less about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate mornings.

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

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

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

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

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

"Shush. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Save me, red wine, save me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! No. Absolutely not."

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

[10:15 am, race 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likewise, your highness. Likewise.

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

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, did you find anything?”

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

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

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

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

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

If only she knew.

[3:45 pm, race 3]

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be a glutton for punishment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm picking your punishment already.”

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

“Nine is still first, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still beating you, you know.”

“Not for long! Come on!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t spare us the details.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

I guess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do top?” you announce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks anyway.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your family needed our help too, remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You ready to get stuffed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your party?”

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

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

“You’re coming in an hour, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

#mine #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen smut #joshua smut

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lazysoulwriter · 3 days ago

Text

Shield of Love - Pedro Pascal.

The early morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting soft golden patterns across the hardwood floor. You were curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Pedro walked into the room with two cups of coffee, his presence always grounding, always warm. He smiled as he handed you one, but there was something slightly hesitant in his expression.

It wasn’t new, this subtle tension. Lately, he had become a little more overbearing, always holding your hand in public, shooting warning glances at any man who so much as smiled in your direction. You adored Pedro—he was your rock, your comfort—but it had started to feel stifling. You knew he meant well, but it was time to address it.

“Pedro,” you started softly, placing your coffee down on the table. He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What’s wrong, cariño?”

You hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I’ve noticed how… protective you’ve been lately. I mean, you’re always protective, but it feels different now. Almost like you don’t trust something—or someone.”

His face flushed immediately, his dark eyes darting away from yours. He sat down beside you, his knee brushing yours. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered, the tips of his ears turning red.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. “Pedro, I’m not upset. I just… Is it jealousy? Or are you worried about something I don’t know about?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not jealousy,” he mumbled. “It’s just… you’re younger than me. Not by a lot, I know, but enough that it makes me—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Enough that it makes you what?” you pressed gently.

“Worried,” he admitted quietly. “Worried that people will judge you, or us. That someone will think they can take advantage of you. You’re my baby, and I just—I want to protect you from everything.”

Your heart softened at his confession, and you reached out to take his hand. “Pedro, I don’t need you to shield me from the world. I chose you, and I’ll keep choosing you, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

He looked at you then, his eyes glassy and full of vulnerability. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you feel suffocated. I just love you so much, and sometimes I don’t know how to handle it.”

You leaned forward, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I love you too. But you don’t have to handle it alone. We’re a team, remember?”

He smiled at that, his usual confidence returning as he pulled you into his arms. “A team,” he echoed. “And I promise, I’ll ease up. But don’t think for a second that I’m not going to keep calling you my baby. Because you are.”

You laughed, burying your face in his chest. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

In that moment, all the tension melted away, leaving only love and understanding in its place.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction

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girlofghosts · 3 days ago

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the way i loved you | harry potter

₊ ⊹ summary: after the tri-wizard tournament, you really don't think your best friend, harry, could've possibly survived it. but he always amazes you—especially after your little reunion, when harry realizes he really doesn't waste any time anymore.

₊ ⊹ warnings: best friends to lovers, first times but not sex, kissing, dry humping, mutual pining, getting caught after but not during, readers not a gryffindor but it's not even a plot point so don't worry

₊ ⊹ a/n: first fic kinda nervy... not proofread it's 3:25 am sorry but i'm barely posting this i kinda hate it like a lot

"...Has anyone seen Harry?" You find yourself saying as you try and apologize your way through the crowds of people in the area, finally landing eyes on Ron and Hermione.

Surely they'd know. And know they did, as Hermione turns to you and says, "Harry's still in there. Haven't gotten eyes on them though."

God, you're sure your heart was nearly beating out of its chest, and it didn't help that you were heating up just from running around in the middle of June in the swarming heat.

Hermione's hand on your back is all you can focus on as you try to convince yourself Harry Potter is not dead. He couldn't be. Injured, at most—

"Y/N?" You hear your name, and by god you've never felt more relief in your life over your name.

The familiar sight of round glasses askew and messy brown hair grounds you as you rush past Hermione and Ron admittedly quickly before halting at the sight—Cedric Diggory unmoving beside him.

"By god, tell me that's your blood on your face." You breathe out, a bit frazzled at the situation, moving to kneel beside him, thumb moving to wipe the deeply wounded scratch on his jaw.

He nods, and at your relief, he snickers, "never took you to be relieved over me being wounded."

