#lmk silk tea

[cosmicwhoreo]

oops my hand slipped. Again.

Sandy deserves the world. But my broke ass could only afford this old sewer rat I found in a dumpster in the back of a Denny's eating the old food wrappers.

[terrible-monkie-kid-aus]

There is a sephora cream that attracts wolf spiders apparently and now I’m just imagining Sandy buying the cream to moisturize. Unintentionally exposing huntsman to it ala S*x Pollen and just getting kissed to death by him. Huntsman doesn’t know why it smells good but damn blue keep on wearing it.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ‘s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

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[sleepythoma]

A mi me gustan mayores | Neuvillette drabble

Character: Neuvillette x reader smut drabble

Notes: age gap (not the fetish, Idk how to explain but it’s just that Neuvi is older than you—no dynamics like daddy and little girl), fem anatomy mentioned (cunt) but no specific gender mentioned but idk what to mark this, marking/bites/hickeys

A/N: I am so freaking rusty with writing but Neuvillette is the reason I got back into Genshin 🫶 been saving up for him for a while and I’m a happy C1 Neuvi haver. This came to me in the middle of a grocery shop spree when Becky G’s song ‘mayores’ played. And my brain went to how much Neuvillette is such a gentleman but my god would he take care of you so well :,)

enjoy this little drabble. as always lmk what you think. don’t repost my content. mdni pls and thank you :)

•

To anyone in Fontaine it would seem that the two of you are the epitome of romance. The ever stoic Iudex showing up at your workplace with a bouquet and a gentle kiss to your hand, his piercing gaze just for you. You would blush and hold his arm as you go for an afternoon stroll.

“Isn’t he…he’s a bit on the older side, no?” A girl whispered at you, flushed at such a topic, yet you simply smiled.

“Oh? What can I say?” You would sip your tea before simply stating, “he’s such a gentleman.”

A gentleman indeed. Such a man of prestige and power.

Oh, if they only knew.

(nsfw under the cut)

•The way his body encased yours as you laid on the expensive silk sheets, his mouth enveloping yours with kisses hot enough to dull your mind. His big and warm palm holding your hip while the other groped your ass, pushing your hips flush against each other.

“Don’t worry about the sheets, I shall pair no expense for you, my sweet.”

•The way he easily folds your legs and thrusts relentlessly, your broken cries and moans mixed in with the thumping and creaking of the headboard, the harsh and wet sounds of skin hitting skin.

•The way his breath falters with his thrusts, grunting and moaning lowly at how warm your cunt is, how tight it is around him.

•The way his hand grabs yours and holds your wrists above your head, chuckling at your whine of protest.

•The way he plays with you while whispering sweet nothings akin to sinful poetry so seamlessly to your ears, his hot breath making you tremble and pant.

•He may walk so regally but under that elaborate outfit are the marks of your kisses and bites, the marks of your nails on his pretty skin a beautiful contrast. The thought makes him purr, desire stirring within him to have you again and again. And while his mind may be filling up with carnal wishes, to anyone it would seem their esteemed Iudex was just focused on his paperwork.

[thewriterwhowritesnot]

To Have and To Hold

Warnings: Yandere!Aliucard, SMUT, creampie (wrap it before you tap it my dudes this is FICTION! Kids cost money), slight degradation, a little bit of fluff. A/N: Yall, please don't judge me. I had a hell of a rough time writing this out because I had to take a break every three minutes to BREATHE lol. I hope the smut is okay. I'm not ready to be that explicit just yet. I hope y'all like this. This is another 2k words and is not proofread. If you want to be in the taglist just lmk! Summary: You travel to Dracula's Castle to help the owner get the place registered as a historical landmark and enter into an overwhelming relationship with Alucard.

Masterlist Chap 1.

Chapter Two

 The next morning you awake to an old chest half your size in the middle of your room. On top of it, there’s a note.         “ I was informed this morning that your bag was lost in transit and they’re unable to locate it. I took the liberty of getting you some clothes to wear while you’re here. I hope they fit you and if they don’t we can make adjustments. 

A. “

A bit bummed at the loss of your clothes, you open the chest and immediately forget about what small things you packed in your bag. The first piece of clothing was a soft pink sundress with white flowers on it. The Queen Anne neckline was lined with white lace and you loved it instantly. Setting it aside to wear it for the day. There were multiple sets of silk pajamas. Pretty nightgowns and fluffy slippers and beautiful shoes (that were all your size). You giggled like a child in the long mirror against the wall, swaying this way and that. 

Granted, in your job description you wore clothes that kept your skin safe from poisonous spiders, cobwebs, and splinters. But the knowledge that Adrian had picked these out to lend you made butterflies spring to life in your belly and you couldn’t resist thinking of what he’d think of you in them. 

Deciding to bathe before you start your day, you enter the bathroom and examine the large tub and new shower head. The place was spotless and smelled of lemon. You turned on the faucet and allowed the hot water of the shower to steam up the room before getting in. Being too tired to shower the night before you basked in the warmth of the hot water washing the days of travel off your skin. 

However, your peace was short-lived because a rush of cold air cut across your skin beckoning a wave of gooseflesh. There were no vents or holes near the shower so you shut the water off and peered out of the shower curtain. The bathroom door was open and you struggled to remember if you’d closed it or not. Surely, you would’ve closed it to keep the heat in, right? 

         Stepping out of the shower you wrap yourself in a towel and enter the room to find nothing amiss. 

Strange. 

You searched the chest for the round container of lotion you’d spotted when you were rummaging through it earlier. After getting dressed, you leave your room, notepad in hand, and find your way to the kitchen. 

Marguerite is there and quickly introduces herself and offers you a full breakfast. Shamefully, you find yourself very pleased with the fact that she’s an older woman. Much too old to be romantically involved with your host. Her grey hair is pulled back into one bun, pulled away from her round face which is free of wrinkles. Her eyes are almost catlike which would appear almost frightening if not for their warm disposition and the childish curve of her features. She looks incredibly young and old at the same time. You watch as she pours you both a cup of tea and puts exactly four sugars into your tea. 

“How is your room?” Her voice is warm much like her eyes. Hoping she hadn’t noticed your staring, you mix your oatmeal in an innocuous figure eight. “It’s lovely. Everything is perfect and the bed is quite comfortable.” 

Marguerite hums with approval. “Wonderful. I put everything to right myself. The little prince would have nothing less.” Baffled, you turn to face her. 

“Little prince?” 

Marguerite’s warm eyes all but twinkle in the morning light. She sips her tea once before getting to her feet. “I’ve got some small tasks to finish before the morning ends. Once you’re done eating, you may leave your dishes in the sink. I’ll tend to them.” She doesn’t wait for your answer before she leaves, cup in hand.

Curious but too excited to think about it for too long you hastily finish your breakfast. Now, you have a system. Always begin at the first room you entered when you’re exploring a new place. It’s crucial to start in a familiar place so that each new discovery is easier to document and keep track of. Following this system leads you to head to the foyer. The room looked much the same as it had when you’d first arrived except for the streams of light that were pouring in from all directions. You’d missed the windows behind the humongous curtains that covered them the night before. Some of the windows were stained glass and you took a moment to examine them.

Each picture showed a man with dark hair in battle, covered in the blood of his enemies, and returning to the gothic castle you now stood in. 

“A bit grotesque, is it not?”         You jump and whirl around to find Adrian standing behind you much as he had the first time you met. “Have mercy! You’ve got to stop doing that!” His eyebrows draw together as he laughs lightly. Today his hair is in a messy braid down his back. The button-down white shirt he wears is tucked into the sleek black pants that sway over his sandy brown boots. “My apologies, my dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His eyes travel from your face down your body and back up again causing those butterflies to flutter up to your heart. Fingers knotted in the dress you wore, your eyes scanned the room nervously. “Thank you for the clothes and the other things. They’re beautiful.” 

“I’m glad you like them. Does everything fit well?”         “Scarily well,” you joke. “I would’ve thought these clothes had been made for me with how perfectly they fit.” His jaw tensed slightly. Confused once again, you opt to examine the stained glass. You hear him inhale slowly.

“I’m told there’s a book in the library that describes the stories in these windows. Would you like to help me search for it?” 

The doors of the library are large. Just as large as the front doors. He pushes them open with ease and leads you into a room full of one of the largest collections of books you’ve ever seen. There are books on every surface. Lining the walls and stacked spaces all over the tables and desks. It was overwhelmingly massive and you took it all in wonder.         “The place is a mess and I haven’t hired anyone to help me organize it all just yet. It’s such a large collection.” 

“Can I help?” The words come out louder than you expect and you can’t see the smile on his lips as he pulls open the heavy curtains of the room. “If it’s not too much for you. I know you’ve only come here to stay a week. Are you sure you’ve got enough time for this?” 

Already eyeing a ruby-red book covered in dust, you nod vigorously. “I’ve got plenty of time. I’m the youngest historian of my group and I’m pretty sure my boss let me go on this trip because he figured it would keep me busy and out of the way of their more important jobs. Jokes on them though, this place is immaculate! I could write a million books about the architecture alone.” You glance over to see him leaning against a table watching you intently. “That is..if you would consent to that.” 

He sits motionless for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t see why not.” Grinning, you begin sorting through the books nearest to you. Several of them are in languages you’ve never seen and you examine them thoroughly. Organizing this library would not be easy but you were reluctant to think about giving yourself a time limit anyway. Judging by the size of this room alone, there was no way you’d be able to sort through it in a month let alone a week. The next three days, you focused on your task while pondering the idea of staying a little longer. 

During this time, you and Adrian had entered a rhythm. You’d wake up in the morning, he’d meet you in the kitchen and you walk together to the library. You’d spent hours in there reading over ancient stories of witches and vampires. All of them fill you with delight. 

You had become accustomed to Adrian being near you throughout this time. Relishing every moment, his skin brushed yours or he leaned over you to read whatever book you wanted to show him. It was on a late night almost identical to the others that Adrian had left without a word and reappeared with a tray with two cups and hot chocolate. 

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” You replied after many thanks. He shook his pretty head. “Nonsense. After all you’ve done to help me, I won’t hesitate to do whatever I can for you.” He set a smoking cup in front of you before sliding into the chair closest to yours and sipping from his own cup. You watched him as he took a drink and you absentmindedly did the same. The scalding hot liquid bit at the skin of your bottom lip and tongue. You yelped. 

“Shit!” Adrian grasped your chin in one hand and sat your hot mug to the side.

“It’s smoking hot, Y/N. You can’t just inhale it that way.” He all but whispered as his callused thumb gently rubbed your bottom lip. 

“You did.” You mumble. His frown deepened and you watched his face as you impulsively let your tongue slide over the tip of his thumb. His breath caught in his throat. Less than a second later, he slid his thumb into your mouth and you wrapped your lips around it without a second thought. His pupils dilated as he tilted his head, lips parted. You tasted the cocoa on his skin and sighed breathily. 

Quickly, he moved his hand from your chin and pressed his lips to yours. Tilting your head, you leaned into him as he pulled you to his chest and slid his hands down your throat and shoulders. Past your arms and around your waist. Your arms find their way around his neck as you let him slide his tongue between your lips. The sound of your heartbeat and the noises you couldn’t help but make filled your ears. 

Just when you think you might have to lean back for air he breaks the kiss and presses his lips all over your face. Without a word, he lifts you by your waist and you wrap your legs around him quickly. He kisses you again, rougher this time. You don’t know how and nor do you care but soon your back is against the soft cushion of your bed and Adrian is leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and over your collarbones. 

After a moment, he rises and looks into your eyes. You can tell he’s searching for something but is unsure how to ask. The apprehension and obvious vulnerability tug on your heart and you place your hands on either side of his face. You nod, not waiting for him to ask. “Please.” You whisper. He closes his eyes and kisses you again before leaning back on his knees and pulling his shirt above his head from the hem up. You gasp when you see the long scar across his chest. It’s faded greatly, but the outline is still there and you sit up a little to drag your fingers across it. “What happened?” 

He looks to the right. “It was a long time ago.” He said nothing else and you didn’t press him. Gingerly, you pressed your lips to his chest and he shuttered against your lips. Like he’d never been touched there before. In a rush, he slid his hand through your hair held the back of your skull, and kissed you deeply. It was easier for him to undress and explore you without fear now. Eyes on yours, he pulled your panties from around your hips and slid them off. You giggled as he slid his cool fingertips between your knees and slowly spread them. 

You held your breath as his eyes roamed over your body. “So pretty.” He breathed and you whimpered as his hands slid down your thighs and over your pelvic bone. He kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, your knuckles, your thigh, your ankle. He inhaled your scent and you sighed with each touch. His fingertips found their way to the apex of your thighs and slid between your glistening lips. A shuttered moan falls from your lips and he chuckles. He kisses your temple while rubbing slow circles around your clit. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you teeter closer and closer to your orgasm. Without warning, he speeds up the movement, sucking the skin of your neck between his teeth sending shivers down your spine as your hips move against his hand of their own accord. In a burst of feeling you tip over the edge. A sharp shriek escapes your lips and it feels like forever before the shocks of pleasure end. As soon as it stops, you huff impatiently. It certainly wasn’t enough to make the heat of your skin cool down and the way he continued to caress your skin was only making it worse. 

He slid between your thighs and lined himself up with your entrance. “Are you ready?” He whispered in your ears. “Yes.” You reply quickly and he laughs at your eagerness. Then he gently presses the head of his cock into you. Both of you moan in unison. The air in the room thickens as he graciously waits for you to adjust to the intrusion. Slowly he edges himself all the way inside of you to the hilt and you fight to breathe. You had guessed he could fill you up but you hadn’t imagined it would feel like this. Your legs were still vibrating with the aftershocks of your first orgasm and you kiss his shoulder before telling him you’re ready for him to move. And that he does. 

