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wuahae · 2 days ago

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hiii hehe :3 first off i'm SOO sorry it took me this long to get around to it omg i really wanted to go into this with a #Fresh mindset and also school Just started and already is pummeling me into the ground but . it's saturday Monday. and i am Here now and i just cracked open a cold one (ginger ale) and i am Ready to get into it!!!!

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

banger first line btw its so telling... also i remember workshopping this first scene with you and i'm so glad this is what you decided on! it sets the mood perfectlyyyy it fits the perfect amount of humor (SHAKIRA WAITS FOR NO ONE!!!) and ambiance and the ENERGYYY of it is so good like Yeah this is an opening scene of a 2010s romcom! its likeee yeah even though you're in this club at fuckass o'clock the ghost of your mother and all your expectations still digs into you... you can never run away you can only face the things you must!!!! also another thing i wanna say is that its kinda crazy how short this scene is but there's so many things that it establishes like Man... That's good writing... yn who is forced to be everything she isn't and as a result she cannonballs herself into everything she Shouldn't be... just so she can have the feeling of being nothing at all.... yeah!!! oh to be young and wild and free . But what does it all mean for the future...

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.

picture perfect palace hosting a picture perfect family but if you look close enough you see signs of the suffocation.. the overbearing preening.... WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN!! also the part about y/n noticing the little details about the number of terracotta stones... its like Yeah it's probably bc she's been in this palace all her life but also its like. no one would pay attention to those things if some ounce of her didn't care. used to. etc.

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.

only the real ones know who jeonghan used to be... YOU WILL BE MISSED 😭😭😭😭😭

"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.

the pacing is sooo good here like yeah... top 10 announcements you won't believe! also the detail of the larks is so good it places you back into the palace setting and also it makes the palace seem so like. big. empty. just a bunch of air and space.

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

this makes me sooo like. MY BABYYYYY.... the emphasis on like. you might be an adult but whenever you're dealing with your parents or anything royal it just feels like you're a Child all over again (childlike waver / cheap halloween costume)... i have nothing else to say that doesn't involve my own convoluted parental trauma but just know i #GetHer

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.

OWIE.....

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

i loooove this relationship with jeonghan btw idk if i ever said this to you but its like. vulnerabilities in yn that show she isn't just being disobedient to Be disobedient and like. she cares!!!! she just copes bad and has no one around to help her... not anymore :( also this scene in general is just really good backstory without being too monologue-y which is something i am Always impressed by... Good worldbuilding. good dynamic.

Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—"

also i think its so interesting how like. before you know it's jihoon at the door you default to your more proper princess "I apologize" smth that like. Fits your position more even though on the surface level you've long given up on being proper or whatever impossible thing your mother expects you to be.... yeah. Trying is still somehow ingrained in your being

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

unfortunately for both of us i endlessly need him. also reliable best friend jihoon meeowwww I NEEED YOOUUUUU. also yn's imposter syndrome and guilt complex is making me soooo sad....

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.

THIS IS SOOOFDMLDFK me searching up Joshua Hong boyfriend on pinterest to the same effect

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.

#foreshadowing

You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore.

nooo..... fuck. also me reading this knowing full well What happened that day.... rocking back and forth chanting My Shaylaa....

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

astrid who represents the last bit of your childhood and yourself and your Brother, all of which you wonder if you can even bring with you to acros, pressing your heart to her and all that she encompasses... Yeah

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

#smallblessings

"Didn't know you had a choice."

ooohhhh he's soo.... ITS SO ARC WORDS!!! of course he would say that....

"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."

this is actually the worst im clawing at my neck rn MDSFJSDFML is there any greater humiliation than someone not laughing at your jokes...... LAUGH WITH MEEEEE oh my god.... josh being hot and boring. the 10th circle of hell.

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

heol........... the first crack in his mask. hah... tfw you're so annoying u make resident stick-in-ass regret his princely duties

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.

he is SOOOOO..... I NEED HIM 😭😭😭😭😭

You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert).

i tried thinking of a horse pun with robert pattinson for a joke and the best i could come up with was cobert pattinson... robert trottinson... me when rob is destined to have bat puns no matter what . but anyway i love that yn is consistently a horse girl its so cute HSDFJLSFDKM

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.

THIS IS SOOOODSFMSDFLKJ aaron taylor johnson Where are you!!!

"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.

Oh that's not...... 😬 well Yes actually!

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling.

imagery that fucks immensely..

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.

prince joshua hong caught reading ICEBREAKER?!

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

also one thing to mention is that i love how after the truce is settled they're quick to act like. civilly/almost kind to each other like. they're both not Bad or intentionally hard-to-stand people it's just they're both put in impossible situations . a thin line between hate and kinship and love... etc etc etc. speaking of hate u are an expert at writing e2l banter the tension is palpable

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

HE IS SOOOSDFMDSFLK my favorite animal is jihoon being forced to do anything for the royal family. also you calling yourself a HARLOT is so funny. next up the list is calling yourself a reddit-approved hussy

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.

your descriptions are SOOOO good like theyre so Telling without being too wordy or needlessly purple-y like just a few sentences from you and i am #In it

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.

the thought of being fake-married to him is making me rock back and forth like actually Oh my god.... i unhinge my jaw and swallow him whole with my 8 rows of teeth.

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

CASCADA MENTION HELL YEAHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” ”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.”

u are actually the funniest person alive. also i think its soooo like. even though you came back home to have semblance of your Old life back your thoughts inevitably drift to joshua again... trying to fit him into the familiar memory of your old life even though you know it's a little funny to imagine him with anything less than 100 year old wine in his hand... and when somi asks if she should invite him you say No even though you were clearly thinking about it . What does it all mean. the dichotomy of having a hot boring HOT fake husband... oh the terrors....

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.)

GWHMASFDLFSDK the parentheses format is so funny i'm stealing that /hj. also im soooo glad you added in this scene about seeing him half naked its so romcom-y... so shenanigans-filled.... pornhub title: HOT PRINCE WITH HUGE TITS CAUGHT NAKED!

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.

like she's so funnyydfmdflk she's sooo me.

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

this entire exchange is so funny JSDFMLASDFK like i love when they're bickering and being annoying to each other i feel like they match each other so well also the little digs to each other to ruin each other's reputation... yn raccoon era. joshua stalker era.

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.

oh man...... an ounce of sincerity is all it takes.... me when josh sees the girl underneath the Act.... starts howling.

You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive.

OOOUUUUUUUUUGGGHHHH WOLF TEARING OFF HIS SHIRT JPEG.

also next scene with josh and his damn HORSE PUNS HES SOOOO ANNOYINGJFDMLDF but also this is the first time we're really seeing him not be prickly and testy and being Lame so its like. you show me your cards ill show you mine... etc. he's just trying to make you comfortable cause you really are a Team rn... oh man. OH MAN.

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

rubs hands together like a little fly... all according to plan. also theyre just soooo cute oh my god...

“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.”

NOOOOOOO

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

i have a lot of things to say about this scene and All of them are good... i remember the first time you brought up Piano as a scene and i was like. Wrinkles nose. at it because of my own personal experiences with piano being used as a cheesy plot device But i told you this then and im telling you this again Now i think its so well done... the dynamic between josh and yn is so well done like. they're just starting to blindly feel around how to interact with one another now that they're not Enemies but theyre still forced-to-marry but also like. they're also starting to be friends, even if josh was being a tad insufferable After the derby. like i love that they're both fumbling around at the piano and for Once in this palace yn is leading josh on how to do something right... yn teasing him all in good nature ("buddy, left hand goes here.") and josh giving himself the leniency to be a bit of casual when no one is watching ("aw, what?" he whines. "see, i told you i was no good. give me a second.") like its all just so cute. like watching two puzzle pieces spin themselves around trying to click. Pajama joshua is better than prince joshua... but even pajama joshua is thinking of duty... duty the knife and the wound... and Of Course josh brings it up when they're having a cute moment like OF COURSE!!! rubs my temples. yn trying to change the topic again. josh opening up again about wanting to play guitar because this is Pajama Joshua who doesn't know how to read the ledger lines and makes silly puns and not Prince Joshua who looks at you with a firm press in his brow... like everyone else with a crown... Man.

“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.” [...] “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.

FUCK!!! like this whole exchange is such masterful character building . joshua who doesn't know How to give himself leeway and does whatever mommy and daddy tell him because if he disobeys one thing then its like a slippery slope and all of a sudden he'll let himself think he can be someone other than a prince. vs yn who doesn't see the big deal because what's one misstep when her entire life is just one purposeful fuck-up.... but it doesn't even matter!! because even if josh was rebellious and learned how to play guitar and not piano and if yn was the good little princess her parents wanted her to be they would still be here!!! both at opposite ends of the spectrum. DUTY THE KNIFE AND THE WOUND!

like the whole scene is just so push-pull... conflicting coping mechanisms... they see each other but do they really. they see but do they understand... things to consider....... anyway this is my favorite scene. i love character building.

“You ready to get stuffed?”

GHWMAFSMLSDKVSLDFKSDVMLSDFK

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

Just like me...

“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.”

THEY ARE SOOO FUNNY like somi really is the star of the show... if this was in the 2000s she'd be played by judy greer

“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.”

i love how his humor slowly gets more crude as the fic goes on HSDFJLSDFK like him laughing at you being the #top in the piano scene... JOSHUA HONG I KNWO WHAT YOU ARE. I KNOW THE PERSONALITY YOU'RE HIDING. also it's actually a skill to casually describe joshua in a way that is injected with so much Need but what else would i expect from husbandjoshi...

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.

aw man... i always feel so bad for her like she's always trying... all she does is try 😭😭😭 like that thing about the jeonghan play too... she tries and its not good enough and so it gets discarded anyway because what good is trying when its not good enough... better to pretend to be perfect than to try and be yourself. and whatnot. my shayla........ what a sad notion... to be perfect and lonely...

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

oh meow.............. MEEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.............. you don't need me to tell you how good you are at writing intimate scenes you already know.... i also don't have much to say btw you look in my brain and its like tv static and the rainbow bars bzzzzzt bzzzztttt bzzzzzzzzzt

ok. obviously i have more to say. I will see you on the next part.

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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate mornings.

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

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

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

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

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

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Save me, red wine, save me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! No. Absolutely not."

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

[10:15 am, race 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likewise, your highness. Likewise.

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

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, did you find anything?”

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

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

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

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

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

If only she knew.

[3:45 pm, race 3]

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be a glutton for punishment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm picking your punishment already.”

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

“Nine is still first, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still beating you, you know.”

“Not for long! Come on!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t spare us the details.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

I guess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do top?” you announce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks anyway.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your family needed our help too, remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You ready to get stuffed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your party?”

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

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

“You’re coming in an hour, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” Click.

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

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

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

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

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.

—

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 -> ]

#recs #other more miniscule commentary for certain scences were put in the doc when i read them the first time HAHAH so you've seen them already

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anonymous-dentist · 2 days ago

Text

Maybe there would be less conflict on the server if there wasn’t a faction whose entire life hangs on causing chaos and clip farming.