"You know what I mean, god, you're so stupid—" your first instinct is to scold, to tell him he shouldn't have gotten hurt. That he shouldn't have been so reckless.

That he shouldn't have given you such a scare.

"Shh, shh," he sighs, still a bit breathless from it all, "save that for later when I'm not so... Winded."

Letting out a defeated sigh in return, you apologize, "I'm sorry. You just really fucking scared us, y'know that? God, I thought you'd died—" you pull him into a tight, desperate hug.

He just takes the hug, the warm touches, greeting Hermione and Ron as they make their way up to the scene as well, particularly engrossed in the solemn sight of the boy unconscious feet away.

Dumbledore finally makes his way up, students naturally clearing a path as he treads up the steps to the scene as well, face unreadable.

"Harry, you best... Clean yourself up, visit the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey can handle those for you, surely." Dumbledore proposes, more of an order than an offer, to which Harry complies with a subtle nod.

Leaning on you for support, he slowly but surely gets up, the other two allowing you to handle it. Hermione's soft nudge as you walk past them tells you all you need to know, really. She's in on it.

Hermione's always been the one to go to for anything, really. As much as she's enveloped in her studies, she seems to be a good multitasker in the sense she'll retain any information you give her as she's studying.

That's how your late night rambles began in your dorm, in the library, all of it. You talking about classes, family, boys, you name it—she knew.

As the Yule Ball approached that year, you'd began the talk of boys, and she was surprisingly interested. Talking about her own interests, particularly of Ron, though. How he treated her like some last choice...

And you, with your best friend, Harry. Though, you two went as friends, it felt particularly good having a multitude of people not know that. Thinking you two were one anothers dates. Especially during The Champions Waltz.

Either way, ever since then, Hermione knew when to leave you two to your endeavors, and to make Ron mind his business.

So when Ron seems to start to follow down the path after you and Harry, it's no surprise Hermione moves to grip his wrist gently to stop him.

"You're easily gonna need some kind of cast, unless you're trying to drink that god-awful bone growth potion again." Your arm is holding him up gently, and the touch has your stomach in knots.

"Don't even remind me, I'll never stop tasting that." He groans, leaning further into you, glancing over and up at you, "say, was Cedric... Was he alright?"

"I don't know." You admit, "I bet he'll be in the infirmary sooner or later. Surely."

Harry takes that as an answer, thankfully, and you two finally make your way into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey front and center as she ushers Harry in and to one of the many open beds.

It's a while that you two are sat waiting as Madam Pomfrey puts random disinfectant items and healing gels on his wounds before sighing and wrapping up her procedure by wrapping a piece of cloth around his neck to alleviate some stress on his arm, slouching it like a makeshift sling.

"Well, dearie, there's not much else I can do. Magic can't heal it any further. Keep this on as much as you can, alright? Now head up to your dorm, I bet you'll be seeing a visit from Dumbledore soon." She rambles, "now go on."

It's a lot of information, but Harry nods, adjusting to the feeling of it elevated before moving to get off the bed, walking fine now, thankfully.

"Can we go to the dorms now?" Harry asks, looking over at you as you two walk out of the hospital wing.

"The Gryffindor dorms? I can take you, yeah." You reply, not quite taking it as an invitation, but rather a request.

"No, no, with me." He shakes his head, "please?"

It's weird, hearing him nearly plead, but quite frankly you aren't against it one bit.

"Why? And, well, there's no way your roommates aren't in there too." Your eyebrows furrow, confused by the proposition despite wanting to agree without a worry in the world.

"They wouldn't tell, if they're even there." Harry shakes his head, "I just... Don't really wanna be alone after all that."

You can't say no to that. And it's true, Ron, Dean, Seamus, or Neville would never tell a single soul.

It's a long walk up the dizzyingly confusing, moving stairs you can never quite get an understanding for, and down corridors you swear weren't there before. Surely enough, you find yourselves in front of the portrait of The Fat Lady, who lights up at the sight of a new face.

"Oh, who in the world is this now, Harry Potter? A girl from another house?" She nearly scolds.

"Balderdash," Harry tries to ignore her words that'll without a doubt sprout into a lesson.

"Harry Potter!" The portrait attempts to scold him for a second time.

"I know. Balderdash." He repeats, prompting the portrait to swing open, as he hears her continue while he brings you inside until you're in the Gryffindor common room.

"It's awfully quiet." You hum, "and... Empty."

"Maybe they all went back to classes for today." Harry sighs, readjusting his sling, "I'll show you to our years dorm." He changes the subject.