Forehead to yours, he pulls his hips away from yours, leaving just the tip inside you before surging forward. The wind is knocked out of you and you squeeze your eyes shut as sounds you’ve never made before push out of your belly and mingle with his own. You lose yourself in the pressure and the rhythm as his hands bring your wrists together above your head. He holds them there with one hand and uses the other to pull your right thigh up higher on his hips. This allows him to reach deeper inside you and your back arches. 

Breath uneven, you raise your hips to meet his thrusts as your second orgasm oh so slowly gets closer and closer. Unable to see and barely able to hear, you beg him. “P-please. Please. Please.” You chant like a sinner praying for salvation. He presses his lips to your ear. 

“Please what?” 

You whimper. 

“Use your words.” He laughs against your skin as he leaves little bite indents on your forearms. The sound of your wetness echoes throughout the room, egging you on in the most obscene manner. All but screaming, you beg him to let you come. He murmurs “Good girl” in your ear and releases your wrists. He brings both of your knees up even higher and your hands grip his biceps as he plows into you. Almost instantly, your body tightens. Your eyes roll as your orgasm finally hits you, causing every part of your body to shake. This time you scream as he presses his hips into yours a few more times before stilling inside you. You watch as he closes his eyes and your name falls from his lips as he comes inside of you. 

Adrian lets your legs slip from his grip and lays down on you. The room is quiet save from the sound of your breathing. You can feel his heart beating against yours and you wrap your arms around him. Hand in his hair, you press your lips to his temple much like he’d done yours and he sighs into you. A smile dances across your lips as you hold him to you. 

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers. “I was going to say the same thing about you.” You reply. He exhales heavily and places a kiss on the inside of your elbow before getting up and entering your bathroom. You hear the faucet water turn on as he hums a song you’ve never heard before. He returns a moment later with a warm cloth and wipes your skin so gently that you feel your heart swell inside your chest. He continues to hum and the sound of his voice lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @hoppershoe. @c-crow-chatters

[sleep-drunk-kitten]

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

pairing: enhypen x fem!reader, platonic!Sunoo, ft. Lee Felix and Han Jisung of Stray Kids and Choi Soobin of TXT as side characters

genre: crack, fluff, isekai!au, royalty!au

content warnings: the crown prince is a bit of a jerk, war and an absent father are mentioned in passing, other than that there's nothing I can really think of? but lmk if I missed anything!

word count: 3.9k

summary: upon meeting her betrothed and possible murderer for the first time... our protagonist finds herself sure of two things: 1) he's every bit the princely male lead of the novel she'd loved so much in her previous life and 2) he's actually a little insufferable.

notes: It's finally hereeeee!! I'm so sorry for making you all wait for this, but I'm slowly working my way out of that writing slump~ I'm not sure whether or not I like how this turned out, but I hope you guys can just overlook it and move on if it sucks 😭 (please, for my sake, do. I will literally cry if my anxiety's proven right rn-)

I will be making a taglist for this fic, so if you're interested in being added please either drop an ask or let me know in the comments

Everything after the cut IS proofread for once, but please feel free to let me know if any typos slipped through the cracks!

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“Nonono, the blue one was a million times better,” Sunoo said, pointedly ignoring the deathly glares of Felix, your head maid.

  “Maybe it would be if I were going out for an evening ball or something, but it's a bit much for seeing a guest over some tea,” you reply dismissively, inspecting the girl standing in the three large mirrors placed round the circular platform you’d been standing on for the past hour, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another as your maids brought dress after dress out from your closet and whisked you through trying them on one by one. 

  Sunoo rolled his eyes at the statement, marching towards your vanity and sifting through the jewelry scattered across it till he settled on a length of thin silk ribbons. “Babes, be real with me here, it's not just some tea party and you know it.”

  The three maids who'd been helping you into the layers of lace and silk that made up the soft buttercup yellow gown Felix had chosen stepped to the side to give Sunoo room on the platform behind you, having learned very early on that there was little to no point in trying to stop him. 

  Ribbon in hand, he began weaving the silky material through the hairstyle they'd arranged as neatly and prettily as possible, ignoring a pained noise from the one nearest him. “I mean, it's not every day your fiance comes all the way out to your family’s manor on the outskirts of the city to make sure the bride-to-be he doesn’t actually care about hasn't lost all her marbles.” 

  You didn’t understand how Sunoo managed to carry on chattering with their eyes boring holes into the back of his head, especially when their dirty looks were nothing compared to the expression on Felix’s face–his twitching left eye reminded you of a glitching video game character–but he did, carrying on as if it were just the two of you in the room.

  “Your Grace,” Felix’s voice was strained, “I really do wish you wouldn't say such things to her Highness.”

  “What? That her beloved fiance's come to see her?” Sunoo said, batting his eyes and pouting in mock innocence.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Felix snapped back, eyes darting between his face and the silk in his hands. 

  “You know she doesn’t really care, right? Why would she care about that cold-hearted stone-faced bas-”

  “Sunoo!” you gasped, cutting him off by stomping on one of his fluffy house slippers with the toe of the wildly uncomfortable heel that had been forced onto your foot. You swear you see the corner of Felix’s lip twitch at the strangled noise your best friend makes. 

  “Ow ?! That was uncalled for- what’s with the look? Is anything I’m saying wrong?”

  “No, but you still shouldn’t be talking that way about a member of the royal family,” you reply with irritation, “you not liking him doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s the fucking prince now does it?”

  In your peripheral, the three maids shift uncomfortably, and Felix doesn’t even try to hide a long-suffering sigh, making a mental note to inform your tutor that your etiquette lessons still weren’t sticking the way they should. 

  Sunoo sees this, of course–grinning evilly at you. “It would seem that it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a princess either, Your Highness, better wash out that potty mouth of yours before your dearly betrothed arrives.”

  You nearly grab a handful of your skirts to give yourself enough mobility to kick him, but Felix launches himself in your direction before you have the chance, shoving Sunoo rather unceremoniously to one side and holding your wrists under the guise of guiding you off the platform. 

  “An excellent idea Your Grace, but I fear we have neither the time nor the soap for such an endeavor as m’lady’s presence is needed in the garden.”

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  It really was a scene straight from one of your romance manhwas; a neatly laid tea table under a pearly white gazebo, your gloved hand wrapped delicately round the gilded handle of a steaming cup of tea–the picture of perfection in your soft yellow dress that matched the white and yellow roses blooming in the bushes surrounding you perfectly. 

They filled the cool morning breeze with their sweet perfume, sending ripples across the clear blue lake so it glittered in the morning sun.

  It was beautiful.

  So beautiful. 

  And yet it still didn’t quite compare to the man sitting accross from you. 

  You’d read his description countless times. Everything from the plush curve of his lips to the sharp intensity held in his dark eyes… yet nothing could have prepared your heart for the sound of his laughter, carried to you over the foliage, the sight of those lips spread in an easy smile as he chatted with your brother, shoulders shaking with mirth.

  Nor, you think, could anything have braced you for the chill that would run down your spine when his smile dropped the second Soobin said his goodbyes, worriedly whispering a plea for you to ‘behave yourself’ as he kissed your cheek and left the two of you alone. Your chest constricting almost painfully when those same dark eyes that you’d squealed and giggled over late at night fixed on you, void of any emotion. 

  He'd stood from his place at the table to greet you, bowing formally in reply to the curtsy your poor tutor had drilled into your bones. 

  “(y/n).”

  “Your highness.”

  “You look to be in good health.”

  “I am, the family doctor and my handmaids have tended to me with so much care since the incident, recovering well is the very least I could do.”

  An awkward pause.

  “You seem to be in good health too, Your Highness.”

  You could’ve kicked yourself when the prince simply nodded and thanked you in return–a flash of something like recognition passing behind his eyes–before they went back to that easy, indifferent facade you supposed was crafted especially for Princess (y/n). ‘which makes sense,’ you mentally deadpan, ‘she was about as close to a crazy yandere psycho as you could get without actually killing anyone.’ 

  Still, those simple pleasantries, taken straight from the pages of volume two of your etiquette lessons, were the only words exchanged in greeting.

  It made even the silvery morning breeze feel stifling.

  Ever the gentleman, the prince pulled out your chair, made sure you were comfortable, and nodded once to your guard. “All is well with the knights of the (l/n) estate, Han?”

  The effort it took to refrain from snapping your head up and giving them both a confused once-over was monumental. It hadn't occurred to you that the crown prince would be familiar with any of your personal guards, though you supposed it made sense. Most of them had, according to Felix, been looking after you since you were only nine or ten, of course they'd be on friendly terms with your fiance.

  “We've been keeping busy, Your Highness,” Han said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. Knowing him, he was probably rocking back and forth on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. 

  “That's good to hear,” the prince nodded, settling into the seat across from you, “I fear the royal knights have grown rather complacent since the relief and revelry that followed the war, it has been a task for General Jeong to whip them back into shape.” 

  “I can imagine,” Han chuckled. “But really, who could blame them, it’s taken us a long time to reach this peace, what good would it be if we didn’t take at least a moment here or there to enjoy it? As it is, I doubt we would have stayed so diligent if it weren’t for Her Grace, (y/n)’s been coming down to the training grounds and asking us to teach her some basic swordsmanship of late.” 

  While Han was probably puffing up his chest and beaming proudly over at the prince, thrilled to share the good news that you were finally taking your swordsmanship and safety more seriously, you were trying to avoid choking on air. 

  There were many things that you didn’t know about Princess (y/n) (l/n)–daughter of an esteemed archmage and revered general–but one of the things that had been emphasised enough in the novel enough for it to stick firmly in your mind was this: she was a frivolous, selfish, bitter disappointment to her bloodline. Squandering the skills she’d inherited from her mother to brew potions that only served her own selfish needs, and refusing to entertain the possibility that she could possibly take after the father she loathed for abandoning her to fight in the war . 

  She would never willingly break a sweat. 

  Especially for the sake of swinging around a big heavy old sword. 

  And it seemed the prince was thinking the same thing, his next words directed at you. “I didn’t know you’d developed an interest in adopting such strenuous hobbies.”

  “I… I suppose almost dying will do that to you.”

  “Indeed…” 

  There was a brief pause, in which the prince looked like he was contemplating the milky way while stirring a cube of sugar into his tea. Setting your nerves on edge as you wondered if now was a good time to bring up wanting to end your engagement, or if you should try and “ease into the subject more naturally” as your tutor had told you with his head in his hands, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes after witnessing just how “abrupt” your manner of speaking was.  

  You were still turning the words over in your mind when his voice cut through your thoughts, crisp and clipped despite the concern you guessed the inquiry was meant to show. “I was told that you were caught in a storm.” 

  “I was,” you nod with a bit too much enthusiasm, relieved to finally have an excuse to fill the silence. “I was told that I was on my way back from visiting a cousin who happened to be staying in town when a sudden storm hit us and knocked my carriage into a ravine-”

  “You were ‘told’ that you were on your way back from visiting a cousin? That fact doesn’t come from your own memory?”

  You blink, caught off guard by his interruption. ‘Isn’t that rude? Is he allowed to be rude because he’s a prince or because he’s my fiance? But wait he shouldn’t be rude either way? Ah screw it, being mad won’t help my case anyway so…’ 

  “Yes, I believe His Grace mentioned in his letter to the palace that the event and the fever that followed seems to have caused a condition the doctors refer to as temporary amnesia, my memories are only there in bits and pieces.”

  “Is this memory loss permanent?” 

  “No, we suspect I’ll start remembering things  little by little, a few are already coming back to me,” you say, one hand gripping the material of your skirt in an attempt to keep your voice pleasant and calm.

Sure, the prince didn’t like the princess much, but that didn’t mean he had to be a prick about it, he could afford to be nicer when he was asking questions about her literally forgetting her entire identity. If you didn’t know how awful she’d be a few years down the road, you would’ve found him insufferable. 

  “I see…” he said, still slowly stirring his tea.

  “What exactly do you see, Your Highness,” you smile a little tersely, bringing your own cup up to your lips, praying that the lipstick your maids had chosen was transfer-proof. 

  The prince raised an eyebrow at you, apparently picking up on the shift in your tone.  “Nothing… I’m simply intrigued by your sudden change in character, and the rather dramatic event that you claim caused it.” 

  It takes you a moment to process his words, and a moment more for agitation to prickle under your skin. ‘The fudge muffin does he mean claim?? I fell off a hill??? Hannie carried me back??? I was out of my mind for a week???’

  Reminding yourself over and over again that in his mind he was talking to someone who definitely wasn’t you, you press your lips into one of the polite, plastic smiles Sunoo had been practicing with you. “I apologise for not hitting my head on something less dramatic… I’ll be sure to aim for the carriage windows instead of massive tree branches if it would be more convenient for you… Your Highness.” 

  “What would have been more convenient for me, and all parties involved, would be your learning to heed warnings, and refrain from traipsing off into town when you know that the sky bodes ill,” he replied smoothly, ignoring the agitation in your voice. 

  “I’ll do my best to remember that then, Your Highness,” you say through gritted teeth, taking a fortifying sip of your rich floral tea, immediately wondering how the prince could possibly drink something so naturally sweet with even more sugar. 

  Your answer seemed to surprise him, another flash of… something crossing his features before it vanished just as quickly as the one before. 

  “Very well,” he nodded, bringing the sugary concoction he’d like to call tea to his lips, distracting you slightly with the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he drank. 

  ‘Oh he hates my guts but dear mother of cheesy romance he’s definitely this world’s male lead…’ you mused, shaking your head slightly to get yourself back on track. You were annoyed. Very annoyed. And the source of that annoyance was speaking to you again. 