The admins said it themselves weeks ago- Tango even said it to Pangi directly on stream, the creative kills are meant to be clips. That’s why pvp doesn’t count even though there can be some REALLY creative pvp plays, and even though you can get some really popular clips out of it (see: Pangi killing Tubbo.) It’s also why it’s now against the rules for anyone to give their lives for Red Team like Foolish did, that isn’t ‘exciting’ enough

It’s the same logic that Purgatory was run under: everything had to have the capacity to go viral. Former admins said that the teams were split the way they were to create the most conflict possible, and that seems like what’s going on with the Realm.

A lot of people have started complaining about how much chaos and violence there is on the Realm these days, and they’re also following the Purgatory Way and blaming everything on one specific group of people (Red and Green Teams) rather than acknowledging the flawed server system as a whole.

If Red Team doesn’t get an ‘exciting’ kill, they all die. This is inherently flawed because it forces people into specific actions while ignoring the purpose of the server: personal choice and freedom. The server wasn’t meant for lore! Tubbo said as much before day one, but this was immediately changed as soon as the Red Team was introduced. Now, people joining the server are forced into the Red Team and told they have to kill. Sure, they can not- like Sausage and uh. The majority of Red Team, who haven’t really logged on past day one- but they’re still bullied and attacked by the other characters for the simple crime of being on Red Team. Unlike the other factions, Red Team never got a choice. They aren’t allowed to change teams, and nobody from another team can join their team (except Jack Manifold ig.) They’re all forced into the role of villains with no choice to join, say, Blue or Yellow.

All this has done is created the conflict that people are complaining about. Nobody on Green can show where they live because it’ll be trapped by Ros or Aimsey. Pangi and Pili can’t sit on a roof and talk without being condescended to and accused of wrongdoing. Foolish can’t talk to Pili without being looked down upon by his kingdom.

And then the players who wanted a low-stakes casual server can’t join anymore because everything ties back to ‘Us vs Them’. Slimecicle dipped on day one, probably because he’s done wkth MCRP. How many players stopped logging in once there started being lore and conflict essentially forced upon them by the server’s very rules?

Every time someone on the server has come up with an alternative to the violence and chaos, such as getting people who don’t join to voluntarily get killed by Red Team, it’s shut down by the admins. Meanwhile, there appears to be favoritism towards the server’s ’good guys’, like Ros’ and Tubbo’s protection butterflies or rule changes that only seem to benefit them. While some of those rule changes are because members of Red or Green find out ‘loopholes’, it’s also kind of crazy how every rule change has benefited Yellow and Blue and hurt Green and Red.

Is this favoritism purposeful? Almost absolutely not, but it is convenient for causing conflict. Tensions rise as a result of all these things combined, and it’s all manufactured and really just not fun to watch anymore. Yellow is sick of being ‘targeted’, Blue is sick of Green and Red existing, and Red is sick of having to kill. (Green is just kind of vibing tbh, they’re chaotic and violent even without the killing rule.)

Even if the factions event ends soon, which I hope it does for the sake of the server, the fandom won’t be any less toxic. The conflict will continue in some way because this is what the server has built up as its base for content: conflict. None of it is natural, it’s all manufactured, and it’s all extremely Not Fun.

So don’t get angry at Red for killing and trapping, that’s all they were created to do. And that will never change.

#the realm smp #crit

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nimuraz · 2 days ago

Text

WORD COUNT — 2.3K

WARNINGS — have you ever tried this one? fingering, pet name usage, sub!jake, hand jobs, cum eating, sex toys (let me know if i missed anything)

NOTES — hii guys thank u for the support on just for now, i will be splitting juno up into 2 parts so stay tuned for the next part! at the end of the fic i did include the pics of the lingerie that u can imagine wearing hehe~

jake was the sweetest man alive. always bringing you flowers, buying you food, being the shoulder you cry on, yes everything about him was so so sweet. even in bed he was so gentle and sweet, you didn’t hate it by any means but you were starting to get bored.

“jakey… can we talk for a sec?” the hesitation in your voice is unmistakable—how on earth are you supposed to tell your sweet, caring boyfriend that you want to go at it like rabbits?

“yea, pretty. what’s up?” he says enthusiastically. somehow that’s making it harder for you.

both of you are on the couch, your legs pulled up to your chest while he sits normally, his hand resting on your knee. as you call out to him once more, the touch makes it even harder for you to find the words.

“in the most normal way possible… do you have anything you’re into? like… i don’t know… any kinks?” you try saying this sweetly. his eyes widen and a soft chuckle escapes his lips.

“mm… i dunno really…” he trails off into thought and to be honest now that he thinks of it he does wanna try some things out.

“i wouldn’t consider them kinks but probably more of like… things i would be down to try?” he says before laughing again softly. his hand on ur knee trailing down to squeeze your thigh.

“let’s hear it!” you say laughing shortly after. his hand on your thigh ignites a fire beneath your skin. ‘this is gonna be a long night’* you think, before offering him a reassuring smile.

“maybe you on top?” he suggests, biting his bottom lip with a smug grin spreading across his face. “want you to be a little rough with me too… tug on my hair, yank me around here and there.” he squeezes your thigh a bit tighter. your glossy eyes meet his, you nod your head softly, encouraging him to continue.

“make me feel good, but also use me, princess.” he whispered before scooting closer to you, his hand now in your inner thigh.

“use you…?” you whisper back. your breath was caught in your chest.

“mhm… do whatever you need to get yourself off, worry about me after.” his voice barely above a whisper. you look at him and smile before putting your legs back down, your feet hitting the floor.

you thought about what jake had said and ever since then you hate to admit it but you were so so needy and per usual, you texted jake.

you: jakeyyy

jake: yes baby?

you: can you come over? pretty pleaseeee

jake: give me like an hour

is that okay?

‘more than okay…’ you thought to yourself. it felt like a lightbulb went off in your head.

you: yea that’s perf muah see u then

jake: see you my love

you hop in the shower and somehow manage to shave everything. once you’re out, you head to your closet, searching for something to wear. yes you wanted to sleep with him, but you definitely didn’t need him struggling to pull down a pair of blue jeans to make it happen.

you sift through all your clothes until you remember—the baby pink lace lingerie you bought a few days ago, still sitting in its packaging. squatting down, you search through the shoe boxes, hoping to find it, and finally, you do.

you unpackaged it and smile to yourself before putting it on. glancing in the mirror your smile widens. you continue getting ready, doing your usual makeup routine and fluffing out your hair.

after what feels like forever, an hour passes, and you finally hear a knock at the door. you quickly put a robe on and walk over to the front door of your apartment.

“jakey!” you say softly before wrapping your around around his shoulders.

“someone’s in a good mood,” he teases, giving you a gentle squeeze in the hug. of course you were in a good mood. you pepper soft kisses all over his face as he closes the door behind him.

he lets out the cutest giggle you’ve ever heard come out of him.

“just missed you…” you say sweetly before dragging him to the couch with you. the quiet background noise of the tv playing a random channel plays as you focus on jake.

“so what’d you wanna do hm?” he says softly as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close to his chest. his other hand running slowly up and down your thigh.

“anything… everything…” you mutter before looking up to him sweetly. you shift, draping your legs over his thighs, so close to settling onto his lap.

the bottom of the robe rides up, bunching up on the top of your thighs, of course this doesn’t go unnoticed by your sweet boyfriend who’s trying so hard to not look.

“mm… wanna watch a movie?” he murmurs softly, his breath catching as you move your free hand to untie your robe, letting it fall open without fully taking it off just yet.

“we can… or we can do something else…” you whisper against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his back.

unbeknownst to both of you, the tv starts cycling through various pop star performances. this hour’s feature is sabrina carpenter, her playful voice and melodies perfectly complementing the atmosphere.

jake runs his slender fingers through your fluffed out hair. “yeah?” he whispers, his eyes locked on your glossy gaze. with one swift move, he pulls you onto his lap, you let out a tiny yelp causing the both of you to laugh softly. he thumbs at your outer thigh gently.

“what do you wanna do, pretty girl…?” he whispers before grazing your neck with his lips. he starts kissing so softly the way he always does. a soft huff escapes your lips before you speak again.

“wanna make you feel good…” your voice barely above a whisper. “wanna have fun with you.” you let out a louder moan as he starts sucking on the skin of your neck. his free hand moves to your shoulders, gently sliding the robe off.

you let him remove the article of clothing, it soon falling to the arm of the couch behind you.

“oh…” he gasps lightly as he looks down at you. the pink lace top lingerie covering just above your soft buds. “you look so pretty… not that you don’t always do just-“

you cut him off, kiss harsh and demanding. an unusual feel to what you both usually do with each other. his eyes flutter open at the sensation before he cups your cheek, deepening the kiss. his eyes slowly start closing again. he lets out a soft hum as you bite his bottom lip.

you pull away and peck his lips before shifting over to straddle him.

“better…” you whisper before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and dipping back down to kiss him again. his hands running up and down your sides gently.

“do you like it…?” you mumble against his lips.

“what? the surprise of you in this skimpy little outfit?” his tone playful. you smile against his lips before kissing him again. he takes this opportunity to rub your hips gently, this sparks an idea in your head too.

you start shifting your hips back and forth gently, a quiet groan tries to release from his lips but they were muffled by your sweet kisses. his grip on your hips tightens before he starts moving you himself, grinding you harder against his aching core.

“bed…” he mumbles against your lips before swiftly lifting the both of you up from the couch. he lays you down on the bed gently before putting his hands back on you.

“so pretty… my perfect girl…” he says in between kisses. you clench around nothing. “s’tied on the sides? how cute…” he starts toying with the ribbons on the side of the lace panties before undoing the knots on one side.

“i wanna try what we talked about.” your words come out in soft pants.

“only if you’re comfortable, angel…” here he goes being the sweetest person alive.

“but i want you to be rough with me too.” you pant once again.

“are you sure?” he gazes up at you. fluffy strands of hair framing his face as he dips down to get closer a better look of you. you nod quickly.

“i also have… toys, we can use.” you hesitantly say. his ears perk up. he nods slowly, taking in what you just said. you tug him back down by his neck, eager for more kisses, and fuck, he can feel you everywhere—your lips on his, your hands digging into his chest, clawing at his shirt, your legs pressing against his. a sweet whimper was all he could let out when you pull away from the kiss.

he pulls you closer by the waist, squeezing the skin that laid on your bones so perfectly, he thought to himself. he leans his body down to suck on your neck, his tongue licking stripes up and down the skin earning a soft moan from you.

“more jae…” jae. it’s what you seemed to only call him during times like this or when you’re sobbing after a long day and he’s there to hold you.

“i’ve got you, baby doll.” and that’s what he calls you.

the soft music from the living room tv drifts into your room as the tension rises. what a coincidence—your favorite sabrina carpenter song, juno, is playing.

he continues his kisses down your neck before untying the other side of the lace panties, his kisses get harsher and hotter. his tongue licking softly at your bottom lip. you instinctively open your lips just enough for him to slip his tongue in, all he could think of was inhaling you. your scent, your taste, the feel of you. he needed it all so deep inside of him. he takes the hand he used to undo the knot and slips the lace covering your bare core to the side before rubbing your clit in soft circles.

you moan into the kiss before trailing your hands up to his nape, tugging on the soft strands just like he told you too. he moans, but not like the moans you’re usually used to. he sounded so spent and needy and all you’ve done was kiss.

he starts rubbing your sensitive bud faster before dipping his fingers down to your soaking hole just to play with your arousal, smearing it back up to your clit.