You comply easily, trailing behind him across the room to find a staircase, many offshoots, but you don't get a chance to look too much before he's opening the room to reveal five beds, each with a respective end table and chest, appropriately decorated and left lived in by the others before he finds his own and lies down with a small groan.

Stood a bit hesitantly in the entrance, you take in the empty room, before glancing back at Harry to see him gesturing for you to come over.

You move to sit beside him on the bed, despite the tight fit. He finally speaks up.

"Y'know how you said you thought I died?" He sighs, reminding you of your earlier words.

You don't understand it's importance, but nod.

"Well, for what it's worth, I thought I did too." His messy brown hair splays against the pillow as he lies his head down finally to get comfortable, "and it was... Kind of terrifying. And I've fought a basilisk." He lightens the mood. Or, tries to.

"Yeah?" The low hum of your voice fills the room, nodding as you listen, wondering where this is going.

"I kinda just..." He shifts in the bed, ending up a little closer than before to you, "I didn't realize people were serious when they said your life flashes before your eyes."

That seems to have your heart growing heavy.

"It was that bad? What even happened?" You ask, before realizing... Maybe that's not the best question right now, "er... Just, it was that bad?"

"It was like... I realized how much stuff I regretted not doing. And like... I could die at any time. It was really weird." Harry rambles, "like, there's so many things I realized I should be doing and haven't."

"Like what?" You hum, glancing back over at him despite him looking right up at the top of the canopy of his bed.

"...I didn't get to tell Ron or Hermione I loved them, since I guess I've never been the type to say that stuff even if I mean it. I haven't stopped Voldemort. I haven't proven the Dursleys wrong, haven't avenged my parents..."

"Haven't told you a lot of things I should've by now." He trails off, adding, finally looking over to gauge your reaction. You blink a few times at the bluntness.

"Like what?" You ask all too quickly, shifting.

"...You know I like you, Y/N, don't you?" He murmurs, looking away and back up at the canopy, "and that... That I was gonna ask you to the Yule Ball but totally chickened out." He also admits, vulnerably.

It's kind of a lot to process since he only continues to add fact after fact, each more daunting than the last.

"And that one time I went to your dorm for the night, snuck in, hid under the blankets so your roommates didn't know, I really wanted to do that over and over again. I tried to come by again one day, but the entry was seriously impossible." He goes on, "I just really like being with you, y'know?"

"Shh," you shush him, gently, when you two finally get to make eye contact, trying to sit with the thoughts so you could get a word in.

The way he looks up at you as if you're his entire world has you weak, quite frankly, and you're debating whether to handle this with your brain or heart.

...You opt for heart.

In a few secomds time, your hand moves down to cup his jaw before leaning down to comfortably kiss him, praying he reciprocates.

Thankfully, a few seconds after, he complies, spare hand moving to find your waist gently, the other arm still against the sling as his lips press back to yours.

"I just really don't wanna regret never telling you. Or getting to do any of this stuff that I've always wanted to. Especially when it feels like we could die any day." He murmurs against your lips, forehead pressed to yours as he catches a breath.

"Yeah?" You murmur back, "we'll make sure it happens." The reassurance of your voice is enough to relax him in his position beside you.

You're a bit more aware of your position, halfway hovering over him as he lies down. Surely, if he weren't wounded, it'd be the other way around. Maybe. Probably. It wasn't everyday you got him in bed with you.

"...I don't wanna rush, but I also don't wanna wait anymore. Does that make sense?" Harry asks, hand finding your waist and gently ghosting it.

"I understand, I think." You agree and breathe out, "but we better make a decision quick because we're getting way too comfortable with the idea that they won't come back anytime soon."

He tries to move before soon remembering his sore arm, wincing before watching you opt to move for him, "where d'you want me?"

The sharp breath he sucks in at that doesn't go unnoticed before asking, "in my lap, please?"

Complying, you move to sit on his lap, looking down at him. His free hand finds your thigh.

"Are we seriously doing this?" You ask him.

"Don't have to. Just... Really want to." He says honestly, "you're really, really bloody pretty, y'know that?"

The way he acts and talks is almost cautious, as if you being on his lap was the signal to take initiative right now. Well damn.

"...Thanks," you hum, a bit out of it. You're about to have sex with your best friend, aren't you?

Eyes closing for a moment, he has to take in another sharp yet shaky inhale as he takes in the sight of you on top of him. At least you know you have an effect on him.