  “I came here today to confirm for myself that you have indeed recovered fully, now that I’ve made sure of that there really is no reason for me to linger longer than necessary,” he said, setting down his cup with such practiced ease that it barely made a sound.

  Alarm buzzed under your skin, causing you set your own cup down with much less grace than intended, a sharp clinking noise ringing through the empty gardens. “I- oh shoot- Your Highness there’s actually something I need to discuss with you before-”

  “If it concerns the steadily growing pile of invitations and inquiries piling up on your writing desk we needn’t bother with any discussion,”  he said, cutting you off without missing a beat, already signalling to the guards–who’d moved away at some point to offer you both more privacy–indicating that he intended to stand and leave. "As long as you stick to the promise you just made to listen to your guards and His Grace, you’re allowed to attend and host as many gatherings as your heart desires, just know that I will not be able to accept any invitations, I am a busy man-”

  “Your Highness,” you all but snapped, lips pursed into a thin line, as if sealing them together would stop the flurry of expletives in your mouth from rolling off your tongue.

  “(y/n),” he said mildly, raising an eyebrow.

  “That is not what I wanted to discuss, but while we’re here, why the hell would I need your permission to attend any kind of gathering?”

  The prince blinked blankly, holding up a hand to signal both his and your guards to wait. “What are you on about (y/n)? You’re my fiance.”

  “Yes, exactly, fiance, and by arrangement, not by choice.”

  “I can’t say I follow your meaning, both these things are well established.”

  You swore your eyes nearly popped out of your skull with the effort it took not to roll them. “If I were your wife, or your partner by choice I would, to a certain degree, understand if you wanted me to give you a heads up before I go out-”

  “A head?...”

  “But I’m not, and at this rate I’m really not sure I want to be, I’m an individual totally separate from you, these are my decisions to make, you have no right to dictate my comings and goings… Your Highness.”

  The Prince went silent, watching you steadily, his calm an aggravating contrast to the tense knot of anger and anxiety lodged in your throat. ‘Oh… oh… I’m so sorry Mr. Park…’ you whisper a silent apology in your head and offer a few prayers for your tutor and the vein in his forehead’s good health.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘at this rate I’m really not sure I want to be’, Princess.”

  The chill that runs down your spine when he uses your title instead of your name is immediate, your hands going slightly numb in the silken confines of your gloves.

“I mean that… that I don’t want to marry a complete stranger,” you manage, fumbling through whatever you could salvage from the script you and Sunoo had prepared. 

  “Is that what you'd call someone you’ve known since childhood?” he scoffed, the annoyance creasing his brows the most feeling he’d shown in response to you since his arrival. 

  “Well from the way you’ve spoken to me till now I can’t exactly consider you a friend now can I?” you seethe, regretting it almost instantly when his expression twists into something almost like hurt. You’re not sure why he made that face, but in a moment it’s gone, and no matter how it made you feel, you have a goal here. Not. Dying. 

  Which probably meant that pissing off the crown prince wasn’t the best idea. But oh well. 

  “I have no memory of you, Your Highness, as far as my mind is concerned, today is our first meeting… and from what I can see, the boy who’s meant to be my future husband sees me as either an object or a nuisance… I was hoping that meeting you would ease my mind about this whole engagement thing, but I’m sure now. I don’t want this.”

  The prince stared at you for a few moments, expression unreadable, and you guess that–aside from what you hope looks like defience and resolve–you look much the same. 

  When the world finally clicks back into motion, he nods once. “You do know that dissolving this agreement between our families is not something to be taken lightly? While our parents cannot force us into marriage, they will still try to convince us of our obligations.” 

  He looked up then, and something in his expression was different. It was still indifferent and unreadable as it had been, but there was a softness to it that you couldn’t quite place. It was confusing. “I understand, I know it won’t be easy, but this is my wish,” you say, relaxing slightly in your own seat. 

  “If that is what you want… I will speak to my father once things have settled down within the palace… I jest about the knights and their complacency, but the air is less than still, war is a messy business, and cleaning up the aftermath will take some time.”

  “I can wait… till next spring, but you must have asked him by then.”

  “I will,” he nods, “and I’ll write to you once it is done so you may speak with His Grace as well.”

  “Thank you… it’s appreciated…”

  You stay like that for a beat longer, staring at each other from across an intricately laid tea table, each of you wondering what the other must be thinking.

  “If that is all… I shall take my leave,” he says, breaking the odd trance. Standing, waves your guards over, and you take that as your cue to stand and curtsy as well. 

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Highness, the (l/n) family thanks you for your time.” 

  “Likewise,” he says, bowing. 

  Han and two other knights make their way over, wearing slightly troubled expressions, you guess they must’ve heard more than they were meant to. But it doesn’t matter, you think, eventually the news of the broken engagement would be the talk of the town, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about a few knights getting a preview. 

  “Before I go,” the prince says, “you should know that you never needed my permission for anything, (y/n). You may come and go as you please, you are an individual capable of thought and making her own decisions, as you say. However you must understand that to the public eye, you are the future crown princess, and that is not something to be taken lightly. It is my duty to do what I can to protect the royal family’s image, and having my fiance attend tea parties and balls when she is not in her right mind would have been foolish, to say the least.”

  He’s being earnest, you realise. Apologising in his own roundabout way. Maybe. Whatever it is, you choose to take it, knowing that beneath whatever dislike he may hold for the former princess, Park Jongseong was a good person. 

  “I… I’ll remember that in future…” you murmur.

  “Good… and one last thing.”

  “By all means.”

  “I know now that you have no memory of me, but you should know that you’ve never called me by my title.”

  “Oh?” to your memory, the princess had never called him anything but his title, he wouldn’t allow it. “Did I… call you by your given name?” 

  For the first time, he smiles at you, and you curse your heart for the way it flutters in your chest. “No, I don’t expect you to use it if it brings you discomfort, but the nickname you gave me when we were six was ‘Jay’, because you said I resembled a bird by the same name.”

  “A Blue jay?”

  “Yes, my hair was lighter then.”

  That confuses you slightly, his hair is black, as far as you can tell, but you ignore it, choosing to smile politely and nod along. “It must have been a very handsome bird.”

  “It was rather ugly, actually,” he says, walking down the gazebo steps to join his guards. “I bid you farewell, Princess, the royal family thanks you for your time.”

  “Likewise,” you respond, watching him as he goes. Noting with a hint of amusement that his hair shines blue in the now bright morning sun. 

  “What was all that about?” a voice says, and, predictably, Sunoo appears from one of the side paths. 

  “Were you listening the whole time?” 

  “Well I tried, but the fountain was too loud, only caught some yelling.”

  “Some guard you are,” you whine, smacking Han on the arm as he joins the two of you, “did you even realise a sneaky little rat was eavesdropping? 

  “Ow! For your information I did, but I figured there was no point chasing him round the gardens when I knew you’d be inviting that rat to tea anyways.”

  “That is very true,” you sigh, grabbing a plate and settling yourself across from Sunoo–who already had a mint chocolate chip cookie stuffed in his mouth. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  “(y/n)! Forget soap we’re gonna need bleach for that mouth tonight,” Sunoo cries, doubled over in a fit of giggles.

  “I knowwww,” you groan, massaging your temples. “Mr. Park’s gonna kill me.”

  Sunoo shakes his head. “You make the poor guy sound like an old man, you do realise he’s only our senior by about two years, right?”

  “He’s still my tutor! I’m trying to show some respect, as a thank you for how patient he is with my dumb ass.”

  “He deserves a raise,” Han chips in, settled on the marble gazebo rails with a plate of cheesecake in hand. 

  “He doessss,” Sunoo agrees, waving a teaspoon for emphasis.

  “You’re all really mean y’know,” you sigh, slumping over the table and grabbing one of Sunoo’s hands and moving it into the shape of a rabbit.

  “Not as mean as Sunghoon’s about to be when he sees your posture,” Sunoo says. 

  “What do you mea- Oh! Good morning Professor Park!”

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The perfect first date: food, honest conversations, and tragic news.

— Content warnings: murder, mention of child neglect, implied SA.

— Notes: Hello, everybody! Welcome to chapter 5 <3 Thank you so much to everybody who has shown support for this story, especially those who have joined the tag list. If anyone else would like to be added, lmk in the comments here or for the chapter guide, or through DMs. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

I want to know you

“Oh my gosh.” 

Your muffled praise comes out in between chews.

Eren watches you amusedly as you swallow and wash the first bite of your taco down with agua de horchata. 

“You like it?” he grins, an endeared laugh sputtering from his lips as he watches your brows scrunch in concentration toward your meal. 

Your eyes shimmer with joy when you look up at him and nod.

For your first date, Eren decided to take you out to the food trucks stationed across town. You finally got the chance to try out the tacos Sasha and Connie raved about the night you met everybody. It was the perfect way to secure a fun time while also curing you of any leftover hangover symptoms. With the fresh air brushing through your hair and cooling your skin, and Eren as your companion, you couldn't have asked for anything better.

Eren could barely get a wink of sleep after he got back to his apartment, his excitement too much for his body to bear as he replayed everything in his head. The moment you kissed him first, when you made tea together, when he kissed you, and when you told him you liked him back. Even now, as he watches you test how much salsa you can handle in one bite, the memories keep swirling in his mind in a swoon-worthy loop.

The reality of it all still hasn't fully sunk in. He doesn't even know when you could've possibly changed your mind. It all fed into the theory that he probably didn't need to stress about it as much as he did — all he had to do was be himself. But what kind of man would he be if he just assumed you'd give into his charms no matter what? 

This moment, he thinks, is nothing but bliss.

“You're staring again,” you murmur, glancing at him through your lashes.

It's never bothered you if you're honest. Eren’s intense gaze has always been warm, always shy, and full of admiration. Even before last night, you never chose to call him out for it. It was innocent. Now that you've confessed to mutual feelings, every glance, every accidental or purposeful touch begs to be acknowledged. 

You marvel at his cute side, which makes him blush profusely and produces that boyish laugh of his each time, in place of muttered apologies or swallowed words. 

There's still an air of tension on scarce occasions when he debates which limits have been implicitly lifted after last night's intimate moment in your apartment. It's all so new, and your friendship was fairly brief. Asking if he can hold your hand, hold you by the waist, or tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear is still a bit awkward for him.

“I can't help myself. You're just too pretty.”

It's your turn to avert your gaze shyly, your cheeks burning intensely. Of course, the compliment was more than welcome. You purposely stayed awake after he left your place to lay out the perfect attire for the occasion. A chunky beige sweater, a denim skirt, and knee-length boots were the way to go, you decided. As a special touch, a chunky silk headband adorned your head — a nod of sorts to your halo from the Halloween party.

“Your tacos are gonna get cold if you keep getting distracted,” you murmur, though a hint of a smile slips through the cracks of your stern demeanor.

“Fine. Let me stuff my mouth and shut up,” he sighs, faking a sniffle.

You laugh. 

On the other side of the park, five people watch your first date unfold before their eyes from the safety of an SUV. 

“Are you sure it's them?” Sasha asks from the backseat. Jean and Mikasa have their matching sunglasses low on the bridges of their nose as they squint at the picnic table you and Eren are sharing.

“For sure, for sure.” Jean nods. 

“No wonder neither of them replied to the groupchat,” Mikasa adds.

“We could go eat somewhere else?” Connie suggests.

Sasha instantly grumbles a fervent denial.

“I've been craving tacos since before we even got to the bar last night.”

“We could just wait them out. They're not gonna stay here forever. Eren's taking her for a drive after.” 

Jean shoots an annoyed glance at Armin through the rearview mirror.

“You knew they were coming here?” 

Armin raises both hands in surrender.

“He only mentioned it in passing when I called him last night! I didn't think we'd bump into them.”

“Maybe, we should go,” Mikasa suggests. “This feels too much like spying.”

The group watches as Eren brushes your hair out of your face when the wind picks up for a brief moment, leaving you to look up at him with a shy smile shaping your lips.

A collective aww echoes inside the car.

“So,” Eren says, smacking his lips together after a sip of water. “I have to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“What changed your mind?”

“I already told you. You grew on me.”

From the way you avert your gaze and bring the plastic cup of water to your lips for a long sip, he can tell it's an attempt to dismiss the topic. 

He zeroes in on your face and stays that way even after your eyes meet his and read through his silent plea.

“I like how kind you are,” you finally say, voice as soft as ever, caressing his ears and pulling at his heart with every syllable.

Eren doesn't consider himself to be known for his kindness. In fact, before this very moment, it hasn't been a topic to linger in his mind. He doesn't lie awake at night thinking about how he may be perceived and what he can do to switch the narrative in his favor. But perhaps you've hit the nail on what makes Eren Jaeger so appealing beyond his looks because a genuinely kind person doesn't have to think much about being so. 

“You're… caring and strong but gentle at the same time. And you're genuinely nice to everyone, it's admirable.”

Eren's skin burns with a fever as he holds your gaze. 

“I'm actually a bit jealous,” you murmur, tearing your gaze from him to focus on your now empty plate. 

“What? Why?” 

You shake your head, refusing to answer him.

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” 

You don't have the nerve to explain your reasoning as you feel yourself shrink to half your size. It's not something one can just say — to tell someone that you wish you'd met them sooner because maybe then you wouldn't have had to spend your formative years feeling so lonely, that you would've done anything to have been handled with such care when everything was going downhill. To get drunk off of it and maybe now you wouldn't be so closed off to any attention and yet simultaneously still so desperate to be taken care of, to allow yourself to be cradled in someone's arms. It's embarrassing to display such childlike ideas — you're responsible for yourself; you and only you.

Eren's lips press into a thin line as he observes you through pensive eyes. His features soften soon enough, as he decides to retreat from crossing any boundaries.

“Do you mind if I ask one more thing?”

He raises his hands in defense when you start fidgeting in your seat.