“baby…” he babbles as you keep tugging on the strands, his fingers working faster against you. you buck your hips up seeking more friction, it just wasn’t enough. he chuckles softly against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip.

“just like that jae— mmh…” you moan out.

“you feel so soft… so perfect…” he murmurs into your lips, craving the warmth, the sounds, the touch—desperate to be consumed by it all.

“check- nngh jae- check the box under my bed…” you manage to whisper out. a soft gasp leaves your lips when he stops his motions.

he dips down next to the bed and reaches for the box, sliding the pink plastic box towards him then up onto the bed.

you smile hazily at him. “open it…” so he does.

dildos, vibrators, a cock ring, and… fuzzy pink handcuffs?

“ooo…” jake playfully says, earning a soft giggle from you. he takes the hand cuffs out and dangles them in front of your face. “so who goes first?”

“you’re asking as if you aren’t dying to go first…” you roll your eyes playfully before sitting up on your elbows to get a better view of him.

“you caught me!” he jokes as he puts his hands up in surrender, a stupid smile on both your faces.

‘this feels so fun…’ you thought to yourself before immediately gasping when his lips meet your collarbones. he nips and nips, your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. never has he ever even thought about leaving hickeys on you, god he always treated you like a porcelain doll during your intimate moments.

he sucks, and nips, and licks, all causing you to grip onto his biceps. he pulls back and looking at the small bruises forming. “pretty.”

you smile softly before sitting upright and taking the cuffs from his hands. you slowly guide him down the bed so he’s laying next to you before you kiss his lips again, the taste of mint and was that mango?* lingering on his tongue.

“off. everything.” you mutter, he wastes no time in removing everything but his boxers. “these too.” you say softly. he nods rapidly before taking his boxers off leaving him completely bare in front of you. you look down at his half hard cock and grin. “lay back.” and again he follows, without hesitation.

you loop the hand cuffs around your bed frame, the clanks of the metals clashing arousing jake up even more, his cock twitching.

“arms up.” you speak firmly, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. he glances up at you with those endearing eyes, knowing full well that you can't resist him when he looks at you that way. you finally lock the hand cuffs and smile sweetly at him. “just hold still jakey…”

it didn’t take long for you to have jake trembling under you. your hand stroking his aching cock as your lips left marks all over his abs.

“s’too much y/n please-“ a strangled moan leaves his mouth, only motivating you more. you wrap your lips around his red tip, leaking precum and twitching while his veins protrude. it almost looked painful. you chuckle softly around his head, earning a loud groan from him.

“think you can keep being a good boy for me…?” you tease before kissing down his shaft. he pathetically nods his head.

“anything for you please i’ll do anything…” he breathes out, his voice cracking in the process. you release his length and move to the side of the bed, leaning over to get something from your nightstand.

“just relax for me jakey… just wanna make you feel good…” you say reassuringly before lubing up your fingers. “deep breaths baby…”

the sweet whimper that leaves his lips at the feel of you in his walls has you shaking. “y/n holy fuck-“

you start pumping your middle finger in and out of him in a more steady pace before using your other hand to stroke his leaking cock again. he squirms and whimpers beneath you, you gaze up to look at his face— it was enough to have you dripping in your own arousal.

you tighten your fist on his dick and start picking up the pace of both hands. he’s shaking and almost yelling at this point. the hand cuffs creating red marks around his delicate wrists.

“you wanted this jakey didn’t you… you wanted me to play with you and be rough right?” you speak in a gentle tone, a harsh contrast to your actions as you add another finger. he can’t form a response, the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

“s’good…” he babbled. “gonna cum… please i’m so close y/n…” and then he breaks, strings of his release landing on his flexed abs and your soft hand.

you gently remove your fingers from inside him and look up at him before licking up his release that dripped down the side of his waist.

yea this was gonna be a long night.

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trickbxbes · 1 day ago

Note

Hey girl!

Love your work, especially the Dae-ho stuff and I’m so glad I found your page!!!!

If I can, can I request more smut… WHO SAID THAT

I don’t know if you need an idea, maybe if you do what I’d Dae-ho and fem reader are in an established relationship and they haven’t had sex in a WHILE, you got it from there ;)

-🦑

Omg I’m so sorry I didn’t see this but yes >:)

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 (18+)

[𝐃𝐚𝐞-𝐇𝐨 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Summary: You and Dae-Ho have been extraordinarily busy trying to stay afloat from all the debt. It led to long days, and shorter nights. Both of you spending less and less time with each other. But one argument actually helps release some long built tension :)

Warnings: Smut, Minor arguing, angry turned passionate sex, kitchen fucking, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex,

Word Count: 1,703

Your shoulders slack as you finally get home, holding your purse close to you as a reminder to stay awake. It was a long night at work. Your eyes stung from the dryness. You fumble for the keys to your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Dae-Ho. Debt had been weighing heavily on both your shoulders and his. Many times did you come home to your lover already asleep, and many times did you wake up to an empty bed.

Entering your home, you’re surprised to see the living room light still on. Dae-Ho was sitting at the dining table, back hunched slightly over his laptop. He turns to see you arrive, squinting his eyes and then rubbing them.

“Hi, honey. Wow, is it that late already?”

He checks the clock on the screen. You nod, rubbing your head. A migraine had creeped its way to the left side of your skull. You flick on the kitchen light to get yourself some water. But you’re greeted by a ghastly sight, dirty dishes stacked up in the sink. The chronic stress you were under turned your minor irritation into full frustration.

“Dae-Ho, I thought I told you to clean that…!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Dae-Ho leans back in his chair, getting scolded making it harder for him to not get defensive.

“‘m sorry, I thought I did it already. I have a lot of stuff to do too, you know.”

His tone made him come off a little more self justifying than he intended, which further amplified your annoyance. You hum, looking to the ground.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.” You mutter sarcastically. Dae-Ho’s eyebrows furrow as you go and grab a glass. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up a bit straighter. “It means I’m not the one in 250 mil debt, Dae-Ho!” You knew you’d regret being so harsh but right now you couldn’t care less. A dry chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t act so innocent. You’re in mil debt territory too!”

“I just wanna come home to a clean house!”

“You want me to do it so bad? Fine!”

Dae-Ho gets up from his seat and storms to the sink. “Y’know more than half of these are yours, though.” He’d say quietly, wanting an end to the conflict but also wanting to get that point across. You grip at your hair, your teeth grit. “Why are you making this so difficult? You think I like coming home super late and being so tired I can’t do anything but crawl in bed? I miss you!” You raise your voice, but lowering your volume mid shout. As angry as you were, you didn’t forget your boyfriend’s discomfort with shouting and aggression.

He’s about to turn on the sink, still heated. “I miss you too—!” Until he saw you pulling your hair, making him instinctively grab your wrist. “Stop that-!”

You jerk, trying to release yourself. “I wouldn’t be this pissed off if you had just did what you said!” Your struggling made you step back, now feeling the cold kitchen counter on your back.

“You think I like going to bed alone too? Barely being able to see you, huh?!”

His breath is hot on your face, the close proximity being mere inches. You find yourself staring up at him. Being pinned to the counter, his rough grip on your wrist, it made a certain heat rise in your stomach. You both don’t say anything for a few minutes, just glaring at each other. Until you use your free hand to grab the side of his neck and pull him in for a searing kiss.

Dae-Ho makes a surprised sound before reciprocating, groaning against your lips. He lets go of your wrist, instead choosing to grab your hips and pull you closer to his body. He presses you further against the counter, making you moan lightly as you had your hands tangled in his hair.

You lift a leg up, giving Dae-Ho a chance to grab your under thigh and lift your leg higher. You feel his bulge against your wet core, he was already getting hard. Had it really been that long since you two have done it?

You hook your leg around his waist, grinding against his body. A deep rumble leaves Dae-Ho’s throat, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you both. “Fuck…” He pants for air. Disappointment and anxiety creeped up faster than you could’ve imagined. This was the first time you two were this passionate in awhile. You couldn’t let him pull away now.

You grab the cuff of his shirt and yank him back toward you. Oh that shirt, you always hated it. The design reminded you of some clown graffiti you’d see in a sketchy part of town. You’d rather see your boyfriend without it on.

As you kiss him again, you slide your hands up underneath his shirt. His skin was hot, his hips stuttered as you ran your fingers over his abs. Dae-Ho shuddered a little. But he leaned closer, his tongue dancing along with yours. He’d attempt to speak to you in between your hot temperature kisses.

“Wait—is this… okay?”

You cup his cheeks and look him in the eyes, you could see you both were much less angry. But the passion brewing was one you couldn’t let simmer. You needed that shit to over boil.

“Dae-Ho. Fuck me. Now.”

Dae-Ho did not have to be told twice as he dived back into your lips. The passionate exchange only broken for a moment as you made him take that ghastly shirt off. His hand slowly slid down your pants as your hands slid around his neck. Dae-Ho groans in your mouth as his hand feels your soaking folds. You whimper in pleasure, trying to somehow get closer to him. He starts to rub your clit in smooth slow circles. You whine out, Dae-Ho letting your sounds fill the room so he could hear you clearly. His mouth was slightly open, as if mimicking the shape your mouth was making.

He slips in a finger, curling it and making you bite your lip. Dae-Ho thumbs the bottom of your lip. He leans in close.

“Don’t. I wanna hear you.”

His tongue swirls around yours before his lips connect for a quick peck. He inserts another finger, now drawing out all your sounds. He plunged them in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You still had both your hands on the back of his neck.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck… Dae-Ho…!” You couldn’t take it, you needed more. You took off your shirt, and aggressively pulled down your bottoms. You’re left in just your bra and underwear for him. His fingers didn’t leave your dripping cunt, continuously finger fucking you. You felt yourself getting close, but this isn’t how you wanted to go. “Dae-Ho~! Get… inside!” Your command somehow made the male even harder, his cock stirring in his pants.

He removes his fingers so he could lift you up onto the kitchen counter. While you desperately removed your panties, he took off his pants and got his member free.

Dae-Ho lines up with your entrance. Your wetness being more than needed for a lubricant. “Fuck, you’re so wet. All this cause of me?” He’d remark with a light cocky smirk. You glare up at him, still needing your nerves fucked out of you.

“Shut up.”

The male narrows his eyes and enters you with one thrust, bottoming out. You cry out, wet enough where it didn’t hurt, just raw pleasure. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your own words. Dae-Ho barely gives a moment to adjust as he starts ramming into you at a fast pace. Pumped full with adrenaline, you didn’t mind at all. It almost felt like having sex for the first time. But you’ve never felt Dae-Ho’s thrust so desperately before. He had his hands on your hips, pushing you further down on him to meet every thrust. You were seeing stars, almost drifting away from the feeling. But then, you hear a,

“I love you.”