Kissing was oddly the safest option in this situation, a thought you never thought you'd have. But here you were, leaning down to trap him in your arms as you lock your lips again, careful of his arm beside him before your chest are nearly against one anothers.

He doesn't speak, kissing you like you're a necessity for life, if not life itself.

Admittedly, you feel him harden against you, bur you can't blame him. You're fully pressed down in his lap, kissing him, shifting to get comfortable here and there.

That doesn't mean it's not surprising, though.

"You already hard?" You murmur against his lips, pulling away enough to talk with him, one hand brushing the hair from his eyes and fixing his glasses.

He nods back, looking up at you, a little breathless.

Well fuck. You're having sex with the guy you've been in love with since your first year. The guy where your puppy love for him turned one random day into admittedly raunchy thoughts you found yourself thinking of late at night.

That wasn't the point right now.

He lets out a soft groan out of seemingly nowhere, head falling back against the pillow as his eyes shut tight, mumbling repeatedly, "do that again..."

"Do what?" You ask, not torturously, but rather confusingly.

"Uhm—just... That." He sheepishly moves a hand to your rear to try and press you down against him once again. Oh. Okay.

So this seemed more realistic right now. Kissing and grinding. Clothes on, all that. You didn't feel as timid now, knowing what was going on.

"I can do that." You hum back, assessing your situation before moving your hands to rest on either side of his head on the bed, hovering over him.

"But bare with me. I've never..." You decide to let him finish that sentence for you, and he quickly picks up on it thankfully.

"Me neither. It's fine. Anything you do feels good, really." He decides to admit in hopes of assuring you.

You nod softly, the high expectations you originally had for yourself lowering thankfully as you seem to feel the pressure lift from your shoulders.

Hips grinding, you press back down into his lap, your own hips stuttering at the feeling as you let out a shaky exhale.

Admittedly, he was in his usual uniform pants, and you your skirt, where this basically had you grinding your panties against him given the position. Any sensatations were heightened and your immediate shudders had him groaning.

"...Keep doing that, please." He pleads a little weakly. You didn't know whether he was always such a taker or if the daunting event had him needing to get taken care of for once.

You weren't not going to, either, though.

"I won't stop, don't worry," you hum, hips gliding over his, feeling him press up against you as you let out your own caught off guard whimper.

"You're so pretty," he repeats, hand finding your waist like before, before moving to move your hair out of your way, "thank god you like me—fuck."

"Yeah? Thank god I like you?" You let out a breathy laugh, before faltering to let out a small gasp, hips stuttering at a particularly good movement that you find yourself repeating for a few moments.

He nods, repeatedly, neck arching against the pillow, "fuck, oh," he bucks his hips, hand steadying yours, "bloody hell..."

You decide not to let up, wondering if that was what he'd need to get off, trying to think of what you'd want in his situation, and he reels.

"Hah, ah, Y/N," his hips buck once more, "need you to cum, too." He pleads.

It's not that you didn't love this, because you loved every second of it, but you weren't close. Not as close as him, anyway.

"Can't, 's okay." You shake your head, "not about me today. Next time."

He snakes his open hand down to your thigh before trying to get your skirt up with one hand and find your panties with the same one. You give in and hold your skirt up for him, wondering where he was going with this.

"Show me where to touch," he looks up, letting you move your own hand to guide his, right to your clothed clit over your panties, hips twitching.

He runs repeated circles over that spot, trying to find the right pace.

"Little faster," you hum, hand now on his thighs behind you, the other letting the skirt fall as you secure yourself on his lap, leaned back, hips experimentally grinding forward again.

"Now do smaller circles," your nods spur him on, and he's seemingly keen on figuring this out right here, right now.

He finally gets it, thumb on your clit, circling at the perfect speed, as you rolled your hips against his clothed cock, watching him twitch at your touch.

Not only that, but he seems to be trying to get you to cum first. His thumb persistent, trying not to get too horny from the sight and feeling of a pretty girls hips rolling against his.

"Harry? Harry, I'm close," you hum, moving back to hover more closely over him, "think you can cum with me?" You hum. You doubt it, simply since he seems so pent up, so sensitive.

"Cum with you? Oh, fuck," he rolls his hips up desperately, making you whine, and him orgasm, totally moaning out as he relaxes against the bed. He bucks his hips repeatedly, long, thorough thrusts against you.

"Harry, *please*," you whine. You don't orgasm at the same time, but during his, as he comes down. He simply keens at your reaction.

"I'm, fuck, I'm..." You roll your hips down, struggling, feeling him shakily move your hips with his hand as he continues to sensitively grind up against you, pants admittedly wet.