“It's not about what you just said, I promise.”

Warily, you nod.

“When we met at Armin's party… I really wanted to get your attention.” 

The familiar wave of heat starts washing over his cheeks. 

“I thought you were pretty — even before when I bumped into you at the bakery. Then when I saw you talking to everyone and smiling, I just… I couldn't stop looking at you. And so I tried to get you to notice me too, you know? But when you said you didn't see me that way I figured I should stop trying. I thought maybe I would get over my crush and I'd be fine with being just friends. So when you kissed me last night at the bar… I kept racking my brain for what I could've done to make you think of me differently.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, the heavy exhale ending in soft shy laughter.

“I'm just curious, that's all. I swear I wasn't trying to get you to look at me anymore.”

A moment passes by in silence after his admission. He waits patiently, his gaze bouncing from your face to his hands, to nowhere at all, and back to you.

“It's a little embarrassing,” you begin.

“I want to know.”

“You remember when we both went to Armin's apartment? When he got sick?”

He hums, encouraging you to continue.

“You were moving around his kitchen, making him soup and tea. And then you sent him to his room to make him rest.” 

You bring a hand up to cover your face, much too shy to give him a full view of your meek expression as you continue speaking.

“You were so stern but gentle. I might’ve felt something that day.”

Pride swells in Eren's chest as the butterflies stir frantically in his stomach and his cheeks flare with heat. 

“Then the day we went apple-picking. When you took care of me after I got hurt?”

He nods when you glance up at him briefly to make sure he's still paying attention.

“That's the day I realized I liked you.”

His attempt at biting back a grin fails miserably and he finally gives in to the thrill produced by the new information. 

You notice this. It's endearing to watch him light up at the compliments you direct at him. It's as if your words hold an incredible power over him — the power to make him a blushing, grinning mess.

“And you're insanely hot, I can't keep lying to myself,” you bluntly state with a shrug.

The sudden laughter bubbling up his throat causes him to fall into a fit of amused coughing. Your laughter laces with his, the sound dancing around you both like music. 

“What about you?” you ask once he regains his breath.

Eren's head tilts in confusion. 

“I've never changed my mind since meeting you,” he firmly states.

The seriousness in his tone squeezes at your chest. You clear your throat, bashful. 

“I mean, the exact moment you started feeling something.”

“The night we met. When we were out on Armin's balcony,” Eren replies without missing a beat.

Your eyebrows twitch in shock.

“That soon? That was the first day we met.”

Flashes of that night come flooding into Eren's memory. The image of you looking up at him with glassy eyes as you wondered aloud if there would be anyone to mourn you — so small, so fragile. He wanted to cradle you in his arms and nurse you to sleep. Just looking at you built an incredible pressure in his chest. From that moment on, he had no doubts about his simple crush evolving into something more meaningful.

“I really couldn't stop looking at you.”

“They look good together.”

A series of hums and murmured agreements follow Mikasa's statement. 

“We can't let them know we spied on their first date,” Connie says, his eyes looking down sternly at everyone until they nod in agreement.

“Blame Armin. He knew the entire time,” Jean jokingly mutters, glancing briefly at the blond through the rearview mirror.

“Again, I didn't think we'd bump into them. Jeez, give me a break,” Armin huffs.

Mikasa suddenly gasps as she watches you and Eren get up from the picnic table and head out of the park to where Eren's car is parked.

“They're leaving, get down!”

The drive to somewhere unknown to you is reminiscent of the drive to Sunrise Orchards. The only difference is that this time, nobody occupies the backseat and it's just you, Eren, and the soft music that swirls around you. 

After Eren refused to give you any hint of your destination, you calmly accepted anything to come your way. As you and Eren engage in an inevitable game of twenty-one questions — nobody's keeping count — you keep your focus on the passing trees and speeding cars, fingers mindlessly tapping along to the beat of the songs that play on the radio that you happen to know. 

“What's something you're really nerdy about?” you ask.

He hums in thought for a moment, then laughs.

“I collect Sailor Moon figurines.”

Your eyes widen.

“Really?” 

Grinning, he nods.

“Not in a weird way,” he clarifies. “I just loved watching the show when I was growing up, and it kind of stayed with me.” He shrugs. “I like cute things.”

You giggle.

“I'm surprised, I would've thought you were into Dragon Ball Z.”

“Oh, I'm definitely a fan, too. But kid Eren wanted to marry Sailor Mars when he grew up.”

You laugh.

“Okay, your turn.”

“What do you think of aliens? Real or fake?” Eren asks.

While your questions mostly refer to basic things such as places he’s traveled to, sports he's played, how many years since he moved to the city, and how many relationships he's been in — he did a year abroad in Spain during college, played lacrosse in high school, it's been three years, and he's only ever had one girlfriend — his land on a random spectrum, from asking about your favorite snacks to your thoughts on the moon landing and if you would've turned around had you been Orpheus.

“Real,” you say without an ounce of hesitation. 

“Really?” 

He turns to look at you with surprise. 

“It's ridiculous to think there's nothing but space matter out there,” you explain matter-of-factly. “The universe is huge. We haven't even explored more than five percent of our own ocean. There's got to be tons of stuff we don't know about up there.” Your hands move around in broad gestures as your voice picks up with every word.

“Okay, relax,” he laughs. “I agree, aliens are real.” He shoots you an accomplice smile. “Maybe.”

You playfully punch his arm.

“Easy there, Rocky. I'm driving here.”

A laugh sputters from your lips.

“Your turn,” he murmurs amusedly. 

You hum as you look out the window pensively until a question pops into your head.

“Are you religious?” 

He shrugs.

“I'm not sure what to call it. My mom's catholic so I grew up going to church and all those things. I don't know if I actually believe in God, though. I'd feel like a hypocrite if I said yes knowing I haven't prayed since I was a kid.”

“What about your dad? Was he religious?” you ask, disregarding the fact your turn in the game is over.

“I think he just converted to make my mom happy. He was more of a science man.”

You nod contemplatively.

“Your turn,” you murmur.

“Hm… same question.” 

You inhale deeply, holding the air in your lungs as you briefly think your answer over. 

“I'm not,” you conclude.

He eyes you furtively.

“Why's that?”

A familiar pain wraps around your throat, as you debate whether to choke the words out or swallow them. Eren turns to you, concerned, as he pulls into a line of cars looking to be let into what seems to be a private park. You make your choice.

“I used to pray a lot when I was younger. I don't think I asked for much but everything always went unanswered.”

The amount of times Eren's been waiting for you to steer near the topic of your past is too many to count. Ever since your drunken comment at Armin's apartment, he's been wanting to know. Pure curiosity played a huge part, of course, but mostly he’s been wanting to understand you. Maybe get to know why you’re so quiet, and why you shrink into yourself when coming face to face with new people.

So now, when it feels like your words are teetering on the edge of the topic, he can't help but feel consumed by the fear that you'll close the door on him before he gets a chance to offer you an ear. 

The car behind him honks impatiently, breaking Eren out of his daze and forcing him to pull up to the now empty spot beside the entrance booth.

He pays the entry fees and pulls up the car into a gravel parking lot. 

“Give me a second,” he smiles before climbing out of his seat and rounding the car to open your door. He keeps a hand on the roof of the car to keep you from bumping your head as you step out and look around curiously.

There's barely a crowd, just a couple of families making their way onto some wooden paths lined with tall grass on both sides. The wind is a bit stronger than it was before, but nothing you can't manage.

“Where are we?”

You look at Eren quizzically. 

Typical of when he's nervous, he runs a hand through his hair.

“Come on,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leading you down the same path you saw the other families disappear into. 

The further you walk, the wooden planks that make up the path you walk on are further buried in sand. The air grows saltier and the wind grows cooler as the grass at your sides thins out and you're exposed to a private beach. 

You look up at Eren. He shrugs.

“You said you wanted to go to the beach.”

Your lips perk into a delighted smile as you take in the view. Even with the sky in all its gloomy autumn glory, your face lights up at the scene. The water calmly washes back and forth, kissing the shoreline each time as its foaming whispers tickle your ears. The tall grass behind you sways with every blow of the wind.

“I know it kind of sucks right now because of the weather but I wanted to get first dibs with you before we come back in the summer with everyone else.”

You cover a giggle with your hand as you both walk deeper into the sand. Your boots were a fortunate fashion choice. Otherwise, you'd have sand sneaking into your shoes had you worn sneakers like Eren. He doesn't seem to mind, though, as he happily walks beside you, eyeing you carefully in case you take a bad step.

The two of you sit side by side on the sand, far enough from either of the families that came before you so that any ensuing conversations are kept just between you and him. 

You close your eyes and allow the salty air to fill your lungs as the wind blows at your hair. 

Eren keeps his eyes on you the entire time, admiring every dip and curve of your side profile until you gently call his name and meet his mesmerized gaze.

“Hm?” he hums, brushing any stray hairs from your face.

“I have a confession to make,” you sheepishly murmur.

An eyebrow quirks up on Eren's face in response.

“I've been to the beach before. Just once.”

He nods along, unsure of where you're headed.

“It's not a good memory.” Your voice shrinks. “But this is nice.”

The grateful smile on your face fades just long enough for you to lean over and kiss his cheek. That same smile grows when his face reddens. 

“Do you mind if I sit a little closer?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

You inch closer to him, enough so that when you turn to look at him again, your faces are just inches apart.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“You're welcome,” he whispers back.

You remain quiet for a moment, purely enjoying the act of looking into each other’s eyes. It'd be great practice for Eren to stop feeling so shy now that you look at him in the way he always wished you would if he weren't blushing profusely the entire time. But it gets easier with every precious second.

His eyes dart to your lips, which causes you to finally be absorbed by the same shyness as him as you lower your gaze for a second before looking back at him.

Eren has never been so captivated by another girl like this. He so desperately wants to cup your face in his hands and kiss you, but the words you've scattered on the way here keep gnawing at his brain.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Now that we're dating,” he pauses to clear his throat. The words are brand new on his tongue, he can nearly imagine a sweet taste to them even if the ones to follow are laced with an uneasy sensation. “Is it okay if I ask you about more personal things?”

Eren has been witness to you looking small only a handful of times — or rather, two. This makes three. 

Upon your hesitation, he decides to retract the idea.

“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” 

A reassuring smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“I can talk about aliens for hours on end.” He sighs. “I just… my offer from last time still stands… and I meant it when I said I want to learn everything about you. But I don’t want you to feel pressured to tell me about it.”

You shake your head — finally, a response.

“It’s not that,” you mutter. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m dumping everything on you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

His eyes soften.

“I’m asking, though.”

Uncertainty clouds your eyes, leaving Eren to wonder just how bad everything must be for you to feel so scared. Just your blunt revelation on that first night felt like a low blow. It’s more than likely the weight of it all has been crushing you from the inside your entire life. 

You nip at the cracks on your lips, pulling at a sliver of skin until it peels and leaves a faint trace of blood. 

It’s hard to let someone in. You know Eren means well — offering to hear you out and willing to ease the weight that’s been suffocating you for twenty years. But the way you see it, it’s incredibly selfish to ask him to share your burdens when you’re barely strong enough to hold onto them yourself. 

If you’re a bit more honest with yourself, you’re also trying to guard him from destroying his perception of you. You know he’s liked you from the start. You wanted to keep a friendly distance — that was the plan. After all, there’s only so much one can grasp when looking at the big picture. 

Now that you’ve come to understand how you feel about him — and now that you feel you have something to lose — it’ll devastate you to have him see how truly weak and battered you are. He’ll want to comfort you — tell you that you can always seek refuge with him. You’ll accept out of greed. Little by little, you’ll get used to relying on his protection and embrace and he’ll inevitably get tired of it. Not that Eren seems like the kind of person to abandon someone he claims to care about, but sometimes even the most patient hearts get worn down.

“If there’s anything you don’t want to talk about, you can just… punch me in the face or something. I can take a hint.” Eren shrugs.

Your laughter pours into the palm of your hand. Eren watches you proudly, relieved at his success in dissipating your tension.

“Okay,” you murmur.

With an appreciative smile on his lips, he nods.

“Alright.”

He leans back, pressing his palms into the sand as he looks up at the sky in thought.

“What was the town you grew up in like?”

In Eren’s eyes, you nearly seem relieved by the question, which is exactly why he started with something fairly easy. He won’t take things too far today, just enough to strengthen the foundation of what he wants to build. The rest, you can tell him with time.

The name of a city Eren’s never heard of comes out of your mouth.

“It’s not a very big town,” you explain. “But I guess still big enough to have a bad side.”

A humorless chuckle escapes your lips.

“Um… there’s not much to say, really. I was born there, grew up there, and went to school there. It wasn’t a violent area but it was pretty… forgotten, I guess. Most of the people living there were low-income. I lived in this really small apartment with my parents. It only had one bedroom so the living room was also my room. There were many kids there but they were either too old or too young for me to play with, and you already know I don’t have any siblings, so… you know, I grew up feeling pretty lonely.” 

You sigh, offering Eren some silence as a sign that you’re done answering his first question.

“What were your parents like?”

“My mom… was really pretty,” you smile, though when you look back at him, Eren notices a hint of tears lining your lashes. “She had me when she was a senior in high school so my parents got together pretty young. After they separated, I still got to see my dad for a while until he just… forgot. I think he got a new family but I’m still not sure the man I saw a few years ago was him. If it was, then, he was doing pretty well. He was driving his kids to school.”

“Did you like school?” he asks.

“I loved it.” 

Your face lights up as you recall your moments spent in a classroom, thrilled to learn and devouring every book you could from the school’s library.

“I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.”

A smile makes its way to Eren’s face as he pictures you surrounded by kids eager to learn.

“Yeah?”

You nod, a hint of nostalgia and childlike glee shimmering in your eyes.