Dae-Ho was looking at you with a deep sincerity. You gaze into his eyes. Of course, now you remember, you were fighting. Your heart grew so full. You cup his face, and lull him closer.

“I-I love you too!”

You both kiss lovingly, now out of pure passion and love for each other, than out of lust. His rhythm struck slightly out of order, and you knew he was close. Before you could even hold out for him though, you come undone. You cry out his name, your head arched toward the ceiling. Dae-Ho sped up, his thrusts sloppy, but yearning.

“(Y,n)… (Y,n)…! Shit…!”

He lets out a held back roar, finishing inside of you. You cling onto him, whining with broken gasps. Your hands drift from his back to his shoulders as the two of you calm down.

Panting, Dae-Ho rests his head against your collarbone. You weakly rub his head, closing your eyes. He slowly comes out of you, creating a light squelching sound.

“Don’t be mad…I love you.”

His tone was soft, hesitant. You recognized this vulnerability from him, and slowly wrap your arms around him. “I love you too…” You say sincerely. Dae-Ho doesn’t say anything back, but he does scoop you up bridal style in his arms.

You’re carried back to your bed, and he lays beside you. It was late, and you were more than happy to get some rest after that. You can safely say you’re no longer angry. To double check on that, Dae-Ho mumbles,

“I’ll do the dishes in the morning, I promise.”

He gently pushes a strand of hair from your face. You scoot closer, signaling your boyfriend to embrace you in his open arms. He plants a kiss on your head. You listen to his heartbeat, the way it beat so fast.

“I’m sorry…”

“…I’m sorry too…”

The two of you lay there together, drifting off into a well needed slumber. But for the first time in awhile, you felt like your relationship with your lover was secure. And how, that’s one way to get out of doing dishes.

#dae ho #dae ho x reader #dae ho squid game #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game x reader #squid game smut

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 days ago

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How does wifey feel when Joe grows out his facial hair?

Another thing that makes her go extra feral lol

She has tried time and time again to get him to grow it out and keep it, but Joe would usually end up getting annoyed, so he would cut it off which ended up with wifey pouting.

However when he did have it, she was constantly up under him even more than usual.

Joe would simply be laying down on the couch or minding his own business in his office when she would casually just sit on his lap and start to stroke his face and play with it.

He's used to it and just lets her do her thing since he knows in the back of his mind, he was definitely going to cut it all off again.

But of course you had to ask.

“You're going to keep it this time, right?”

Joe looked down at you and snorted which instantly made you roll your eyes.

“You always promise to keep it and then cut it off when I least expect it!”

“Babe, I literally didn't say anything.”

“Your reaction to me asking was enough.” You replied as you got more comfortable on his lap.

“You know I have one rule if you want to stay in here with me on these calls.”

“Hmm, and what's that baby?” You asked while batting your eyelashes.

“Don't play dumb.”

“I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Burrow.”

“You need to behave yourself.” He told you as he wrapped an arm around your waist and turned your head so he could kiss you.

“I'm always on my best behavior.”

“I beg to differ.”

“But stop trying to change the subject! We're keeping it this time.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Babe!” You exclaimed as you lightly hit his shoulder.

“What!? All I said was mm hmm.”

“You get on my last nerve.”

“I think I have some that I can spare.” Joe told you and all you did was stare at him before rolling your eyes.

“Forget it. I'm not asking anymore.”

“Baby, you're going to ask as soon as you see stubble next time.”

“So what!? I can't help that I love it.”

“Maybe one day, but not now.”

“What's that saying? Happy wife, happy life? And wifey is NOT happy right now.”

“You want me to eat you out?” Joe asked without hesitation and knew that was one of the fastest ways to shut you up.

“That is...... not the answer to get you out of everything.”

“It's been working since 2018 and I haven't heard you complain once. So, you don't want me to do it?"

“I…”

“I have fifteen minutes before this next meeting.” Joe told you as he kissed you and his hand made its way into your shorts. Realizing you weren't wearing anything underneath made him smirk.

Once Joe took his hand out of your shorts, he placed two of his fingers in his mouth tasting you.

“I didn't hear the word no, so get on the couch. Now.”

“I'll do it this time, but this isn't over. I'm going to get you to grow a full beard one way or another.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe shiesty #nfl imagine #nfl #see me through you

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shouyuus · 21 hours ago

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could i request car mechanic!vi and fem!reader hcs and little moments of their daily life now that they’re officially dating? 🤭🤭 you write vi so wellll nghghhh 😫

sfw fluffy hcs for car mechanic!vi au bulletpoints bc im in that mood today

breakfast is always a long, drawn out thing -- almost ritualistic, bc "breakfast is the most important meal of the day, sweets! c'mon, you oughtta know that." and you take turns making it, either for each other or for whoever else is in the house that day (sometimes vander, sometimes silco will drop by for coffee, sometimes powder and ekko will stay the night, in which case ekko almost always makes breakfast, bc powder's very particular about her pancakes)

you can't rmbr the last time you sat in a chair proper bc vi's always pulling you into her lap (except at the dinner table, where she tries to show a TAD more decorum, esp if you're having dinner at your place instead of hers, but even then, she'd pull her chair close to yours, just so she can press her leg against yours or reach out to put a palm on your thigh)

on the days that you're not together, you definitely text vi a bit more -- she's got her hands full of repairs, and your biggest worry on the daily is what you wanna make for dinner that day, and if you need to drop by the grocery store before you head over to vi's

the first time you try to teach vi how to use chopsticks, you end up just plopped in her lap, feeding her off your plate bc she claims that "it's easier this way" and that she can "watch your technique better from up close" although it's so stupidly obvious that she's not looking at your hands bc she can't keep her eyes off your lips and how you can't stop giggling when you twist around to feed her

on the lazy summer nights when all the work has been done and all the stuff that can still be done can wait till tomorrow, vi takes you up the hill behind the city, to her favorite little outlook, tucked into the side of a backroad that no one except the true locals know about -- from there, you can see the entire city spread out beneath you, sprawling net, cast in light and shattered stars. "i used to hate this place... just a little, cause i thought i'd never get out of it," she tells you. "and now?" you ask. "now... i kinda love it... it's my home and... well, it gave me you, didn't it?"

vi thanks the heavens that you only live a few streets over, and that it takes her about 5 minutes on her bike to get between your houses (even though, yeah, you do technically live on the rich side of town, just across the train tracks), bc sometimes, 5 minutes is just about as long as she can wait before she starts to feel fidgety about the thought of seeing you again

the nights she spends at yours are always fun -- your bed's more than big enough for the pair of you to sprawl out on; you'd flick through channels on tv till something catches your eye, or carry as many snacks as either of you can up and post up for a movie marathon. it'd always end up with one of you lying against the other, your body curled between her legs or the other way around

sometimes she falls asleep against you, and you'd let the entire movie play before trying to slip out from behind her to turn off the lights. she always wakes up when you move, and she always grumbles and tries to pull you back; you always laugh and promise her that you'll be right back, to which she'd always pout but it morphs into a smile as she watches you patter around the room in a big t-shirt, turning off the lights and clearing the snacks off the bed before climbing back into her arms

she always keeps her hand tucked around your hip whenever the two of you go out anywhere, or she's got her hand pushed into the back pocket of your jeans or shorts or whatever the hell else; she claims its just bc she wants you close; you both know that it's also bc she wants zero questions as to who you belong to when you're walking down the street

when her hair gets long in the back, she lets you braid it and in it up with cute lil clips bc she likes the way it makes you smile

she almost loses it a little when she wakes up one day at yours and finds that you've put out an extra cup for her, and bought her a new toothbrush to use; it's then that she realizes she's already left like a quarter of her wardrobe here and that your parents no longer even look up when she comes downstairs in the morning, bedhead and all, to greet them, and that they've somehow always already made coffee for her, just the way she likes

"hey prett girl, can i ask you something?" "yeah, sure." "what... do you think about moving in together?" "hm? oh --" "not like right this moment or anything but --" "i'd love to. i mean, it does get a little complicated splitting time between my place and yours." "oh... that was -- i thought you'd be a bit more..." vi swallows, trailing off. you cock your head and fix her with a look, "a bit more what? hesitant? i mean... we're basically together all the time now anyway. it'd just make things easier, right? and --" a blush flushes into your cheeks as you look away, clearing your throat, "it'd -- it'd be nice not to have to be so q-quiet, sometimes."

vi nearly blacks out at your words; and yeah, so what if she starts looking at places that exact afternoon?

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sabsberries · 2 days ago

Text

back to you - h.s.

summary - harry and y/n are forced into close quarters unexpectedly, but, despite the tension, it was the best thing that could've happened to them.

w.c. - 5.9k

warnings - swearing, use of Y/N, SMUT, fingering, p in v, oral (fem! receiving), pussy spitting, bondage, happy ending (sorry to my angst lovers)

part 1 can be found here - this also took me a week to write, and I think it's obvious where I finally got motivated...

Harry was fucked.

Completely and utterly fucked.

Despite both him and Y/N agreeing that their breakup was mutual, deep down, the pair knew she had been the one who insisted and fought for the breakup to take place, and he just went along with it to keep her happy. She broke up with him.

Harry also knew that he was too full of pride, and ego, to tell his friends that the relationship he claimed 'shaped him as a person', and 'gave him a reason to wake up every morning', had ended, and that it was partially (mainly) his fault. He stayed silent until it became impossible to ignore, and reluctantly made the phone call to his friends and family, trying his hardest to keep the embarrassing details to a minimum.

So when he got the panicked text from Sarah at seven o'clock at night, asking if he could come over and babysit because Mitch had managed to break his finger falling over in the shower, Harry was all in.

He jumped out of bed, pulled on the clothes he was wearing the day prior so that no one could tell he had spent his Friday laying in bed watching shitty movies, and rushed into his car.

However, the last thing Harry expected to see when he finally arrived was Sarah's car missing, and Y/N's car in its place. He paused in the driveway, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Had they forgotten that they called him? Was he taking too long so they called Y/N as a last resort instead?

He pulled up next to her car, paused, and turned down the radio. As much as he hated to admit it, even seeing her car was causing his chest to tighten and his throat to ache, and the nagging voice in the back of his mind was slowly getting louder, begging for him to put his seatbelt back on, turn around, and go home.

After taking a few minutes to compose himself, Harry hopped out of the car, slamming the door shut and reaching over to place his palm on the bonnet of Y/N's. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled. "Still warm."

He began making his way towards the front door, his brain spewing possible escape routes with every step he took. The door swung open before he was even arm length away.

"You're here! Did you find the house oka-- Harry." Y/N cut herself off, a half unscrewed bottle of wine in one hand, and the doorknob in the other.

"Me." He deadpanned, throwing her a tightlipped smile. "Expecting someone else?" He shimmied past her, ignoring the way she looked like a guilty teenager who just got caught replacing their parents vodka with water, and pulled off his coat.

"Uhm.. no. Not really. Just, y'know, pizza..." Her voice trailed off unconvincingly.

"Pizza?"