Your panties were no better, and you knew that, so you weren't one to talk.

You come crashing down with his meticulous movements he'd learned only minutes ago, whimpering before whining softly as your hips stutter and he guides you through it.

"You got it." He murmurs, reassuringly, rubbing your hips gently as you come down.

Quite frankly, you didn't even feel present after that. Here you were, in Harry's bed, limp in his lap, legs shaky with your head pressed to his chest.

"...We're dating, right?" You breathe out.

"Just let me ask you properly, like you deserve." He sighs with a soft nod, "later. When I can actually... Think. And breathe. And... All of that."

You like the sound of that. And he doesn't seem as stressed as he was earlier about all that... Existential, the world is ending stuff.

"What in the—oh, god, you two—" a loud voice makes you both tense, and Harry grip your waist a little tighter. Ron.

"Get out—!" Harry instinctively calls back out, "10 more minutes, I swear!" He sighs.

"...Did you two—" Ron tries to ask again.

"10 minutes, Ron." Harry huffs. That seems to get Ron to comply, thankfully, and the door closes behind him as he rushed down the stairs.

"...He's gonna tell Hermione." Harry huffs, sheepishly.

"She won't be surprised." You admit. There was no way she didn't see this coming with the things you'd tell her about your crush on him.

"What?" Harry blinks a few times before sighing, "y'know what? I... I don't wanna know. Just lie back down."

He sighs, bringing your head back to his chest and running a hand through your hair, and really, all you were thinking about were his words:

"Let me ask you properly. Like you deserve."

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strwbrychffoncake · 6 hours ago

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"santa, baby,, 3.2k words synopsis: after being spoiled by sylus all year round, you struggle to find the perfect thing to gift back— so you decide, what better than to gift yourself ? contains: sylus x afab!reader (no phys. desc. but later described to be wearing a dress so take that how u will) not specifically lads mc (there's just one line from his melodic waves card) ,lots of fluff ,starts off w unestablished relationship (& later unfolds.. the feelings are mutual) ,slight yearning ,angst if you squint hard enough ,sylus throwing money at u bc he can ,decorating ft. the twins ,kinda needy sylus ,teasing (goes both ways) ,soft!sylus ,kinda-needy sylus ,kissing ,sylus slings you over his shoulder (heart eyes) ,implied suggestiveness (+ twins shenanigans at the end LOL) that should be it.... note: managed to write an excuse into the story for releasing this after christmas heh.... i seriously was so stuck & maybe it was bc the amount of fics i cranked out after not writing fics for so long?? but i still like this & hope you will too :x dedicated to the sylus lovers: i love u i hope u can forgive me for being late w this

sylus has never been one for the holidays.

he didn't really have a reason to celebrate anything, so he didn't go out of his way to do so, continuing with business as usual while barely registering when these dates would come and go.

the only tell that such holidays were close was the small decorations set up around the base, courtesy of the twins.

he grew accustomed to walking into his office, a small christmas tree set up on his desk along with a string of little red lights draped across the front of it, small crow embellishments hanging around the place and paper snowflakes strung from the ceiling.

and he doesn't think he can forget the sight of the twins struggling to fit a ridiculously-sized (and real, mind you) spruce tree through the front of the door.

at the time, sylus only shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"what do you two think you're doing?"

"oh, hi boss!" they'd said in unison before kieran continued.

"well, you know, christmas is coming up already," he started.

"-and you don't have a christmas tree!" luke finished.

"...did you two cut this one down yourselves?"

"why, of course!" they answered together proudly.

sylus only sighed in response.

"do whatever you wish..." he trailed off, walking out of the living area back down the hall, some classic holiday song fading as his steps receded further.

this was all until you entered the picture.

as your relationship (whatever it may be) continued to grow with sylus, so too did your visits to the N109 zone, and by extension, his mansion.

for this reason, your more frequent visits reflected in the usually dark mansion: a cute yet out-of-place mug in the sink, pink towels in one of the bathrooms, some clothes left astray in the guest bedroom, even some cute lamps and decorations in the main living area (that sylus would make a teasing comment about once noticing, but make no move to take down, even encouraging you to add anything else you like. to him, his space was yours).

but in your most recent visit to sylus' place, you noticed the sheer lack of any change since you'd last stopped by about a week prior.