“Why didn’t you?”

A heavy sigh slumps your shoulders.

“Well, for starters, I’d need a degree.” 

Brows furrowed, you chew on the inside of your cheek as you contemplate what’s lost. “I only have a GED.”

Eren feels a puncturing sensation as his heart deflates.

“You could still go back to school,” he suggests. “You’re young, you have time.”

It’s nothing you haven’t thought of before, but his words are comforting nonetheless. But you shake your head.

“No. I think the itch has passed, anyway. Besides, I’m happy now just to get by even if I never pictured myself as an office manager.”

Eren nods in understanding.

“Wait, so you didn’t go to high school?”

“I dropped out halfway through freshman year,” you explain. “Things at home weren’t going so well, so I just… had to.”

“So, you started working?”

You nod.

“Yeah. I was fifteen so I picked up as many odd jobs as I could.”

Eren looks up at you in awe.

“And you still found the time to study for your GED. That’s amazing,” he gushes.

A shy gust of air blows through your nose.

“I had some help, so I didn’t struggle too much.”

Eren tilts his head in curiosity. Maybe there was a time when your mom got better enough to help you study.

“Your mom?” he asks.

Your shoulders stiffen and you start blinking nervously. 

“Um… no.”

You look down at your lap, where you nervously pick at your cuticles in an attempt to ground yourself. Eren watches you closely.

“I um… one of my old high school teachers took me in for a while. He helped me prepare for the test.”

Eren purses his lips, confused as to why you seem so uneasy about it. Maybe you’re embarrassed by the fact that you had to search for help outside of your home, but that’s nothing to stress over. In fact, he’s relieved you had someone to lean on during such tough times.

“He sounds like a nice guy,” he murmurs.

“I guess,” you whisper so softly it barely reaches his ears.

“Have you kept in touch with him after moving here?”

A ghostly ‘no’ makes its way past your lips. 

Eren sits up straight, an uneasy feeling nudging at the pit of his stomach. He lowers his head so he can get a view of your face. Your eyes seem dead, all glassiness vanishes as you stare at a blank point.

“Hey, you okay?”

His voice draws your attention. You look back at him, eyes wide and lips parted to take in hushed shallow breaths. Eren’s eyebrows upturn in concern. Little by little, the longer you look at him, your features soften, your shoulders relax, your eyes come back to life, and your breathing steadies.  

“You wanna punch me in the face?” he offers.

“No,” you murmur back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “But can we stop for now?”

He smiles and nods.

“Give me your hand.”

“Why?” you ask, but give in to his direction anyway.

“Because,” he says as he presses your hand down against his chest, right above his heart. “I want to kiss you, and I don’t want you to freak out on me like last time.”

Though you know he’s teasing, embarrassment creeps up your neck at the memory, anyway. Still, you gently stroke his chest with your thumb, relieved to feel his heartbeat on your fingertips.

“It’s not like I’ll freak out each time,” you mumble, breath shortening as he dips his head forward to brush your nose with his.

“Just in case, then,” he whispers, his breath tickling your upper lip.

He tilts his head as he closes the gap between you. At a hair's distance, he whispers a teasing ‘deep breath’, swallowing your laughter immediately after. 

His lips gently caress yours, slowly, with calculated strokes that make you sigh into his mouth. Any lingering trace of stiff muscles and chest pain is gradually ridden by his soft affections. The hand that keeps you holding onto his heart is warm and strong, giving you a light squeeze as his heart rate picks up with the pure ecstasy that comes with kissing you. 

He pulls back, just enough to grant you room to breathe.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not feeling lightheaded or anything?”

You giggle against his lips.

“No.”

“Lucky.”

He captures your lips once more as his free hand comes up to cradle your face and hold you closer. Your skin is warm to the touch, evidence of your timidness as you allow his tongue into your mouth to tease your own. Shivers run down your spine upon a single strained moan that bubbles from Eren’s throat as your tongues push and swirl against each other. 

Despite the heated tone of Eren’s affections, you somehow feel at peace, taken care of, and safe. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as his pounds against your fingertips in the same frantic manner. With the wind now dancing more aggressively around you as you feel yourself melt into his passionate kiss, this moment feels nothing short of poetic. It’s a mirror to the mayhem of incoherent ideas in your head — dizzying and beautiful, all at once. 

With the hand that’s comfortably nestled into his chest, you push him back lightly but remain close enough for your shallow breaths to lace in the air with his. 

“Eren,” you exhale.

“Hm?”

He pulls back to observe you better. Your lips are glossy with his saliva, reddened and swollen from his sweet assault. Your eyes twinkle as they stare into his affectionately. It’s an image worthy of committing to memory.

“Is it okay if we take things slow?” 

Your voice is low, unsure. It looks as if you’re wary of his response — not out of fear, but rather out of genuine concern.

“Slow is good,” he murmurs, relieved.

“You sure?”

“I promise.”

If anything, Eren’s grateful to follow the pace you set. There’s nothing more addicting than having his lips on yours — and he undoubtedly wants more if he can handle the repercussions on his cardiac system — but if he can ease into it instead of putting his heart at risk, then best not to race into anything.

A gust of wind blows past you, picking up grains of sand in its wake as well as raising goosebumps on your skin.

“We should go. I don’t want you to get sick,” Eren says, voice firm and decisive.

He helps you get back on your feet and starts leading you back to the parking lot.

When you’re just about to reach the wooden planks, you nearly trip over a rock buried in the sand. Eren’s arm wraps around your waist to keep you from falling. As you regain your balance, he grabs onto your hand, lacing your fingers together while he fakes nonchalance through his blushing cheeks.

“Just in case,” he mutters.

 He doesn’t let go until you reach his car.

Eren carefully pulls into a spot in the parking lot behind your apartment building. With a smile, he unbuckles his seatbelt and rounds the car to open your door.

Your hand meets his, comfortably slotting your fingers between his as if his hold has been tailored to accommodate you.

He glances at your locked hands and back at you, a small smile playing on his blushing face.

“Just in case,” you murmur.

You walk hand in hand to the main entrance and make your way to the elevator. You settle in, glancing at each other to exchange smiles.

“Do you think I’ll have any luck for a second date?”

You click your tongue, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

“Ah, you see, you just ruined it by asking.”

“Oh, shoot,” he groans, theatrically snapping his fingers. “Well, what can you do, am I right?”

With a shake of your head, you smile.

The elevator dings on the third floor and you make your way down the hall toward your apartment door. The short journey brings back memories of the previous night, or rather what occurred just some hours ago. It all seems so foreign now as if the last time Eren watched you unlock your door was ages ago — as if your new reality has been going on for more than a single day. The couple facing each other as they struggle to bid each other goodbye is completely different from the two shy people who shared a kiss at a bar. 

“Thank you for today, Eren,” you murmur as you step forward to place a hand on his chest, in your designated spot. 

Humans need to go through the motions an average of twenty-eight times to build a habit, but it’s no surprise that holding his heartbeat in your hand has turned into one much more easily with all the warm feelings it awakes inside you.

You blink up at him, hoping he’ll take the hint. The corners of your lips tug upwards when he dips forward, aiding you in closing the distance between you.

“My pleasure,” he murmurs, gazing affectionately into your eyes.

His free hand reaches your face, cradling it softly and stroking your cheek with his thumb as you lean into his touch.

“I think you’re a shoo-in for a second date, by the way.”

“You must not have many prospects in your agenda, then,” he teases, recalling your sarcasm from the night before.

“No, I do,” you reply with an air of arrogance. “But there’s only one I like,” you whisper as his nose brushes against yours.

“I hope it’s me, otherwise this entire afternoon has been very misleading,” he grins.

In response, you press your lips against his in one swift peck which he takes the reins on converting to a proper kiss goodbye one breath later. 

Slowly, gently, warmly. Very fitting for a guy like him to kiss.

“I’ll start making date plans as soon as I get home,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Don’t be too long, please.”

He chuckles softly.

“I won’t.”

The warmth on the side of your face fades, leaving you to feel empty from the lack of his touch as his hand falls to his side.

“I’ll see you soon,” he grins, stepping away further as he waves you goodbye. 

“Bye, Eren,” you smile, watching him turn around and head to the elevator.

You perk up at a sudden reminder, and his name bounces off your tongue instinctively.

He turns around, his boyish grin still playing on his lips from your goodbyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll tell you everything one day. I promise.”

His eyes light up at your words while yours shimmer with hope and sincerity. 

“Take your time. I’m here for the long haul.”

Once you shut the door behind you, you bring a hand to your heart, an echo of a smile still lingering on your features as Eren’s words ring in your head.

You slip out of your boots, changing into slippers to be more comfortable.

With the press of a button on your remote, the TV blinks to life, the evening news serving as background while you fix yourself a cup of tea in your kitchen. The reporter’s words are mostly lost on you as you still struggle to ground yourself from the high of a perfect first date.

It’s not until the words woman found dead reach your ears, that you abruptly crash down to earth and rush to turn up the volume. 

With a fearful glassiness coating your eyes, you stare at the television screen as the details of a new murder are disclosed. Despite your undivided attention set on the news, you only manage to grasp a few relevant words. Slash, neck, dumpster, twenty-three, suspicion of rape. The blood drains from your face and your mind goes completely blank when it’s revealed that the victim was last seen attending a Halloween event at a bar last night — the very same bar you were at last night with your friends. 

The kettle on the stove screeches for your attention moments after the news is replaced by a less tragic one, but it takes you much longer to find the strength to stand.

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taglist: @erenjaegerwifee @youatemylollipop @okaystopwhore

[handweavers]

my mother has asked me to ask “that weaver friend of yours” lol — do you have experience dyeing linen? what does the process look like for natural vs synthetic dyes?

happy to be that weaver friend of yours 🥰❤️ dyeing linen is basically the same as dyeing cotton or any other cellulose fiber, so any synthetic dye that works for cotton will also work for linen. a professional grade fiber reactive dye like procion mx or dharma's procion (here) dyes cellulose fiber without heat, and the process is quick and painless. it just involves a large bucket, water, the dye powder and the cloth you wish to dye. i have little experience with rit dye so i'm not sure if you'd need heat for that, but procion dye is higher quality, comes in a lot more colours than rit, and a 2oz container is like $2 usd and goes a long way

the natural dye process for linen takes a lot longer than the procion dye process and requires several steps. cellulose fibers really don't like to take dyes so you basically have to do a bunch of alchemy to convince it to do what you want (compared to protein fibers like wool and silk which love dyes and only need some gentle nudges)

naturally dyeing linen depends on the dye you'd wish to use, but the process is essentially: scouring, mordanting, and dyeing. it's really important that you scour linen especially because it contains a lot of pectins that prevent dye from penetrating the fiber, so a harsh scouring is best (ie. washing it with hot water and ph neutral soap, even to the point of boiling the cloth. linen can take a lot of heat and is better for it, cotton is more sensitive) you'll probably have to do this before dyeing it with the synthetic dye too for best results

most natural dyes require that you mordant the cloth before dyeing. some dyes don't require a mordant (indigo is the big one, but if you're working with onion skins or other materials that contain tannins this is also true. however mordanting the cloth before dyeing with tannins or even mordanting with tannins is still recommended for better colour performance long-term unless you're working with indigo in which case using a mordant can actually cause problems) but if you're unsure, assume that you need to apply a mordant. you essentially have to simmer the cloth in a hot pot with either a material that contains tannins (tannic acid), a natural bio-accumulator of aluminum (symplocos), or use a metal salt (alum acetate is best for cellulose, but iron and copper salts can also be used. the metal salts route requires more safety precautions esp if you use copper salt, you can't dump that down the drain) your choice of mordant impacts the final colour with different mordants shifting the chemical reaction that happens in the cloth when you dye it

with cotton and linen, after you use the mordant you need to use either a chalk or wheat bran bath to remove excess mordant from the cloth, esp if you use alum acetate, otherwise it can leave a whitish cast over the cloth and also impede dyeing lol. wheat bran baths tend to cause a warmer tone to the final dyed cloth, chalk baths cause a cooler tone. i only use wheat bran baths bc i prefer the warmth and i get the bran cheaply at my local punjabi grocer

only then can you dye the cloth, again unless you're working with a dye like coffee or tea or onion skins OR indigo. linen really doesn't like to take natural dyes unless you do all the above steps, it's stubborn. the dye process itself depends on what dye you use and you can do stuff like solar dyeing if you don't want to simmer it in a pot on a stove. if you plan to go the natural dye route lmk and i can send you some scans of a book i have that contains precise instructions for preparing linen for dyeing

[tiredlilguy]

The Flags HC's

(that nobody asked for... but i love them and I have no where to put these) note: these are just general hc's :P if you want me to make other ones lmk!