"Yeah? What's wrong with me ordering pizza?" She questioned, slamming the door shut and turning to look at him, an evident accusatory look on her face mirroring that in her voice.

"Nothing. What toppings? I'm starving. And finish opening that bottle." He grumbled. "Where's the little man?"

"Um, pizza is margarita, I can't finish opening the bottle because I can't find the corkscrew, and he is fast asleep upstairs with some white noise playing."

Harry merely raised his eyebrows in what was either shock, surprise, or a mix of both, and made his way over to the kitchen. Y/N trailed after him, grumbling something about how he hadn't even said "Hello," to her yet.

"Corkscrew's in the drawer next to the fridge." Harry explained, pulling it out and showing it to her. "Pass me the bottle."

"So," Harry scrunched his face up slightly as he pulled out the cork, smirking at the satisfying 'Pop!' that followed suit, "Clearly it wasn't pizza that you were expecting at the door."

Y/N paused, and turned her head towards him ever so slightly. "What?" Her voice was slightly breathy as she forced the word out as quickly as possible, and her eyes were locked on Harry's smug face.

"Earlier at the door. You opened it, saw me, and started stuttering about pizza."

Y/N scoffed. "I didn't stutter. I don't stutter. You just caught me off guard. That's all."

"I caught you off guard?" Harry questioned, reaching to grab two wine glasses and pouring in a hefty amount. "Is that all?"

"I don't know what you-- thanks. I don't know what you want me to say!" Y/N defended, grabbing the wine glass he was offering to her and taking a gulp.

Harry stayed silent, and resorted to taking small sips from his glass. For the first time in almost a year, the silence between them wasn't hostile. There were no lingering glances, no scoffs when the other moved, and, the best in Harry's opinion, his brain wasn't fighting itself trying to think of things to get her to finally talk to him.

The noise of the doorbell rang throughout the house, contrasting the silence and causing Harry's head to rattle slightly.

"I'll grab that." Y/N smiled weakly, passing her glass to Harry for him to refill, and rushing over to the door.

Harry stayed behind in the kitchen, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned against the counter. The sound of muffled voices at the door echoed faintly through the house, and he couldn’t help the way his ears pricked up, trying to catch pieces of the conversation. He knew it was just the pizza, but his stomach still did that irritating little flip it always seemed to do around her. Old habits die hard, apparently.

Y/N returned a moment later with a pizza box balanced in one hand and a slight smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Dinner is served,” she announced, setting the box down on the counter and reaching for her wine glass.

Harry arched a brow, eyeing the box. “Margarita, you said?”

“Yep. Nice and simple.” She opened the box and grabbed a slice, her movements relaxed. "Much better than your weird combinations."

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes as he reached for his own slice. “It’s not weird, it’s called flavour. But thanks for sparing me the judgement tonight.”

“Oh, I still judge you, don’t worry,” she teased, taking a bite.

That earned a laugh from him—an actual, genuine laugh that surprised them both. The awkward tension that had been hovering between them like a storm cloud seemed to crack, just a little. Harry glanced over at her, catching the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes as she chewed.

"How come you're here?" Harry asked, finally taking a bite from the pizza.

Y/N looked at him for a few seconds, almost as if she were coming up with an answer, before she finally spoke. "I had a date."

Harry stopped chewing. "A date?"

"Mhmm. I was getting ready when Sarah called me and told me what happened, and asked if I could come here and babysit. I told her I could, but I had to cancel my date, and she told me to just move it to here. She never mentioned you, though. That's why I didn't expect to see you."

"Ahh." Harry nodded his head, and continued eating his pizza, focusing on unclenching his jaw so that it wouldn't be so difficult to chew. "And, I've been here for, what, fifteen minutes now. Where's the lucky guy?"

"I cancelled." Y/N pursed her lips. "I actually used one of your excuses."

Harry scoffed, "When have I ever used an excuse with you?"

Y/N straightened up and looked at him. "Our second date! Last year you told me that you actually weren't sure about me because you thought I was an undercover fan lying about not listening to One Direction, so you texted me and said you had twisted your ankle and took some strong pain meds to make you pass out!"

Harry nearly choked on his pizza, his laugh bursting out before he could stop it. “I did not!” he exclaimed, though his face betrayed him as he tried to suppress a smirk.

Y/N raised a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, you absolutely did. And do you know how ridiculous I felt when I saw paparazzi pictures of you the next morning walking out of the gym? With no ankle brace in sight, might I add.”

Harry let his head fall back against the kitchen cabinet, groaning in embarrassment. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. That was bad. But in my defence, you were way too cool about the whole ‘not a fan of the band’ thing. It threw me off!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of a smile playing on her lips. “Right, because I had to be a crazed fan to want to go out with you? Very logical.”

“Well,” Harry said, dragging out the word with a teasing lilt, “you have to admit, I’ve met my fair share of undercover Directioners.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “True, but I wasn’t one of them. I genuinely didn’t care about the band.” She paused, then added cheekily, “Still don’t, actually.”

“Harsh,” Harry muttered, clutching his chest dramatically as if she’d just wounded him.

The laughter between them came easier now, the pizza nearly forgotten as they both leaned against the counter, sipping wine and trading playful jabs.

“Okay, but seriously,” Harry said after a moment, his expression softening. “You cancelled your date. Was it really because of me?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to see you, but I guess… when I realised you’d be here, it didn’t feel right to have someone else show up, too.”

Harry swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. “Why not?”

She met his gaze then, her voice quieter, more vulnerable. “Because I didn’t want to make things harder than they already are between us. We’re barely managing this, Harry. Adding someone else to the mix just felt… unnecessary.”

He nodded slowly, his grip tightening on his glass. “I get it,” he said, his voice just as soft.

For a moment, the air between them grew heavy again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It felt like something was being acknowledged—something neither of them was ready to say out loud yet.

Harry cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Well, thanks for sparing me the awkwardness of a third wheel situation, I guess.”

Y/N smiled faintly, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “Anytime.”

They clinked glasses again, and just like that, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. By the time the pizza box was empty and the wine bottle drained, they were sprawled out on the sofa, laughing like they hadn’t in ages.

The laughter eventually died down, leaving a comfortable silence between them as the night settled in. The living room felt warmer somehow, though it could’ve just been the wine coursing through Harry’s veins—or maybe the way Y/N had let her guard down for the first time in what felt like forever.

Harry stretched his legs out in front of him, his socked feet brushing against hers where she had tucked herself into the corner of the sofa. He didn’t pull away, and neither did she.

“Remember how we used to do this?” Y/N said softly, her voice carrying a nostalgic edge.

Harry turned his head to look at her, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah. Except back then, I think we still liked each other.”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “We did. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Harry agreed, his smile fading slightly. He let his gaze drop to the rim of his empty glass, his thumb tracing its edge. “I miss that, you know.”

Y/N stilled, her expression unreadable as she studied him. “What, the pizza?” she joked, trying to lighten the moment, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

Harry chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “No, not the pizza. I miss... us. Just being around you. Without all the... mess.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the sound of the baby monitor’s faint white noise the only thing breaking the stillness. Y/N swallowed, setting her glass down on the coffee table. “It turned to shit pretty quick, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, leaning back into the sofa and running a hand through his hair. “But it wasn’t all bad. I mean, we had good bits too, right?”

Y/N smiled faintly, nodding. “We had a lot of good bits. You were... you are a big part of my life, Harry. That hasn’t changed.”

The way she said his name made his chest ache. It wasn’t angry or cold like it had been before. It was soft, almost hesitant, like she was letting herself feel something she wasn’t sure she should.

“You’re still a big part of mine, too,” Harry said quietly, his green eyes locking onto hers. “I know I never said it enough, but I’m sorry for... for everything. For how things ended.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned her head back against the sofa, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “It wasn’t just you, Harry. I wasn’t perfect either. I didn’t know how to handle us falling apart, so I pushed you away.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly fight to stay, did I?” he countered, his voice tinged with regret.

The quiet stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Harry shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers. He didn’t know if it was the wine or the way the room felt so heavy with memories, but he needed her to know he still cared.

“I miss you, Y/N,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes searching his. “I miss you too,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Harry’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. For the first time in months, it felt like they weren’t running from the truth anymore.

Before either of them could say anything else, a soft cry came through the baby monitor, breaking the moment. Y/N sighed, pushing herself up from the sofa.

“I’ll check on him,” she said, her voice steady, though her cheeks were flushed.

Harry watched her leave the room, his heart still racing. Maybe they weren’t fixed yet—maybe they never would be—but god did it feel nice to sit with her and just talk. No fighting, no spewing insults about the other and the generations before them, just talking and laughing.

The soft cry over the monitor faded as Y/N disappeared upstairs, leaving Harry alone in the dimly lit living room. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply as he stared at the nearly empty wine bottle on the table. The weight of what they’d just admitted hung heavy in the air.

When Y/N returned a few minutes later, she looked slightly frazzled, her hair falling loose around her face. “He’s fine, just kicked his blanket off,” she murmured, brushing her hands down her thighs as she sat back down. This time, though, she didn’t tuck herself into the far corner of the sofa. She settled closer, close enough that Harry could feel the faint warmth radiating from her.

“You’re good with him,” Harry said, his voice low.

Y/N gave him a soft smile, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ve had enough practice babysitting for Sarah. Besides, he’s an angel compared to some of the kids I’ve looked after.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on her face. There was a glow to her in this light, something he hadn’t allowed himself to really notice in so long. “Still. It suits you.”

Y/N arched a brow, her lips twitching. “What does?”

“Taking care of someone,” Harry said simply, leaning slightly closer. “You’ve always had that in you.”

She looked at him, something flickering in her gaze that she quickly masked with a light laugh. “Well, I used to take care of you, didn’t I? Someone had to make sure you didn’t live off toast and pot noodles.”

“Oi,” Harry protested, though his grin gave him away. “You loved doing that.”

“Maybe I did,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. Her fingers played with the hem of her jumper, a nervous habit Harry recognised all too well.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged, the kind of quiet that demanded to be broken. Harry shifted slightly, his knee brushing against hers again—but this time, neither of them moved away.

“Y’know,” Harry said after a moment, his voice dropping, “you still do that. Get under my skin, I mean.”

Y/N blinked, her breath hitching as she met his gaze. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in just a fraction more, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint mix of his cologne and wine. “I mean,” he murmured, “you walk into a room, and I can’t think straight. Always been like that with you.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her pulse quickening at his words. She should’ve said something to deflect, to break the tension, but she couldn’t. Instead, her eyes dropped to his mouth, lingering there just a second too long before flicking back up to meet his gaze.

Harry noticed, of course he did. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly confident way that made her stomach twist. “You’re doing it now,” he said, his voice softer, more intimate.

“Doing what?” she whispered, her voice betraying her as it wavered.

“Driving me mad.”

Her breath caught as his hand lifted, hesitating for just a moment before he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her cheek, the touch light but enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“Harry...” she started, though she wasn’t sure what she was going to say.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

She swallowed, her heart racing as she searched his face. “This... this is dangerous.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, his thumb brushing lightly against her jaw before he let his hand fall. “But it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Y/N couldn’t help the way her eyes flicked to his mouth again, her resolve faltering. Harry noticed, of course he did, and when he leaned in just a little closer, she didn’t stop him.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips hovering a breath away from hers.