—not that he was one for decorating in the first place, but did he really not have any festive cheer anywhere in his little den?

when you barged into his office and spoke out about how the place looked exactly the same when christmas was so close by, joking about him having no holiday spirit, he only let out a hearty chuckle before offering you his card with a simple "then why don't you fix that, sweetie?"

he watched amused as your eyes glimmered with excitement, snatching up his card before happily scampering away to your laptop to begin your shopping, his eyes following you all the way till you were out of sight.

"such a simple kitten," he muttered to himself, smirk adorning his lips before he got back to work.

in no time at all, the halls were adorned with shiny silver tinsel (in which mephisto had so generously helped you put up), a faux black christmas tree was set up in the living area with cute twinkling lights, and silver and red ornaments came in several boxes (among all the other small decorations you had to put up in other various rooms).

when luke and kieran stumbled upon you opening the ornament boxes, they basically offered themselves up to help you with the tree.

you tilted your head at them, confused.

"you two really want to help me?"

"please, miss!" luke begged.

"we won't cause any trouble, swear it!" kieran finished.

"no, its not that— you can help, that's fine, but—"

"yay!" they cheered in unison.

"—if you guys like to decorate, then why didn't you put up any decorations for christmas?"

they blinked at you behind their masks.

"did you miss our decorating job?" luke tilted his head.

"yeah, we did more than we usually do!" kieran piped up.

you blinked at them.

"what are you—"

"didn't you see the little christmas tree in boss' office?"

"and the little hat by mephisto's perch!"

"not to mention our hand-cut snowflakes... those are difficult, you know???"

"...you call that decorating?" you deadpan. "what's so different about them this time, then?"

"ah," luke began, excited.

"we put up a bunch of mistletoe!" they spoke in unison.

"thats—"

"now, lets get to the tree!" kieran quickly changed the subject.

"yeah, im itching to put these up!" luke finished, eyes trained on the boxes of ornaments.

in your momentary shock, they seemed to have closed the distance in the blink of an eye, sorting through the boxes themselves and beginning to map them out on the tree.

while they begin their fun, you imagine being caught under the mistletoe with sylus, imagining the look in his eyes as he looks down at you before closing his eyes, leaning in, his lips moving closer and closer—

you snap back to reality, shaking the image out of your head.

you breathe out a sigh to try and calm your racing heart, turning around as you wonder if sylus put the twins up to that, or if they decided to hang them all up on their own accord.

you push the thought away as you join the twins in embellishing the tree, ignoring their bantering as they babble about how perfect mephisto would act as the tree topper instead of some lousy star.

"hey," you pipe up, hanging an ornament on a free spot between the branches. "what would you two like for christmas?"

the twins stop for a moment before looking at you behind their masks, tilting their heads.

"huh?"

you look back at them.

"what do you want for christmas?" you ask again, eyes darting between both masks trained on you.

the idea being foreign to them, they think about it for a long moment before ultimately shrugging.

"dunno," they answer in unison.

"well, try thinking of something. a new gun, another type of weapon, new matching masks, anything at all."

"hmmm...."

while they're lost in thought, muttering to each other about how their current gear could benefit from an upgrade even if its still perfectly intact, your mind drifts back to sylus.

what would sylus want for christmas?

you think about everything that he has, how he so easily either hands you or swipes his card without batting an eye, and where you are right now: in his mansion.

what could you possibly gift to a man who already has everything?

a couple of days later, sylus takes his leave for a deal, expecting it to be over quickly. he tells you to stay at the mansion if you wish while he's gone before he's out the door (not without taking one lasting glance at the decorated tree, a pleased smile subconsciously curling on his lips before the door clicks shut).

having him leave is both a blessing and a curse: you can easily brainstorm more ideas of what to get for him out in the open, but your heart seems to long for his presence within an hour of him gone.

which is how you find yourself plopping down into his office chair, spinning back in forth in it as you let out a sigh, allowing the lingering scent of him to envelop you as you think.

anything you thought up either seemed too simple, or it was something he could easily have.

jewelry? he had plenty, for you and him both, and could easily obtain more.

cologne? he already had a small collection, but would favor the ones that you said you liked the most.

vinyls? not a bad idea, but you weren't sure if you were willing to sort through his entire collection to find one that he was missing (or if one you got him would even be his taste).

when you asked the twins, they both answered "a new karaoke machine!" to which you swiftly shut down and left the room, mumbling about how they were no help at all.

not that his actual singing voice was any bad per se, but....

you shuddered at the ego boost he'd undoubtedly get from receiving such a gift from you.

like you needed to inflate it any further.