Pianoman: - his ass cannot play piano, when people asks if he can because of his name, he changes the subject because he feels embarrassed - is the oldest sibling in his family - since he's a perfectionist, he's also kind of his own worst critic (can be in a really shitty mood if he's alone with his thoughts for too long) - his hair is a result of vitiligo - is an anxious person, but somehow his anxiety goes away when he's with The Flags - whenever he handles something physically using his hands, he's very cautious and tends to treat whatever is in his hands gingerly (like if he's given a gift, he will gently hold it in his hands instead of just taking it like normal) - has naturally shaky hands (i want to give him a big hug and kiss :( ) - going along with his hands, they're very thin, so his gloves are thick enough to where you don't really know what they look like underneath - has a really shitty sense of humor and will laugh at that one meme video with the bread falling on it's side - has defined canines and it shows if he opens his mouth or smiles

Lippman: - gets to know all of the celebrity drama before it gets out in the media: sometimes he uses it for blackmail or just tells the others and they all become a little gossip group (it's mostly just him, iceman, and chuuya though...) - he can make really good tea, like knows every little detail that comes with making tea: not leaving out a single step so you can get the best flavor out of the tea - polyglot, he once had to learn english for a role that he had and then proceeded to teach himself any language he thought was cool (sometimes mumbles in a different language under his breathe to mess with chuuya) - flirts with Pianoman a lot, says it's for fun, but he might have a little crush - wears that really dramatic silk robe with feathers and drags on the floor, it's either white or baby blue - paints his nails and will paints Chuuya's nails sometimes to practice, Chuuya says he's only doing it because he's his superior, but secretly enjoys it - unintentionally fixes The Flags outfits or hair, mostly Chuuya: like he'll adjust Iceman's collar if it's standing up, or he'll comb Chuuya's hair back into a nicer ponytail if it gets messy throughout the day

Iceman: - has a niece, and is the BEST uncle to her, likes to spoil her and will literally do anything for her (i read this from a fic and i can't stop thinking about it) - loves hearing gossip despite not talking that much - insomniac, spends most of his nights listening to his records with whiskey unless he has a job to do - plays his records really loud, but his listening room is sound proof so he can hear every little detail in the music - likes records, but he actually prefers live bands instead, thinks records are classy - gifts Chuuya records if he notices that Chuuya is singing a song to himself, usually tries to find the song and gets Chuuya that record of the album - is slowly becoming deaf, the only person that knows is Pianoman and Lippman, and he's slowly teaching The Flags sign language when they're on missions with him (he'll say it's because he wants to be quiet) (he won't admit it, but he will miss not being able to hear the others banter in the background anymore) - doesn't actually care about his ego/reputation at all, he's pretty confident in his assassinations, but if he fails a job, he'll just sigh and smoke a cigarette and move on - does not style his hair, he wakes up in the morning and moves it around a little bit and that's his hair for the day - he can't see out of his right eye that has the scar, but when he feels invoked with an emotion, he'll open that eye - notices small details... like extremely small details: one's that you won't even be thinking about; probably remembers what people like when they mention they like it once, knows when someone gets a haircut or they change colognes

Doc: - silly guy (canon) - he judges people's fashion taste despite not wearing any sort of outfit himself: likes to give pointers to Lippman about how to style his shirt or will judge Chuuya's strange outfits; will put on a good outfit if he's feeling like it - is very good at video games, but he doesn't really play them in his free time, but once Chuuya offered to play a video game with him and Doc beat his ass (Chuuya is still salty over an old Mario Cart match) - avoids walking long distance otherwise he'll start to feel tired, Albatross offers to take Doc everywhere - really good at darts... like his accuracy is scarily amazing, but guess you can't expect less from a doctor with his credentials - his way of showing affection is by being... very uncomfortably close to someone and then waiting to see if they're going to react, if they acknowledge his presence he smiles and then just walks away - very fidgety when he's doing something that isn't his job, will often fidget with something in his hand like a paper clip or rubber band, but suddenly that all goes away when it involves work - youngest sibling in his family... idk he gives me that energy

Albatross: - uses text emojis like ":D" and ":O" and so on; it does not matter who he is texting and he can and will accidentally text that to Mori on the phone (then proceeds to get lectured heavily by Pianoman) - answers his phone/messages immediately the moment that he gets them - can and will talk his ass off for hours on end, sometimes he does it to annoying Chuuya, but sometimes Chuuya actually wants to listen to it all - metalhead, this is canon actually i'm asagiri - gives the best hugs, like he gives big bear hugs; greets all of the Flags with hugs despite they're reactions - human heater, is always warm and it doesn't matter what season it is... he's just strangely warm all of the time (sometimes Doc sits next to him during the winter or if he's cold because he gets cold easily, and is a lot thinner than the rest of them) - openly bi, like he talks about it all of the time if he finds a man attractive

" I mean I know this man is our next target, but his ass looks nice in this file photo- " " Albatross." " Sorry.

-has freckles on his cheeks - has heterochromia, his eyes are blue and red

Chuuya: - has freckles... like everywhere, used to cover them up with makeup when he was younger and around The Flags, but then forgot one time and then Lippman said that it fit him and he stopped covering them up - can pick up any instrument he finds and owns a couple of guitars - huge audiophile and will judge every pair of headphones or recorde/cd/speakers that he's given; the record player in his house is very extra and over 2000 dollars - sings to himself when he's doing chores, or if he's playing music in the background, he will dance and sing while sweeping the floor - despite being musical, his dancing tends to be very clumsy (was once caught by Albatross and he made fun of him for a whole week) - can speak French and will cuss in French without thinking when he gets annoyed - knows all of the Mafia gossip, but no one knows he's a gossip-y kind of person... he knows everything about everyone, often finds himself hearing two different sides of one story - shopaholic (he cannot close his closet door anymore because the door is broken because it's so crowded in there)

[astayinwonderland]

Silk and Fire - Chapter 4

pairing: namjoon x f.reader , jungkook x f. reader

guest starring: ot7, Camille, Seri (new character)

genre: romance | drama | smut +18 MDNI

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1k

You can read about this story and other chapters here.

warnings: drinking, sex shop, sex toys, drinking games, thigh riding, finger sucking, cheating, kissing (lmk if I missed anything)

“I told you to wake me up whenever you couldn’t sleep,” Namjoon’s soft voice echoes in your head while he prepares tea for you. 

The knot tied in your throat won’t let you breathe properly as the adrenaline from finding pleasure in what's forbidden keeps finding ways of pushing you toward Jungkook’s arms. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. How could you? If that man’s velvety voice alone had turned you on in such a way that made you betray your instincts and let him talk you into cuming so hard through the phone, what other lustful things would he be able to do in a dark room when it's only the two of you? 

You press your thighs together in an attempt to quiet those heated thoughts. After all, Jungkook was just a fantasy and your boyfriend was right here in front of you. He pours tea and warm milk into your favourtie mug and then drizzles it with honey. A bit leaks from the bottle and Namjoon picks it with his finger and that same finger then goes to your lips. He expects you to lick it, but not to suck it as you are doing right now. Your precious lips wrapped around his honey-covered finger, tongue pressing on it as you suck and suck his finger making Namjoon gasp. 

“Shit, babe,” he clears his throat. “Are you playing with me?” 

You shake your head and release his finger. Now there is an evident problem inside of your boyfriend’s pants. 

“Drink your tea, you need to sleep. We are expected at Hobi’s later tonight. You’re coming right?” 

Your heart skips a beat and you pull him into a kiss. It is not one of those desperate, sinful kisses. Your lips are pressed to his. They’re firm, but you still feel him. You feel how he smiles against your lips, his body bringing you closer to him and your hands travel to his hair. 

“Mmmmm,” you say delightedly. This is home, this is where you’re supposed to be. You want to hug Namjoon and never let him go, to be honest, you are scared of what you would do if you let go. 

Namjoon breaks the kiss and his lips curve into a smile. The smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place, dimples showing and his eyes sparkling as they look into yours. He watches you as you drink your tea. Sweet and warm, relaxing your muscles and releasing the tension built up by that phone call with Jungkook. 

Shit, Jungkook. You make a wish silently for that sinful carnal moment to never cross your mind again and once you are cuddling in bed with your boyfriend you remember. You are both expected at Hobi’s later. Will Jungkook be there? 

It was a simple, basic thing, you thought. Texting Jungkook is not a big deal, it shouldn’t be, you just want to know if he will be there tonight. Why? You always liked to know what exactly to expect. So you go to your last call entry and decide to save the number as “JK”. You take a deep breath before your fingers tap your screen writing a friendly “hi (:” and pressing send, which you immediately regret. What was with the happy face? Was “good morning” better than “hi”? You put your phone down, there’s no way you’re going to obsess over some silly little meaningless fantasy. 

You eat your lunch in your office as sometimes you do when busy, however, there is no response from Jungkook. How dare he bring you to such a state at ungodly hours of the night just to not text you back the next day. You are doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do, you are overthinking because of Jeon Jungkook. But wasn’t he satisfied? Wasn’t he pleased? Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone’s buzzing. 

With your heart racing you reach to it only to see Camille’s name pop up on the screen. She’s video-calling you. 

“Hello?” you say as you bring a big spoonful of food to your mouth. 

“Hey!” Camille takes a pause to read your look. “You looked annoyed, am I interrupting something?” 

“Not at all,” you say after swallowing. 

“I hope I am not close to your work, wanna help me shop for something honeymoon related?” she raises an eyebrow. 

“That sounds like a great idea, actually,” anything to keep your mind off Jungkook not replying. 

“See you in ten.” Camille winks and ends the call. 

_____________________________________

You wonder how you did not expect this, but you find yourself in a sex shop. It’s not your first time there, you’ve even come here with Camille before. Nonetheless, due to your current state of horniness and an apparent addiction to the forbidden, you find it now hard not to think about sex and Jungkook. 

“Oh and I can't keep these with me, I want to surprise Yoongi,” she puts a butt plug with a very soft-looking tail attached to the little basket you’re holding. 

“Since when have you used these?” you laugh. 

“It’s a little thing we like to do every now and then,” she purrs. 

“Stop it,” but you can’t stop laughing. 

“Now, babes, you would look smokin’ hot in these…” 

Bright red, lace, see-through. Camille takes the lingerie and places it on top of your work clothes. You replace her hands with yours, picturing you wearing only this. How the panties would accentuate your ass, the pattern of the bra creating friction on your sensitive nipples, now hardened by the mere look on Jungkook’s face. Camille moves towards the back of the shop and as you refocus your sight you see the flash of his smile way too fast, eyes covered by his long, fluffy hair. 

Jungkook? 

But it seems like he is gone in the blink of an eye and now Camille adds more items to your little basket, completely unaware of the shock in your face. But was that really him? You can’t go and find out. It would be weird, besides, what would he do in a place like this? Scratch that. You know exactly what he would do in a place like this. 

You take a look at the new items in your little basket, a black crotchless thong and a ring vibrator. Camille likes to try new things, maybe that is what you’re missing in your life. Seeing the ring vibrator makes you feel instantly hot and agitated. Before you can filter your thoughts they are already picturing you on top of your newest fantasy, Jungkook. Your new red lingerie is set on the floor as you ride him, the ring vibrator hitting your clit every time you bounce on his manhood. The prominent veins of his cock dragging along the sides of your walls as they clench around him, the aftermath of raw, magnificent pleasure. His hands are on your hips guiding you to the thing you want the most, to cum on his cock. 

“Babes, you okay?” thank god for Camille’s intervention, you could have started moaning any minute. 

“Yeah… I– forget the lingerie set, I think it’s not my style,” you lie. 

“Hmmm okay, then how about these?” Camille shows you the cutest bullet vibrator. It is a hot pink colour. “To use with or without Joonie,” she smiles. If she only knew the sinful thoughts that were coursing through your head just now… 

Damn. 

You try to shake any idea and memory of Jungkook from your head. There is a friendly gathering you have to attend with your loving boyfriend, Namjoon. You can’t afford to succumb to the little silly fantasies in your head. It’s not right. It’s not fair. So you take the cute little sex toy from Camille’s hands and decide you’ll take it. Maybe you need to spice things up in order to move on from JK, who still hasn’t responded to your earlier text. 

Friendly gatherings at Hobi’s are always to die for, and this was no exception. Even though it was a small get-together with friends, he just had to be over the top. How couldn’t you love Hoseok? The life of the party with the biggest heart, he is selfless and you appreciate the kindness and warmth he radiates. He was one of the first friends Namjoon ever introduced to you and you got along so well that he insisted you should hang out with the group more. 

So now here you are, Hobi’s house is massive and elegant. The dark curtains that decorate the minimalist living room give a romantic yet dangerous vibe. The fireplace is on, dimly lighting the entire space. A gust of wind creeps in from the opened glass door that leads to the patio. You shiver, but Namjoon’s arms hug you even tighter to him. You breathe in deeply, no sign of Jungkook. 

Jin pats your head and you look up from the spotless, pale gray couch you’re sitting on. A glass flute, topped with the finest champagne. You extend your hand to accept it and Jin rolls his eyes. 

“I’m bored,” he sits opposite you and Namjoon. 

“But you are always bored, even when you are doing something,” Yoongi adds.

Camille and Yoongi stay by the bar. Your friend sits on a stool with her long legs crossed as one of them brushes against his teasingly. In response, he calmly rests his hand on her bare thigh, drawing circles with his thumb. They both casually sip on their neat whisky. 

“What should we do, Jin?” Camille leans forward, curiosity in her eyes. 

“Nah, but why would you ask him that? He will come up with something insane,” Hoseok says, pointing at Jin. “Last time you made us all jump into the pool and I am not doing that again.” 

“Let the man speak,” Namjoon’s voice, deep and raspy, caresses your ear. 

“Okay, okay,” Jin stands where everyone can see him. He is indeed the centre of attention everywhere he goes. Standing tall with his ashy blonde hair slightly curled and parted to the sides. He smirks as he scans the room, making sure everyone’s eyes are on him. “We are playing a drinking game, simple, never have I ever? Who’s in?” 

“I guess I arrived just in time.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand and your heart races in your chest as Jungkook makes an appearance. His black, fluffy hair was now tied, bags framing his face. A leather jacket, casual black T-shirt, black jeans and boots. How can he manage to make such a simple outfit the sexiest thing ever worn? You can’t seem to take your eyes off him as he makes his way around the room greeting everybody. 

“We want to play as well,” Jimin and Taehyung emerge from the staircase. You were wondering where they went. 

“About time you showed up,” Taehyung teasingly hit Jungkook on the shoulder. 

“I know…” he smiles and his eyes find yours. You impulsively look away finding some type of comfort in Namjoon’s arms. 

“Honey, come out here, we’re gonna start the game,” Hobi calls Seri, his latest conquest. You and Camille have had long talks about this, and are rooting so much for them. She is as fun as Hobi so they are just meant to be. 