But she didn’t. How could she?

Instead, her hand lifted, resting lightly against his chest. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

“Harry,” she said again, this time softer, almost pleading.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his voice rough around the edges, his green eyes locked on hers.

And just like that, the space between them disappeared.

The kiss started soft, hesitant, as if neither of them could quite believe it was happening. Harry’s lips brushed against hers, testing, waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, her fingers curled against his chest, clutching at the fabric of his jumper like he might disappear if she let go.

That was all the encouragement Harry needed. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t rushed, but there was a hunger behind it, a need that had clearly been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Y/N sighed into his mouth, her free hand moving to his shoulder as she tilted her head to give him better access. She could feel the warmth of him, the way his body seemed to press closer to hers with every passing second. It was overwhelming and intoxicating all at once.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath.

“This is a terrible idea,” Y/N murmured, though there was no conviction behind her words.

“Maybe,” Harry said, his voice rough and low, his thumb gently stroking the side of her neck. “But I don’t care.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t give her the chance. His lips found hers again, more insistent this time, his hands settling on her waist as he pulled her closer. She went willingly, her own hands sliding up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his jaw.

The kiss grew hotter, more desperate, as the tension that had been building between them finally began to unravel. Harry’s hands slipped beneath the hem of her jumper, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her waist, and she shivered at the contact.

“Y/N,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. His green eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“We shouldn’t...” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“But do you want me to stop?” he asked, his hands still resting on her waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin.

She hesitated for only a moment before shaking her head. “No.”

That was all he needed to hear. He captured her lips in another searing kiss, and this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. They gave in completely, their bodies moving instinctively as they closed the remaining distance between them.

Harry shifted, guiding her back against the sofa until she was lying beneath him, his weight pressing her into the cushions in the most delicious way. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then down to her neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. Y/N’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as she tilted her head to give him better access.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice raw and full of emotion.

She froze for a moment, her fingers stilling in his hair as his words sank in. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers as if he’d just realised what he’d said.

“I mean it,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cradle her face. “I’ve missed you every single day.”

Her breath caught at the vulnerability in his voice, and she felt her resolve crumbling all over again. “I missed you too,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “More than I wanted to.”

Harry let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to hers as he closed his eyes. “Then maybe this isn’t such a bad idea,” he said, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. “Maybe we just... don’t fight it this time.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away, her mind racing as she tried to process everything. But when he kissed her again—soft and slow, like he was trying to prove just how much he meant every word—she realised that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

She stayed quiet as he began trailing wet kisses down her neck, and instead focused on the warmth flowing through her body from the wine. "How mad do you think Sarah and Mitch would be if we had sex on their sofa?"

Harry laughed, and tucked his head into the crook of her neck, placing a final kiss before pulling away and scanning the room. "Blanket?" He asked, turning his head to look down at her.

He'd barely done more than a hickey or two and she already looked out of it. Her pupils were slightly blown, her lips puffy and pink, and her cheeks were flushed. She had never looked more beautiful.

“Blanket.” She reaffirmed, and moved out of the way so that he could lay it beneath her.

Harry smirked as he grabbed the throw blanket folded neatly on the armrest. “You’re really making this easier for me, aren’t you?” he teased, shaking the blanket out before draping it over the sofa.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though the soft smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Just trying to be considerate. Sarah’s got that whole ‘no shoes in the house’ rule. I think ‘no bodily fluids on the furniture’ falls under the same category.”

He let out a low laugh as he smoothed the blanket into place. “Good point. But for the record,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at her, “this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to babysit tonight.”

“Oh? And what did you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“God knows, but definitely not this,” he said, turning to face her. His expression softened as his eyes met hers. “But I’m not complaining.”

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze, and for a moment, the teasing faded. The air between them felt charged, buzzing with an unspoken intensity. Harry took a step closer, his hands finding her hips as he guided her back against the sofa.

“Still sure about this?” he asked quietly, his voice low as his thumb brushed the hem of her jumper.

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she nodded. She knew this was reckless and fraught with risks. Still, the way he was looking at her with such raw, unfiltered longing made her forget every reason to say no.

“Positive,” she murmured, her fingers gripping the fabric of his jumper to pull him closer.

That was all Harry needed to hear. He leaned down, kissing her with a slow, deliberate intensity that sent a wave of warmth cascading through her body. His hands slipped under her jumper, his fingertips grazing her skin and making her shiver.

She gasped softly, her back arching against him as he pressed her down onto the sofa. His weight over her was comforting and electrifying all at once, grounding her in the moment even as it made her pulse race.

“Y/N,” he groaned, resting his forehead against hers for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She smiled, sliding her hands down to the hem of his jumper and tugging it upwards.

He helped her pull the jumper over his head before tossing it onto the floor. “You’re trouble,” he murmured, leaning back down to kiss her.

“And you love it,” she shot back, her fingers tracing along the lines of his chest.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I really do.”

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, his hands exploring the soft curves of her body. She let out a shaky breath as his fingers brushed the edge of her bra, and she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her hips against his.

The moment seemed to stretch, the world outside fading into nothingness. Every kiss, every touch felt like a silent conversation, years of unspoken words expressed in the warmth between them. As her hands roamed and his lips pressed against her skin, the quiet sounds of their shared breaths and murmured names filled the room. Neither of them cared about the consequences; all that mattered was right now.

“Can I take your bra off?” Harry questioned.

“Well, yeah, obviously.” She laughed, reaching behind her back to unclip it and pulling it off.

Whatever snarky comment Harry had ready to shoot back melted on his tongue as looked down at her. “My gorgeous girl.” He mumbled, ducking his head to kiss along her right boob.

Y/N moaned as his tongue found her nipple, swirling around and biting it gently. “Harry, please.”

“Shh. I’m getting there. Be patient.” Harry muttered. reaching down to pull her thighs apart and pushing his hips against hers.

She arched her back into his chest at the friction, and lifted up her hips, chasing against his as he moved away.

“Turn around.” Harry pulled away, his hand gently rubbing against her hip bone.

“What?” She asked.

“Turn around.” He repeated, this time squeezing down ever so slightly on her hip.

She nodded her head and rolled onto her stomach. “But what if I wanted to see you?” She asked, feigning sadness in her voice.

Harry grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back, holding them in place with one hand whilst the other worked on pulling off his belt. “What if you don’t deserve to see me?” He mocked, looping the belt around her hands and pulling tightly.

“Oh my.. fuck.” Y/N mumbled, dropping her head onto the sofa and arching her back slightly.

Harry’s hips met hers once again, but this time there was a sense of urgency behind. “You alright?”

“Oh my god, yes.” She practically moaned.

Harry smirked, and grabbed the edge of her leggings, pulling them, along with her panties; down her legs in one quick motion. “Good.”

He leaned down and began to pepper kisses down her lower back, kissing any freckle or small childhood scar he could find, before finally sinking his teeth into the meat of her right hip.

Y/N yelped, and Harry’s hand pulled her back in place before she could move away. “You’re fine.” He said, and dipped his head to lick a bold line straight up her slit.

Y/N moaned, her body jostling forwards as Harry wrapped his arms around her thighs and dove right in, not leaving a single spot neglected.

He began to nibble her clit, his thumb quickly moving to rub soothing circles soon after whilst he pulled back to admire what was below him.

“You have got the most gorgeous pussy.” He sighed, leaning his forehead against her right asscheek and lifting his hand to brush through her. He pushed in his fingers, scissoring them open and using the sound of her moans as motivation.

“Are you not going to thank me? Maybe I should just stop since clearly you’re not appreciating what I’m doing for you.” Harry sighed, pulling away completely and sitting up against her.

“No— no Harry please. I’m begging you- please. It feels so good I— Thank you! Thank you, thank you. Please, Harry, don’t stop.” Her words were blending into one, and Harry couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He’d barely touched her like he used to, and this is how she was reacting?

“There’s my good girl.” He smirked, unbuttoning his jeans and shimmying them down his legs. His ground his clothed dick against her, hoping she didn’t notice the way he barely choked out a moan at such a simple touch.

His boxers were gone soon after, and finally, it felt like it was just them again. It felt like everything Harry had wished for had come true, and he was finally where he was supposed to be.

He reached down to grab her hands, bending over her to place a brief kiss against them, and pulled away once again. He rubbed the head of his dick through her slick, collecting as much as he could before hunching over and spitting directly above her clit, moving his dick to chase after it and distribute it.

“You ready?” He questioned.

“So fucking ready. Please, Harry-” Y/N cut herself off with a moan, her hands squeezing against nothing and her already overstimulated body was shaking as he pushed in.

Harry threw his head back as he groaned, his hands twitching with the need to grab something as the pleasure took over.

He waited a couple of moments before pushing in the rest of the way, gradually speeding up until finally his hips were flush against her ass. He bent over her once again, his hands resting against her head.

“I love you, my gorgeous girl.” He whispered, kissing the back of her head.

“I love you more. I’m sorry.” She whispered back, her voice cracking with what was either pleasure or regret.

Harry shushed her gently, and straightened back up so he could hold her hands. He pulled out ever so slightly, and pushed back in, repeating until eventually his whole dick, bar the tip, was out. He waited another moment, and, despite it being extremely unnecessary, spat once again, this time onto his dick, and slammed his hips back against her.

Y/N practically screamed as the pleasure set in, moving her head to bite against the throw pillow as her hips moved against Harry’s, desperate to get him deeper into her.

“Fuck I’ve missed this.” Harry groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Y/N was incoherent. Her moans were gradually getting louder, and she was starting to appreciate Harry making her turn around as she knew that her face would be covered in drool, as well as mascara and lipstick smeared all over.

“Can’t believe you tried to take this away from me. As if you’d ever find someone who could make you feel like this.” He pushed down on her back, forcing her to arch even further into him.

“Please, Harry.” She cried, her jaw aching from the excessive force she was using to bite down on the pillow as a muffler. “Please don’t stop, I'm so close.”

Harry slowed down, his hand dropping from her hip down to her clit and rubbing slow, small circles, whilst his other worked on unbuckling the belt from her hands. “Turn around. ‘Wanna see your pretty face.”

He pulled out of her gently, and watched as Y/N shakily rolled over, her face flushed and makeup ruined beyond repair. “Hi, baby.” Harry grinned, caressing her cheek gently.

“Hi.” She whispered, her voice raw and rasp. Once again, their hands connected, and Harry pushed back into her, their moans harmonising as Y/N clenched around him.

“I’m so fucking close.” Y/N whined, her nails digging into the backs of Harry’s hands whilst her pushing up her chest to rest against his.

“I know, baby. Hold it for me, alright? I’m almost there.” Harry muttered, resuming biting at the hickeys he had abandoned prior.

His hips began to match his harsh assaults on her neck, each thrust matching the way he nipped, licked, and suckled any bare spot from her jawline to her collarbone.