your mind wanders to him; the way he seeks you out in the form of bugging you, always finding a way to turn the tables on you and tease you after he started something, the way he'd never back down when you bite back, the constant petnames and lasting glances—

the way he'd playfully (or not) respond to something you said, on several occasions:

"i'm not sure friends is the right term for us, kitten."

you jolt at the memory of his words hearing his voice crystal clearly, remembering how close he was when he murmured them to you, the way you looked back at him wanting so badly to close the distance when the moment was interrupted, leaving you wondering if there was truth to his words (the look in his eyes definitely suggested it) or if he was simply teasing you again.

and suddenly, it hits you.

what if... i gift myself to sylus for christmas?

you ponder the idea for a moment.

as ridiculous as you think it is, you want more than anything to go through with it anyway.

in the worst case, he may just laugh it off and tease you to no end.

embarrassing at most, sure, but nothing you (probably) couldn't live with.

and in the best case?

"..."

you shake your head, taking deep breaths as you try not to work yourself up with your wishful thinking before rolling the chair back slightly.

with the anticipation of sylus' reaction to this genius idea, you start thinking about an outfit that would be fitting for the occasion.

and given the nature of your gift, the only thing you really need is some ribbon.

sylus was tired. the meeting of the deal lasted much longer than anticipated, and all he wanted was to return back to the mansion and spend his precious time with you.

he had half a mind to call it off and blow the place up for wasting his time before dashing back to you, pulling you close and never letting you go.

—but this client would serve to benefit him, so he restrained himself enough to power through it

(images of your cute, angry expression at pulling such a stunt almost tempted him but the thought of you berating him crossed his mind served in helping him to resist the urge).

when the day finally came to return home to you, he wasn't afraid to hide how eager he was, wrapping everything up swiftly before letting them deal with the rest, and hastily making his way back to you via driving.

when he arrived back, the first thing that floated through the entrance was some festive, almost flirty christmas tune.

he shut the door, making his way through the place before pausing at the sight before him.

sylus had texted you over an hour ago, with a simple "be home soon, kitten," leaving you to run around and prepare your surprise, ultimately resulting in your current position.

"come on..."

you're sat by the foot of the tree, trying to tie the last piece of ribbon over your head when it slips from your grasp yet again.

"ugh..."

for your outfit, you settled on a cute off-the-shoulder knitted dress paired with some stockings, leg warmers, and some pretty jewelry to finish it off— it was the cutest outfit you could put together while also ensuring you'd stay warm (considering you weren't too sure how long you'd have to wait, and the mansion seemed to have a natural cold air about it, even with the fireplace running).

you'd tied the ribbon into bows around each of your wrists and ankles, even going as far as to add a silly stick-on bow that was meant for wrapped gifts onto your chest, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of your plan.

you grasp the ribbon you're struggling with, curling it around your neck instead, thinking it a better place to tie a bow when a voice interrupts you.

"well, this is a surprise."

you almost jump at the voice, turning your head to meet with the man of the hour, hands on on his hips, head slightly tilted, and most notably...

his sharp, crimson gaze directed completely on you.

sylus' eyes drag over your figure, admiring the way the dress hugs you, accessories sitting pretty (your bare shoulders seeming to beg for his attention), adorned with cute ribbons all tied up around you, short laugh escaping him at the sight of the bow stuck to your chest.

"we-welcome back," you breathe out, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.

he slowly steps towards you.

"how did this pretty little kitten find her way under my tree, hm?"

at his tease, you manage to get over your initial shock enough to bite back a response.

"you know what it means for something to be under the tree this month, don't you?"

he's right before you now, eyes dancing with amusement as he continues gazing down at you.

what a sight you were this up close.

"hmmm, its been awhile. why don't you remind me," he bends down to your level. "kitten."

"well," you tilt your head slightly. "during this month, presents are placed under the tree, waiting to be opened by their recipients on christmas day."

"go on..."

"the presents are also wrapped up in pretty paper and sometimes decorated with bows."

"uh-huh," he nods along.

you've dragged out the explanation knowing he already knows all of this, and he's still waiting for you to explicitly say why you're there yourself.

"so... it seems you've gotten a pretty expensive gift this year."

he smirks.

"oh? the sender must be quite.. generous."

"quite generous, indeed." you agree.

he kneels down properly now, hand reaching out to grasp your chin between his fingers before tilting it up.

"this... gift... wouldn't happen to come with an instruction manual or anything, would it?"

his free hand is slowly tugging at the bow you'd just tied around your neck, loosening it as he keeps the end grasped between his fingers.

his gaze holds both mischief and something else.

admiration? adoration?

who knows.

you laugh.