Seri comes out of the kitchen with a tray of shot glasses. The message is understood, take one before the real fun begins. Hobi gives a quick peck on the cheek once she’s done. 

“Bottoms up everyone!” and the tequila burns your throat but you are grateful for Seri’s act because that’s exactly what you needed. Especially when Jungkook decided to sit on the chair right beside you. You do your best not to turn and see him, but only knowing he is there makes your cunt ache with wanton. 

“Well, now everyone’s ready,” Seri says flashing her perfect white smile and batting her long eyelashes at Hobi. 

“You know the rules, if you’ve done whatever the person in turn says, you drink,” Hoseok raises his champagne flute. “Be nice, everybody… or not.” 

“I’ll start! Jimin says. “Never have I drunk-dialed my ex…” 

Jin, Camille, Hobi, Seri, Jungkook, and you drink. You feel Jungkook’s eyes momentarily on you, but you fight the urge to look back. 

“Okay, my turn!” Seri says from the corner of the room. “Never have I ever kissed more than one person in 24 hours…” 

“Oooohhh…” Hoseok says intrigued looking around the room. 

Taehyung, Jimin, Seri, Jin, and Jungkook drink. 

“Really?” Yoongi laughs looking straight at Jin. 

“Don Juan!” as these words leave your mouth you know the alcohol already kicked in. 

The rest of them laugh as Jin shows off his beautiful face. 

“Please, have you seen me? Yoongi, even you want to kiss me,” Jin blows a kiss to Yoongi. 

He rolls his eyes but catches it. Camille laughs uproariously. It seems the three neat whiskeys she had plus the shot are getting to her. She winks at her fiancé, and Yoongi hugs her from behind, waiting for whoever is next. 

The game goes on and on and it gets spicier, you have to drink a couple of times but not as much as Jimin or Jungkook, who both seem to be handling their alcohol pretty well. 

“My turn,” all eyes are on Jungkook now. 

“Give us a good one!” Namjoon says, and in that moment you want to disappear. 

Jungkook nods, looking at both of you. How you sit now facing him, fearing what words will leave his mouth. Namjoon’s arm possesively around you, as he occasionally leaves little kisses on your temple. Why Namjoon? Why not him? 

“Never have I ever had phone sex,” he lets out a devilish smile. 

Fucking hell. Your eyes widen in horror, you are not sure if you should drink or not, but Jungkook’s eyes don’t leave yours as he takes one big gulp of his drink. 

Yoongi and Camille look at each other. Your friend giggles as she drinks, a secret memory replaying in their minds. 

You slowly bring your drink to your lips as your hands shake, closing your eyes as you welcome the taste of it and how the alcohol burned travelling down your throat. Everyone else drinks but Namjoon. 

“Really? Am I the only one missing out?” he looks at you. “Maybe we gotta try it sometime,” he whispers into your ear and you snap jumping off the couch. 

“I need a bathroom break, I’ll be right back,” you make your way upstairs as fast as you can. 

The hallway upstairs is dark, but the lights from the living room are enough to make it safely to the bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you attempt to calm yourself by taking deep breaths. You have to get out of here, tell Namjoon a silly lie, and walk hand in hand with him out of this madness. You splash a little water on your face and you tell yourself everything is fine. 

This is the plan. You will leave the bathroom and play for 10 more minutes. Then, you will tell Namjoon you are tired and you will leave, no questions asked. Both of you will get safely home and have a lazy morning the next day. That would be perfect. 

You open the door and it is so fast the way he pushes you in and locks the door behind him. 

“What the f–” but one of his hands is on your mouth, and the other one holds you by your lower back. 

“Shhh baby, leave the screaming for when I’m making you feel really good… I wanted to see you alone, sorry for scaring you,” he lowers his hand now, but you are too stunned to speak. Jungkook chuckles. “It was fun out there,” he continues. “Wish it was me holding you tightly,” his hand now moves to cage you between him and the door. 

“Jungkook, please d–” but your words are caught in your mouth as he spreads your legs with his knee and then presses it directly to your core. “Mmmm– fuck…” 

“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear…” he continues rubbing his knee between your legs, your panties getting wetter and wetter. Your nails scratch the door’s surface and you feel Jungkook’s breathing in your ear. “I dreamt of your beautiful moans last night…” 

Now your hips rut against his leg, wanting more of him… but you can’t and it takes all in you to stop. You open your eyes and blink through the tears of pleasure that were already pooling in your eyes. 

You slightly push Jungkook away from you. 

“We can’t… I can’t– and stop following me and you didn’t even answer my text–” 

“You want me to stop, but you are upset about a text? …and are you sure I was following you to the sex shop, wasn’t it a happy coincidence?” he smirks. 

“No, it wasn’t,” you protest but his lips are so close to yours. Those juicy, pierced lips you want on every square inch of your body. “Wait before you go downstairs.” 

So you manage to unlock the door and run back to Namjoon, who is sitting with Jimin and Taehyung now. 

“There she is,” Taehyung gives you a cheesy smile. 

“Leave her alone, don’t you see she is not feeling well. Are you okay, beautiful?” Jimin asks his adorable eyes on yours. 

“Babe you look a bit pale, should we call it a night and go home?” Namjoon stands and puts an arm around you. 

_______________________________________

You are grateful for Namjoon, you have to be. He took care of you last night, helping you take a hot shower and cuddling you to sleep. In the morning he left your breakfast packed and some aspirin in case you had a headache. He is perfect, you can’t do this to him. You comically slam your head against your desk at work. What the fuck are you going to do? 

“Ummm… are you okay?” Marcia interrupts. You nod, it is not the first time your assistant finds you doing something stupid in the “privacy” of your office. 

You take a closer look at Marcia and she carries a medium-sized, flat, black box. It is tied with a black silk ribbon, no card. 

“This is a delivery for you…” she says, leaving the box on your desk. 

“Do we know who sent it?” you ask. Marcia shakes her head. 

“Maybe is from Mr. Kim,” she winks and leaves your office as quietly as she came. 

Your fingers delicately open the box and you let out an audible gasp. Inside, the red lingerie set you saw at the sex shop. 

Bzzz! Your phone vibrates on your desk. 

JK: Hi! I really liked the colour red in you (;

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

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ stay tuned for next week's update(: ... lmk if you would like to be tagged (;

tags: @paramedicnerd004 | @darkuni63 | @bangtans-momma

[cupcakelvr]

𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒚𝒏 𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Both NSFW and SFW.

SFW ~ Caitlyn appreciates art and design. Her room is filled with sleek, minimalistic decor, blending high society elegance with a touch of practicality from her line of work. She likes neutral tones and avoids excessive opulence.

༞

Caitlyn’s meticulousness isn't just about her work. She notices small things about those around her, like their habits, preferences, and even subtle changes in their moods. It makes her a thoughtful partner, friend, and teammate. ༞ Despite her refined upbringing, Caitlyn loves exploring the wilderness. She spent many days in her youth navigating the forests outside Piltover with her rifle, perfecting her tracking and shooting skills.

༞ Years of hunting criminals and being on edge during investigations have made Caitlyn a light sleeper. However, when she’s in a safe environment or with someone she trusts (like Vi), she can finally rest deeply.

༞

Coming from an affluent family, Caitlyn enjoys the finer things in life, like high-quality tea. She has a whole cupboard dedicated to different tea blends and drinks a cup every morning to help her focus. She prefers herbal teas over coffee, which she finds too bitter.

༞ Caitlyn values loyalty above all. Whether it's her dedication to Piltover, her family, or the people she cares about, once you've earned her trust, she will always stand by your side, no matter the consequences.

༞

Caitlyn maintains a strict training regimen. Even though her job often keeps her active, she enjoys early morning runs and practices shooting regularly to keep her marksmanship sharp.

༞

After a long day of investigations or action, Caitlyn enjoys relaxing in her study with a good book and a warm blanket. She’s not a big fan of wild parties or large social gatherings, preferring intimate settings or quiet solitude.

NSFW ~

In intimate moments, Caitlyn is surprisingly dominant. Her assertiveness as an Enforcer translates to her personal life, where she enjoys being in control and taking the lead.

༞ Despite her confidence, Caitlyn can be quite reserved and composed in the early stages of intimacy. It takes her a bit of time to open up fully, but once she trusts her partner, she reveals a more passionate side.

༞

Caitlyn is very detail-oriented, even in intimate moments. She loves exploring the sensory elements of touch, scent, and even the texture of fabrics like silk or lace. This ties into her appreciation for elegance and refinement, as she often indulges in high-quality materials.

Caitlyn’s voice tends to be soft yet authoritative when in control during intimate moments. She gives clear instructions and subtly guides her partner. While she is never overbearing, she likes to ensure things unfold according to her preferences.

༞ Just as in her professional life, Caitlyn is highly attentive to her partner’s needs. She enjoys paying attention to every detail of their body language and responses, ensuring they’re comfortable and satisfied. She takes great pride in making sure her partner is fully taken care of.

༞ Caitlyn has a habit of giving slow, deliberate looks that feel intimate and personal. She may not always express her desire verbally, but her intense gaze makes her intentions very clear.

༞ Caitlyn is quite playful when she’s in a comfortable relationship. She enjoys teasing and taking her time with her partner, building anticipation with lingering touches and playful banter.

༞ Growing up in a wealthy family, Caitlyn has a penchant for luxury, even when it comes to intimate clothing. She enjoys wearing delicate silk or lace lingerie, appreciating the refined aesthetics and the confidence it gives her.

Yeah idk this is very cute core lmk if I made some mistakes <3.

[willowshimmer]

Lmk winter headcanons of the day!

• Whenever it's like really at night Mk will cuddle up next to Red son due to him being a fire demon.

• Whenever Peng is super cold in winter Azure wraps Peng in a blanket cacoon.

• Tang hogs all the blankets during winter luckily Pigsy has extra.

• Spindrax tends to get cold at times during winter but luckily Mei is like her personal heater and so she cuddles Mei.

• Huntsman doesn't like to admit he's cold but Sandy can always see through him and gives him tea, maybes some extra blankets and pillows.

• Mayor is usually the one to get cold and that's why Syntax always has extra blankets or pillows.

• Scorpion Demoness tends to get cold alot in winter and that's why Spider Queen gave a her a very warm blanket made out of silk. Scorpion Demoness loves it and keeps it in her bedroom.

• Sometimes whenever Wukong and Macaque both get cold they cuddle up next to each other for extra warmth.

Holy hell it's been a long time since I've made a Lmk headcanon.

As you've noticed I've added new ships and I hope you like them!

[star-my]

born as a tiger

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Mad King) x OFC (Lee Hoyeon)

Rating: T | WC: 5.8k | Ao3 | My Fics Masterlist | Masterlist |

AU: Daechwita AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Historical AU, Royal AU

CW: implied unhealthy/abusive parental relationship, OFC has Trust Issues & implied C-PTSD, Yoongi & Yoonji star in this fic, Namjoon cameo, Jackson Wang shows up (does not throw a party but is cause for one), Jackson goes by Gayi, empty threats of violence but as a love language, sword fighting but friendly, I think that's it, lmk if I should update this

Summary:

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities. All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind.  The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks.

A/N: - this idea lay dormant for a year and a half and suddenly resurrected in the middle of reading a webtoon at 10 pm so here I am answering the author’s call of nature 😭 (*spongebob voice* fOuR mOnThS lAtEr: bless the ATZ hyperfixation for me wanting to get something out of my brain to make more room for the ot8 brainrot and this WIP was the sacrifice it chose)

I did some research for this fic, such as the Changdeokgung palace truly existing (of which I used in my moodboard), the chrysanthemum tea vs plum tea debate, and Yoongi’s sword apparently being called a hwando, etc. Any inaccuracies are mine and I apologize. Please feel free to point them out :)

There was supposed to be some smut but the muses refused. I may add it in the future or post it in a second chapter.

Thanks to the lovely @lunarelles for betaing! Any remaining mistakes are my own <3 Enjoy! 

D-22

Emperor Min Yoongi of the Dalseogu Empire was a force to be reckoned with. His subjects trembled in fear when he was whispered about–even his fellow rulers kept a wide berth around him when they met at diplomatic events. He’s a monster, they said. His reign was written with the blood of his subjects. He was nicknamed the Mad King for a reason–not that anyone would say his unofficial title to his face.

The day after the seventh emperor of the Dalseogu empire was crowned, he killed half of his court. Only a select few officials remained unscathed from the Mad King’s bloodbath. Even the families of the officials he killed were not all exempt – wives, concubines, and children being wiped out by his sword. The Dowager Empress and the Second, Third, and Fourth Prince had all died that day, making it the second most bloody day the Empire had seen since its inception.

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities.

All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind. 

The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks. 

A contingency of guards marched out from the front gates of Changdeokgung, a swish of brightly-coloured silk in their midst. Bowing to Hoyeon, they stepped aside, revealing the silk as the crown princess, the Mad King’s twin sister, Min Yoonji.

“I’m glad you made it here safely, Princess Hoyeon,” greeted Crown Princess Yoonji familiarly, as if this was their hundredth meeting and not their first. “The emperor was out often the past couple weeks ensuring the bandits would not attack the carriages. I imagine you’re rather thirsty and tired. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you, Crown Princess.”

“Please, call me unnie, we are to be sisters in a few weeks.”

“As you wish, Crown Princess.” Hoyeon followed the princess to the quarters prepared for her stay before she wed the emperor. 

This whole situation was most bizarre. The crown princess had been rumoured to be a fierce warrior–much like her brother, the maids had gasped as Hoyeon eavesdropped. Yet here she was, dressed in silks like any other respectable lady of the court and pouring the fragrant tea with a natural elegance Hoyeon had practiced for days to attain.