“Oh, fuck. I’m gonna cum. C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” Harry whined, dropping her hand and moving to rub circles on her clit.

Y/N was incomprehensible. Her jaw was dropped, and her mouth open as she cried out a mixture of curses and praises as she came, Harry tailing along soon after, whimpers escaping the two of them. He slowed down, now ever so slightly moving inside of her as he watched a blend of their cum fall out of her with every movement.

“Well, shit.” He chuckled, brushing the sweat and hair off of her forehead gently.

Y/N nodded, a small giggle escaping her lips as she looked around the room. “How long do you think it’ll take Mitch and Sarah to figure out what he did?”

Harry smirked, and stared down at her with a look of admiration in his eye. “You open the windows and chuck the blanket in the wash, and I’ll run us a bath?”

“Deal.”

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

taglist - @empathyroad @harryshouseo1 @hannah9921 @hisparentsgallerryy @secretisme4 reply here or dm to be added!

#harry styles #sabsberries #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #one direction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #im sorry it took me so long

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scarnatlover · 2 days ago

Text

Run, baby, run

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (romantic)

Summary: Finding a moment of peace away from the chaos of superhero life isn't easy, but with a little help, you can carve out time for a romantic retreat in a secluded cabin in the woods. What begins as a lighthearted chase soon transforms into an exhilarating game of predator and prey, sparking intense passion and desire between two lovers.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. sexual themes, smut, Reader has a cock, predator x prey, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, edging, name calling, praise, passing out, aftercare.

REQUEST: YES

A/N: I'm sorry if anything is spelled incorrectly, but English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling. If you have any request (read this first), I will try and write them.

Taglist

She had been running for what seemed like hours. She didn’t know where she was going, she didn’t know the route she had taken, and she didn’t know where she would end up. The forest she was in seemed endless. There was no stream to orient herself by, and the treetops were too thick to see the stars. She could hear her labored breathing, her quick steps, the owls hooting in the trees. But most of all, she could hear whoever was behind her and chasing her getting closer and closer.

Their footsteps were heavier than hers, but their breathing matched hers. She could tell that whoever was following her was taller and more muscular, but not more agile since she heard them trip over some fallen tree branches. She also knew that they were far behind her and that this gave her an advantage. And so she did the only thing she could think of. She hid behind a massive rock after jumping off its top.

She held her breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible, but she jumped as soon as she saw the figure dart over her head, then rolled on the ground to cushion the jump and immediately resumed running. She was right, actually. Even from a distance they looked about four inches taller than her and decidedly more muscular. She breathed a sigh of relief and, once she was sure they were far enough away, she stood up and began to run at a moderate pace towards where she thought the exit of the maze of trees she was in was.

But after walking a few meters, she started to feel like she was being watched. She turned in every possible direction, but there was no one but her. She started walking again, the feeling of being watched always with her, but she turned again when she heard a twig snap behind her. After not seeing anything or anyone, she prepared to start again but this time, when she turned, she found your muscular figure in front of her. “Boo” you muttered, a smile plastered on your face and your arms that wrapped around her hips.

“Are you running away from me, pretty girl?” you asked, backing her up against a tree trunk. “Why are you running, baby girl? You know I’ll always catch you.”

And with that you kissed her, hard. Her back against the tree made your body pressed against hers, making her feel your hard cock against her belly. Her hands flew into your hair, pulling you closer. You moaned into her mouth, enjoying her hands on your head, and she smiled slightly into the kiss.

Your violent kisses ran down her jaw and neck, pulling her skin with your teeth. She moaned in pleasure and pain, without letting out a gasp first. She could feel her arousal dampening her panties, yet she remembered that this person in front of her was the one who not even ten minutes ago was chasing her through the same woods where she was about to be fucked.

Your hands traveled to her breasts to feel one of her spheres through the shirt she was wearing. Being the impatient person you were, you quickly shrugged off the piece of clothing, ripping it in half. There, you were met with her bare tits, no bra covering them. You smirked, easier access for you.

You lowered your head to take one of her nipples into your mouth, licking it until you felt it harden under your tongue, your other hand still busy groping her other tit. You then switched sides, repeating the same movements and giving the same attention to both of her tits. Her back arched, pleasure coursing through her. Her hands still in your hair to hold you closer to her chest and instigating you not to stop. She laughed briefly feeling you play with her nipples, but immediately moaned when you bit one of them.

You both watched your fingers slide along her skin, down past her belly button, and stop above her pelvis. You looked into her eyes as you slowly knelt in front of her. You pulled down her leggings, but left her panties on. With a smirk, you moved them to the side and slid your hand to her pelvis between her legs. You caressed her folds, parting them slightly so you could see her arousal before sliding your fingers inside her.

She moaned and leaned her head against the tree trunk, completely surrendering to the feeling of your fingers inside her. She let your hands and fingers explore her body, both inside and out and in all the ways you wanted.

“God, you look beautiful even from down here,” you murmured, starting to slowly move your fingers inside her. She groaned at the sound of your voice, so low, husky and sexy, full of your desire for her body. Simultaneously, your mouth began to leave hot kisses everywhere it could reach: her thighs, her belly, her pelvis, until you lightly kissed her clit.

She gripped your hair in her hands as your lips touched her hot clit and whined. Her hips began to move back and forth on your fingers. “That’s it. Ride my fingers like the good girl you are. My good girl.” You pinned her hips against the tree so you could slide your fingers deeper into her. You started slow and gentle until you built up to a force and speed that rivaled – not really – your cock. “Good, just like that. You’re doing great.”

Your tongue laid flat against her clit, her eyes rolled and her mouth made sounds sweeter than honey. Her entire body jolted with pleasure as your tongue flicked at her bundle of nerves. Your fingers slowed, making her whine, but the movements of your tongue made her hips buckle, your hand on them the only reason she didn’t fall to the floor.

Her moans grew louder, louder, her body shaking with pleasure and the need to come, as you brought her closer and closer to the climax. As you continued to tease her, she moaned in frustration and writhed beneath you. With each passing second, her need for release grew stronger and stronger due to denial. You took your time, pleasuring her until she was begging for more.

“Please, let me come. I beg you,” she pleaded, her eyes locked on yours, her green ones filled with desperation.

You quickly removed your tongue from her slit and stood up, now much taller than her, but your fingers never stopped moving inside her. “I’ll tell you what,” you whispered in her ear. “I’m going to let you go now. You’re going to start running in that direction again, until you see a cabin. I’ll give you a twenty-second head start before I start chasing you,” you removed your fingers from inside her, drawing out a whine from her throat. “If I catch you before you get to the cabin, I’ll fuck you until you pass out and it’s up to me whether or not I make you come. If you get to the cabin and I can’t catch you…” you gently kissed up her neck, until you reached her cheek. “…when I fuck you, you can come as many times as you want,” you concluded, placing your sweatshirt on her shoulders and lifting her pants, to cover her nakedness.

As soon as those words left your mouth, she started running again in the direction you indicated, faster than before despite the ache between her legs. She could smell you on her, her pussy clenching around nothing even as she ran, but most of all your voice, which was counting the seconds, growing more and more distant.

The forest seemed endless, she didn’t know how much longer she had to run. There was no sign of the cabin you had told her about. She was starting to doubt its existence. Her legs were burning and with them her muscles, the temperature had dropped slightly, but it was cold enough to notice the air coming out of her mouth every time she was out of breath.

She stopped to rest only when she was sure that your footsteps couldn’t be heard, but she remained alert anyway. She collapsed on the ground, her back against a tree, she caught her breath and looked around, but she couldn’t see anything. Her ears couldn’t pick up any suspicious noise, other than the wind in the branches of the trees and a few night birds here and there. Not even a shadow of you could be seen.

When she was sure she was rested and had enough breath, she started running again, always in the same direction you had told her. She ran and ran and ran, until she could see a light far away from her. She breathed a sigh of relief and increased her pace. Now she could also see inside, with the fire lit in front of the couch and under the TV, thanks to the windows that acted as a wall on the outside of the house.

But just as she was approaching the path that led to the stairs to enter the cabin, out of nowhere she glimpsed your figure staring at her from a tree. Nat returned your gaze for a few seconds, and then sprinted towards the house, but you wrapped your muscular arms around her waist before she could touch the wood of the stairs.

“That means…” you murmured in her ear as she squirmed. “That I won, sugar.” You took her earlobe between your lips and bit it enough for her to feel it.

You slowly brought a hand to her face and turned her towards you, kissing her without hesitation. She immediately found herself returning the kiss that became more and more passionate. Her head was spinning and you pulled her towards you roughly, making her feel your semi-hard member. Your tongues rubbed together. Her hands returned to your neck while yours continued to move down and then back to her breasts and grope them roughly.

You quickly removed the hoodie she was wearing and kissed along the column of her neck, leaving purple marks as you went further down, your hands now massaging her ass. You backed up with her, leading her up the three steps to the wooden patio and setting her down on the cool surface. You ripped a hole in her pants, then did the same to her soaked panties.

“Look at you, sugar,” you turned your gaze to her pussy. “Your swollen, soaked cunt, still clenching around nothing,” she whimpered, the cool night air in direct contact with her wet, exposed sex. You ran two fingers between her folds and brought them to her mouth, letting her taste her essence. “You need it, don’t you? You need to be stretched, ruined, and used like the whore you are for me.”

You pulled down your pants and boxers, letting your cock pop out, pumping it a little to get it fully hard, which didn’t take long given the magnificent sight before you. You leaned over her, your hands on either side of her head, staring into her beautiful green eyes filled with lust.

She kissed you harder than before, nipping at your bottom lip, making you groan into her mouth. She suddenly felt a lot warmer, wondering if she was really about to get fucked on the wooden patio of a cabin by the person who had been chasing her ten minutes ago. But her mind went blank the moment she felt one of your hands spread her thighs, making her wet pussy meet your now painfully hard cock.

You positioned the tip of your cock so that it was prodding at her entrance and at the same time you pulled away from the kiss to watch her facial expressions. She immediately gasped and her back arched towards you. You slowly pushed it in, feeling her warm and tight around you. “Fuck, are you still this tight? After so long?” you asked a rhetorical question.

You took her hands and brought them above her head, pinning her down, and leaned down to kiss her slowly. You started moving, rocking your hips harshly. She gasped first into your mouth, then broke away from the kiss and began teasing the sensitive skin of your neck. You moaned in her ear, increasing the force of your thrusts, the only sounds that could be heard at that moment were your breathing and moans and the wet sound that Nat's pussy was making.

At this point you were ramming into her, whispering in her ear how pathetic and desperate she was. “Look at you, beautiful. Taking everything I’m giving you like the slut you are,” you moaned in her ear, feeling her shivering and whimpering beneath you. You could feel her getting closer to her climax, but you had other plans.

“Please,” she whispered, running her hands under your shirt and digging her nails into your back. “Let me come,” she continued with a few tears rolling down her soft face. You just grinned and continued to rock your hips fast and hard, her walls squeezing you tighter and tighter, making you groan once more.