"nope. the only thing you need to know about this gift," you reach a hand out, holding it against his chest. "is that it's all yours."

and thats what does it for him.

the second he processes those words, no other response is given except his lips crashing into yours, his scent (the real thing) enveloping you as you're slowly consumed by him.

before you know it, you're lying on your back against the floor, sylus hovering over you as he continues, lips dancing with fervor against yours, silk ribbon lost somewhere between you both leaving your neck more barren— not that you really noticed.

when he separates to catch his breath he does so for only a moment before diving down to kiss your jawline and down your neck. your arms are wound around his neck, panting as you try to catch your breath.

"sylus..."

"you are all i've ever wanted," he speaks against your skin, kissing across your shoulders before nipping at the skin.

"well, i th-thought, you might appr-eciate the pre-sent, hah" you manage in between gasps due to his ministrations.

he pulls back to look into your eyes, the love and adoration circling his dark gaze so deeply you momentarily get lost in them.

he cups your cheek in his warm hand, watching as you immediately nuzzle into it.

his eyes rake over you again, now slightly disheveled, still catching your breath in puffs of air through your parted lips, watching him expectantly as pretty marks already begin to bloom across your exposed neck and shoulders.

he shudders.

"i think... id like to play with my new gift someplace else."

before you can ask him what he means, your vision is turned upside down as he easily lifts you up with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder before standing upright, and making his way towards his bedroom.

though, on the way, he's interrupted (much to your embarrassment).

he's halfway down the hall when a voice pipes up out of nowhere.

"boss! oh- and miss hunter!"

its none other than the twins.

"sylus, sylus! put me- put me down!" you plead from behind, hitting at his back and kicking at his front.

"what is it?" sylus speaks curtly, paying absolutely no mind to your pleads and hits, instead bringing his free arm to hold your legs down firmly against his front.

"first of all, welcome back!" kieran starts.

"secondly, we were wondering..." he trails off, feeling a little strange.

"—when we'd get to open our presents!" luke finishes for him, kieran nodding along excitedly.

sylus deadpans.

"what?"

"well, miss hunter said she would get us presents—"

"—and we want to know when we can open them up!"

sylus lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"is that so? well, miss hunter, what do you think?" he turns his head slightly, awaiting your answer.

you've given up fighting him at this point, having gone limp in sylus hold, but respond anyway.

"you're supposed to open them christmas morning—"

"but didn't we miss that because boss was gone?" kieran interrupts.

"yeah, you insisted to wait for him so that we could open them all together!" luke accuses.

sylus' expression takes one of surprise suddenly.

"oh? is that true?"

"yes!" the twins answer for you.

"well in that case.. you can't make them wait forever, miss hunter," sylus teases, dragging out the pet name as he jostles you slightly in his hold.

the movement elicits a sound of surprise from you, gripping onto sylus shoulder with one hand and his arm that's holding you securely with the other, steadying yourself before lifting your head up slightly, enough to speak into sylus' ear.

"they can open them once we're done!"

you glance back at the twins as a pleased smirk curls on sylus' lips.

"you'll get to open them soon enough, just practice exercising a little more patience. we'll be ready shortly."

and with that, sylus walks past the twins, whisking you away to his bedroom and making sure to lock the door (should the twins get any ideas in their inevitable impatience).

a light snow had begun to fall and a quiet calm enveloped the base as sylus took his time to unwrap you, savoring you and keeping you warm from the cold, finally uniting together and become one another's in the truest sense, words of love and affirmations warming you both to your cores.

and sylus thought maybe, just maybe, the holidays really were worth celebrating, so long as it was with you.

extra:

the twins had watched sylus make the rest of his way down the hall with you in tow, waving at you as you mouthed apologies behind his back before you both disappeared behind his door.

"do you think theyre—"

"oh definitely," luke answered, knowing what his brother was thinking.

"hell yeah, boss man!" kieran cheered, fist pumping in the air.

"but in that case... how much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" luke wondered aloud, mask turning to look at his brother.

"hmmm...." kieran gave it a long thought.

"..."

"we're definitely not opening them tonight."

a/n: omg i finished it??!!? im quite pleased w this one, might need one more editing job later but i feel satisfied.... to the rafayel kissers.... what would u say if i said i had not a single idea for his fic.... im sorry ill figure it out, promise, i'll take a short (short) break from this one before trying to draft it & see how it comes out... thanks for your understanding......

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