Immediately, you slowed down and looked down at where her cunt met your cock, which was fully immersed inside her, filling her completely. She sobbed, her orgasm having been denied for the second time that night, and she began to shake even more. After a few minutes of your thrusts being soft and slow, making her feel every inch of your cock, you started moving your hips violently again, her cries of pleasure could probably be heard from miles away. Her body was aching, from the run she had been on and how you had left her in the middle of the woods, and her moans were now coming out uncontrollably. Her legs were shaking, her eyes scrunched shut and you could feel how close she was to cumming.

You continued to do this until she was a blabbering mess, the only things coming out of her mouth were pleas and moans of your name. “Tired, baby? You can’t take it anymore?” you asked, slightly worried. You looked at the expression on her face and it all hit you. You started to ram into her one last time, intertwining your hands with hers above her head and kissing her sensually and softly. “Can I come inside you?” you asked, feeling the knot in your stomach about to break. She just nodded, too tired to even respond.

Your climaxes came at the same time, her coming on your cock with the loudest moan of the evening and you painting her walls white, filling her with your seed. Her pussy contracted around you for the last time, making you groan in her neck, where you were resting your head, which you raised a few seconds later to look into her eyes, but instead you saw her passed out from exhaustion. You smiled gently at her and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

You carefully slid out of her, trying not to hurt her, and got dressed, but first you watched your cum leak out of her gaping hole. You then picked her up bridal style and the two of you entered the cabin, which felt like a sauna compared to the outside. You continued to the stairs and carefully carried her to the bedroom you were in. You laid her on the bed and ran to the bathroom, where you drew a hot bath. You quickly ran to the kitchen to get her a bottle of water and a snack for later.

When you got back to your room, Nat was waking up. You were immediately at her side, stroking her hair. “Hey,” she whispered to you and you smiled, telling her that a bath was ready for her. “Can you carry me?” she then asked and you rolled your eyes playfully and picked her up in your arms, carrying her to the bathroom and placing her in the hot water. You handed her the bottle after opening it and helped her take a few sips.

Nat looked at you puzzled when she noticed that you were not undressing and getting in the tub with her, but instead grabbing the shampoo ready to wash her hair. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked and you looked at her in disbelief before answering her.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt you,” you started, looking at the water instead of her face. “I think I overdid it a little,” you continued. Nat pulled her hands out of the water and placed them on your face, looking into your eyes.

“I liked everything you did, from the chase in the woods to the fuck on the patio. I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me,” she wiped away the single tear that was sliding down your face with her thumb. “Get undressed and come in. I want you even closer to me,” and with that you took off your clothes and Nat made room for you between her legs, where you stayed until the tub water was cold.

The two of you dried off and got dressed, exchanging a few kisses here and there. Once you were in bed, Nat immediately curled up around you, her head on your chest and one leg bent over your hips. One of your hands slid under her shirt, touching her bare skin, while the other reached for the remote on your nightstand and you scrolled until you found her favorite James Bond movie on the TV.

Nat fell asleep not even halfway through the movie, her breath on your neck, where you could feel her smile as she slowly massaged your abdomen, tracing her fingertips over your abs. You looked up at her softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face like you had done a few hours ago. You fell asleep shortly after her, hoping that Tony hadn't installed cameras on the patio too, otherwise neither of you would ever see the end of it.

#black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 days ago

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eddie x plus size reader where it’s both their first times and its awkward and silly and they’re bf and gf and it’s also their first relationship cuz reader is also not very liked in school (#weirdgirlcore #ihaveautism #me 😞✊) and she’s insecure but so is he and it’s sweet and silly and YEAH SORRY I HOPE THAY MAKES SENSE

- 🐞

Anon I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this request! Here is a short drabble for you, I hope you like it!!

(18+ MINORS DNI) Word Count: 431

“Sorry baby,” he fumbles, giggling into the crook of your neck. He presses kisses to your exposed skin. You can’t help but smile, biting your lip from laughing, as his hair tickles your cheek. It’s been about a solid three minutes as he struggles to unhook your bra. He vehemently rejected any offer you had to do it yourself or help him with it. He bites his lip in concentration, desperate to salvage what’s left of dignity by not letting the stupid little clasps get the best of him.

“It’s okay,” you giggle, resting your face in the crook of his neck. You kiss his cheek and they flame a bright red at the affection despite his awkward struggle. You’re both so new to this- new to dating, new to affection, new to the feeling of being wanted. It was so overwhelmingly wonderful with Eddie. He was being so gentle with you, and he felt so honored that you felt comfortable enough with him to end up like this.

You’re nervous as you feel the band loosen and you can finally feel the material drop off your body. You moan softly at the relief you feel, but your mind still wanders- anxiety bubbling up. He’s never seen you like this, never seen thi smooch of you- what if you aren’t what he expected? You shift, suddenly wanting to cover yourself from him. He immediately pulls back, not wanting to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.

“Is this okay, still?” he asks softly, pulling back slightly to give you space.

“What if I’m- you know, I’m scared you won’t think-” you struggle to vocalize exactly what you’re worried about.

“You’re so beautiful,” he immediately reassures you. He smiles, “Look at you!” He exclaims, trying to make you smile, “You can’t possibly expect me to see you like this- and not fall even more in love with you!”

You hide your face in your hands, his theatrics making you laugh, just like he always does. You feel your worries subside as it helps with your confidence more than he’ll probably ever realize.

“Love you so much,” you smile, kissing him again, letting him wrap his arms around you.

You let yourself enjoy the feeling of his hands on you as he freely explores your body. You let all of your worries about yourself melt away at his touch, being able to redirect your focus from yourself to him. He’s so eager to touch you and have you in his arms like this. Nothing else even matters anymore when he’s holding you like this.

#request #inbox #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n

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rockspider556 · 3 days ago

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Batfam Headcanon #2

So. Damian Wayne’s school recital.

First off, Damian does not want to be there. He even performs this whole dramatic speech about how performing the viola in front of a bunch of “intellectually inferior Gotham Prep students” was a waste of his talents.

Bruce, however, is thrilled. He had missed out on these sorts of milestones with Dick, Jason, and Tim for various reasons—crimefighting, estrangement, or simply bad timing. But this? This was his chance to savour the quintessential "proud dad at a school event" experience, and he was not going to squander it. He buys eight tickets—front row for the whole family, obviously. He even tells Tim to “clear your schedule” and makes Jason promise on pain of death to show up.

He doesn’t stop there though. He rents an absurdly expensive high-end video camera (the kind National Geographic use to capture footage of lions on the savannah) to record the performance in its entirety, despite Barbara pointing out that smartphones have perfectly good cameras these days, and was pacing in front of the theatre doors 30 minutes before they even opened, muttering about getting the perfect angle. As the recital begins, the Batfam does their best to blend in with the other parents, though it’s a losing battle. Especially with Jason muttering snarky comments under his breath about the less-than-stellar early performances. “If this is what passes for talent at Gotham Prep, I’m never letting Damian forget he’s related to these people.”

Damian, to his credit, looks completely calm at all this chaos. Professional, even. He’s so composed, standing there with his viola, tuning it like this was just another mission. And then he starts playing. Y’all. He was perfect. Like, annoyingly, infuriatingly perfect. Every note was precise, every movement elegant.

You could see Karen from the PTA side-eyeing Bruce like, “What kind of prodigy factory are you running?”

But here’s the thing: the minute Damian finishes, and the polite applause starts?

The Batfam absolutely loses it.

I’m talking:

Dick and Duke standing up, leading a standing ovation.

Jason yelling “THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER, YOU PEASANTS!”

Cass throwing fake confetti that she’d somehow smuggled in.

Steph shaking her homemade “GO DAMI” sign so hard the glitter was falling off

Tim also standing up to applaud, completely forgetting about the phone on his lap live-streaming the whole thing to Alfred back home, ruining the video completely

Barbara’s reaction being the perfect mix of affection, amusement and calm.

Bruce clapping so loudly it echoed through the whole auditorium.

Damian’s ears? Fire engine red. He storms off stage like, “You’re all the worst. I’m disowning every single one of you.” BUT. Later that night, Tim catches him sneaking the recital signup sheet for next year off the fridge. He totally signed up again. Because deep down, he knows that no matter how irritating they are, the Batfam were always going to be the loudest cheer squad in Gotham

And perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t mind that as much as he claimed.

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wuahae · 2 days ago

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haaaiiii im back :3 Ready to get stuffed!

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

HE IS SOOOOSDFMSDFMSDFLDFK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?”

josh initiating the heart-to-heart...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PLAY THROAT GOAT BY KIM PETRAS HELL YEAH

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

HELPWMEMSFDLKDFSFD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GOD HES SO LAAAMEEEMDFSJLSDFKM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t get excited. I just got here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Party?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I called, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink hard; you waver. ]

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“How'd you know?” he chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?”

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

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

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

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

“Sounds lonely.”

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

Joshua hums, low and deep.

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Do you still love her?”

“No. I don't think I can.”

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

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

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

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.”

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

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

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

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

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

“Really?”

“Really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“I said, don’t you hate the range?”

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

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

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

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

Bang. Bang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.”

“Does Josh know?”

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

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

You watch Jihoon steady his arms.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

–

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

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Does it really seem like it?”

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that an order?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“We’re in Barcelona!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked him, huh?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Halfway. Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cricket?”

“Yeah?”

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

“Everything ok?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t even look back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I think about it?”

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

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

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

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

“Truce.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

For what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine.

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

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.”

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

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

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

“Are you flirting with me?”

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

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

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

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

“And country’s already seen it all.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm putting you in remediation.”

“Devastating.”

“And giving you homework.”

“Whatever shall I do?”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Without me?”

“We’ll catch you up.”

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

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

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

“I thought this was champagne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

You crack open your text messages.

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stunned silence falls over the room.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it really that obvious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we talk about Sunday?”

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

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

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

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.”

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

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

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

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper.

“I said a lot of things that morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The act?”

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You needed lessons.”

“Not really, don’t you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response.

“I’m serious.”

“Together?” you offer weakly.

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

“Oh nooo.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you go to join him outside, he’s no longer at the bench. You actually don’t know where the fuck he went, but it’s no matter. Here, you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season, the rolling green of the country you’re now calling home.

It was also here where you had your first real conversation with Joshua without fighting, funnily enough. Now, you’d say the both of you were more agreeable, but that’d be a lie—somehow, you think you actually enjoy bickering with him, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat.

“Now, what are you—” you say, spinning around. It was too damn early for games, but Joshua had no shortage of bad ideas.

It’s then that you see Joshua behind you, on one knee. His smile tells you everything you have to know, and every thought in your mind freezes in an instant.

You stand there, immovable. Of course you had to be in your pajamas (his shirt and boxers, really), no makeup, hair untouched. And yet, you can’t imagine anything more perfect.

“You drive me crazy,” Joshua continues. “In every way possible. I can't imagine life without your laugh, or your thinking face, or how you always need to have an answer for everything.”

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful.

Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.”

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

#anyway my blog is kind of dead but i will always come back for a lily treat #anyone who sees this Read this fic or else i'll burrow myself in your walls and start scratching when the clock strikes 12 #ok anyway i love you forever! but you already know that :]#recs

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