“So, are you excited for the wedding?” asked Yoonji, refilling their cups with the most delicious blend of tea Hoyeon had ever drunk.

Hoyeon nibbled on her lip, debating how much would be prudent to tell the crown princess. She was lovely and welcoming, but she was also the emperor’s sister. How was she supposed to say she was scared out of her wits and had been for the past several days, since her father had announced her engagement to the Mad King at a state dinner with no warning whatsoever. That she’d tried to learn what she could about her new empire and husband-to-be, but all she had gleaned was that she would be lucky to survive six months as the empress? What could she say, I almost looked forward to this when my father first announced this, so that I had a chance to finally be free from his tyranny, but now I wish I was back with the devil I know?

Deciding the last train of thought had the most truth she could pluck from and spin into a plausible half-truth, she replied, “I was surprised when my father mentioned the alliance to me, but I am pleased to be able to support my kingdom in this way. I will do my best to be a good empress to Dalseogu. I noticed the absolutely beautiful scenery as I made my way here, and it is a lovely empire.” Just ruled by not-so-lovely people, she thought, then ignored the stab of guilt at the mental insult to Yoonji, who’d been rather good so far at calming her nerves.

Yoonji smiled at the compliment to her empire. “I’m so glad you think so! I know it can be a bit…sparse, to some, but I think there’s a wild beauty to the land.”

One of her maids stepped forward to whisper in her ear. Yoonji looked at Hoyeon apologetically. 

“Duty calls, I’m afraid. I’ll leave you to rest now. I know my brother was looking forward to greeting you, but something came up that he couldn’t ignore. He’d like you to join him for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, I will be there. Thank you, Crown Princess…unnie.”

Yoonji’s glare softened at the casual honorific. “Lovely! Rest well, Princess Hoyeon.”

The crown princess and her entourage left, leaving only Hoyeon and her maid, Jina. 

“That seemed to go well, Miss,” offered Jina as she began to unpack and brush out Hoyeon’s nightclothes.

Hoyeon groaned, collapsing onto her bed with her hand flung over her eyes. “Appearances can be deceiving, Jina. I can’t afford to trust anyone here, no matter how nice they are–especially the emperor’s sister!”

“I hope she can be a true friend to you here, Miss.”

“Thank you, Jina.”

D-21

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Princess Hoyeon,” bowed the maid provided by the palace, named Sora. 

“Thank you. I’m sure Jina will appreciate your help in navigating the palace until she becomes accustomed to our new accommodations.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.”

Sora and Jina chattered away, becoming fast friends, as Hoyeon chewed anxiously on her thumbnail in the corner. 

She learned that Sora had a younger sister, Soha, whom she was very proud of for having recently become a full-fledged palace maid. The head maid was tough but caring once a maid proved herself, and Sora was sure Jina would win her over in no time. There were a couple guards who were insufferable flirts, but they were still respectful. Jina’s best course of action would be to ignore any flirtations and not respond to the provocations. 

Hoyeon finally jumped up from her seat, startling the maids from their conversation. “What time should I be prepared to go for tea with the emperor?”

“If we start now, you should arrive just after the emperor’s meeting finishes, Princess,” replied Sora. 

The maids did their best to dress Hoyeon up in her favourite hanbok, pinning her hair with a gold hairpin the emperor had gifted her via her father, and using cosmetics to accentuate her features.

“You’re a little pale,” commented Jina as she patted some pink onto Hoyeon’s cheeks. 

“Do you blame me?” she retorted. “Sora, is there anything I need to be aware of when I greet the emperor?”

Sora paused from folding a discarded robe. “I don’t think so. Emperor Min doesn’t insist on many formalities if it’s not a formal event. I believe Soha will be serving the tea, so if you need anything, you can ask her to find me, Princess.”

“Thank you, Sora.”

Jina and Sora fell in behind her, Sora quietly directing her through the maze of corridors to the room the emperor was waiting in for her.

She smiled at the guards outside the doors. “Is the emperor available?”

“Unnie!”

Hoyeon turned to see a girl bearing a tea tray. She bowed to her before turning to Sora.

“Unnie, the emperor is still occupied.”

“Do you think he will be long?”

“I don’t think you will wait long,” reported the girl, who Hoyeon assumed was Soha. “Princess,” she bowed again before entering the room.

A loud voice escaped the open door, followed by the distinctive sound of a slap.

A minute later she ran out, tears flowing down her face as she passed Hoyeon and her maids.

Hoyeon stared in trepidation at the girl. What had happened to make the emperor slap her? She’d barely had time to do anything. This didn’t bode well for her.

“Show Princess Lee in,” called a voice. The guards opened the door.

Hoyeon took a deep breath and stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the next step she was taking.

She paused when she reached a low tea table, droplets of tea scattered across its surface. She could see the emperor’s robes across from her and a tea set shattered on the floor to her right.

So that was why Soha had run out. Why was it broken?

“Your Majesty,” she bowed, hoping it was low enough.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in response. “You may stand.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her eyes flicked up to his face quickly, then back down to hide her surprise.

He had a scar across his right eye, from his eyebrow to his cheek. She’d thought the rumours were just that–rumours. Who had ever heard of a king with a scar?

She supposed with a reputation like his, he didn’t have to worry about naysayers attempting to depose him.

She’d been so surprised at the scar and hadn’t wanted to be caught staring that she barely remembered his other features.

She chanced another glance and found him staring at her.

“You can look at me, Princess Hoyeon.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She peeked up under her lashes.

Was it possible for a scar to heighten his appeal? He had shockingly blond hair pulled back into the typical sangtu, thick brows, a nose that she couldn’t believe the first adjective she thought of was ‘cute’, and pouty lips. Overall, he was rather attractive. 

The benefit to marrying a young emperor was that he was surprisingly handsome, but it also meant he was less likely to die soon. In all honesty, Hoyeon expected him to outlive her.  

She hadn’t met his eyes–his look had been far too calculating. If there was one thing she knew about court politics, it was to never show your fear when someone was around. 

“You arrived much quicker than I expected, Princess Hoyeon. I hope your travels were smooth.”

“Yes, thank you. We had no trouble at all. My father said it was better to arrive sooner lest we be waylaid and made late.” He was just thrilled he could finally get some use out of his useless only child.

“Crown Princess Yoonji said that you were an interesting companion at her tea yesterday.”

I knew she’d tell him about me.

“As was she, Your Majesty. I look forward to getting to know her–and you–better.”

“Good,” said the emperor, clearly pleased. “The crown princess is pleased to be able to help you become accustomed to the Dalseogu Empire. I will be busy with all the things that must be finished before the wedding, so I imagine you will be seeing her often.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Your Majesty. May I ask you a question?” Better to find out now how lenient he will be towards my impertinence.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you approach the Dongjak kingdom for an alliance?” Why me?

“It is advantageous for both our lands to have the trade deals this alliance will forge. Dongjak and Dalseogu have not always been at peace, so this was a good way to cement it.”

Slightly surprised that the emperor had actually given her an answer, she nodded. She hadn’t had the slightest shred of hope that he would give her some secretly romantic explanation, such as he’d seen her at some event and been so taken by her that he had to have her. All she was good for was strengthening her kingdom’s ties as one of its most important representatives. 

The guards opened the door and let in Sora, carrying the replacement tea set.

She poured the tea quietly and served their cups to them, then retreated to the side, assuming an at-ease position.

“Please sit,” directed the emperor, settling himself on his cushion. Hoyeon followed his example, making herself as comfortable as she could sitting opposite an unknown volatile man no one could rebuke.

The tea was delicious, stronger than what she was used to back in Dongjak, but she found its tart flavour pleasant. 

“This is exquisite tea, Your Majesty.”

He inclined his head. “It is plum tea. I believe Dongjak more commonly uses the chrysanthemum flowers for their tea.”

“You are correct, Your Majesty.”

Tea with the emperor went fairly well, although Hoyeon caught his considering gaze upon her several times. It unnerved her, wondering why he was taking so much interest in his political bride. 

She didn’t like it.

D-20

Hoyeon giggled, finally somewhat relaxed around the crown princess as the older girl spilled stories about her maids’ and guards’ dramatic dynamics and relationships. 

“Don’t tell the head maid I told you this,” Yoonji leaned forward, finger to her lips. 

Hoyeon’s eyes widened as she bit her lower lip, nodding quickly in agreement. She knew that the maids were one of the biggest and best ally teams she could have on her side in the palace, and she wouldn’t dare do anything to harm her chances of gaining connections.

“So, what do you think of my brother, after your tea with him yesterday?” Yoonji relaxed onto her cushion, pouring herself another cup of what Hoyeon wasn’t completely convinced was just plum tea. 

Her teeth dug further into her lip as she considered how to answer. The siblings appeared fairly close for being possible throne rivals–especially considering that Yoonji had survived the Mad King’s bloody beginning–and she couldn’t speak freely. The princess was a skilled politician, however, and would surely catch on if she lied and began praising the man.

“I find His Majesty…intimidating,” she said slowly, gauging how Yoonji took that ambivalent opening.

Yoonji nodded, motioning to continue with her finger. “He certainly knows how to make himself understood.”

Understatement of the dynasty, thought Hoyeon. 

“He’s…rather good looking. I was surprised,” she mused. Realising Yoonji had raised her eyebrow at her, she went on hastily. “Just that I hadn’t heard anyone speak about that when they discussed the emperor! I had very little information on His Majesty to go off of. I suppose the men that met the emperor were more focused on his character than his countenance,” she snorted, a little self-deprecatingly, glancing up to see if Yoonji would take the bait and either consider her a little simple and romantically-minded or expound upon her open-ended question to know more about her fiance’s personality. 

“Well, I suppose I agree that my brother is rather good-looking,” Yoonji mused, sipping her tea. “I’ve been told often that we appear quite similar.”

“Indeed, that was one of the first things I noticed. You’re both attractive and there’s certainly a family resemblance between you two. By the way, is there anyone you think is good-looking, unnie?” she asked curiously, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

Yoonji shook her head. “There are several tolerably handsome ministers and princes around, but their personalit-”

A knock sounded at the door to the crown princess’s tea room. Yoonji nodded at Hoyeon in apology, excusing herself to speak quietly with the maid waiting at the door, bringing a message from the emperor. 

Yoonji’s brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed as she turned back to Hoyeon. “The emperor has requested an audience with me, and he wishes to see you after my visit. Would you like to come with me now?”

Hoyeon nodded, setting her tea down and getting to her feet. She still wasn’t entirely sure she had the palace layout memorised, and Jina was currently being interviewed by the head maid, leaving Hoyeon friendless and ally-less if Yoonji also left her behind. 

“I’d be honoured to join you, Your Highness.”

The two young women headed as briskly as nobles could to the emperor’s throne room, where he remained after a meeting with his ministers earlier. 

The guards saw the duo’s approach and opened the tall doors in anticipation of Yoonji’s entrance. Hoyeon chose to remain outside, though the doors remained open, giving the siblings privacy and taking advantage of the moment to prepare her nerves to see her fiance again. She’d relaxed in Yoonji’s quiet company, but reverted to her stiff princess behaviour on their walk here. 

Shaking her head at her rapid closeness with the princess, she straightened her skirts anxiously. For all she knew, the siblings were in there right now discussing her pathetic surface-level attraction to the Mad King and how quickly she’d come to confide in the princess.

Shifting on her feet, she cursed her father once again for removing anyone who’d appeared close to her, making her a prime target for spilling her innermost thoughts when she met someone who appeared to listen. Reminding herself it had only been two days and Yoonji had not yet proved if it was safe to trust her, Hoyeon twisted the jade ring on her finger as she waited.

A loud cry came from Yoonji, giving her deja vu. With an inner sigh, she inched forward, straining her ear to make out what the siblings were arguing about. 

Silently, she watched Yoonji, who appeared unafraid to talk back to the emperor. Was it because she was his sister? He wouldn’t retaliate? Something else? She needed to know everything she could.

“I’m getting married?!” cried Yoonji, clearly. “In two weeks?! Without you telling me first?!”

Hoyeon froze. Her newest ally and possible future friend would be leaving the palace? Was it because they were becoming close? Had Yoonji done something warranting being sent away? No, it was probably just another business transaction, like her marriage was to be. 

Calming her anxious thoughts, Hoyeon shuffled a little closer, wondering who the groom was.

“No, you are leaving Dalseogu in two weeks. You are getting married in a week to Emperor Wang Gayi.”

“You arranged a marriage for me? With the Wang Emperor?!”

“Yes, I did, and you will marry him. That’s an emperor’s order, Min Yoonji.”

“You gave me no choice? I’m so mad that you interfered with my relationships,” Yoonji said flatly, turning and exiting via the hall behind the throne area. 

“Your groom will be here by tomorrow morning,” the emperor informed her, barely raising his voice. Facing forward once again, he motioned Hoyeon to approach him. 

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

She bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Good afternoon, Your Highness. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I just came from having some with the crown princess. I suppose she will be busy now with her wedding preparations, so I am grateful that I could have these past few days to get to know my sister-in-law.”

“I apologize if you feel that my sister’s wedding takes precedence over ours,” the emperor said, surprising Hoyeon. “I wished her to wed soon and thought that now would be best since most of the preparations for ours are already complete and can transfer to theirs. Emperor Wang has to return to Kowloon soon and I wanted him to take Yoonji with him.”

“I am not slighted at all, Your Majesty. I wish the royal couple all happiness and longevity. May I ask why you requested to see me after the crown princess, Your Majesty?”

He stretched languidly, rising to his feet and sauntering down the steps to his throne. “Am I not allowed to wish to see my fiancee?” he asked, approaching Hoyeon. 

“Y-you are, Your Majesty.” Biting her lip, she forced herself to remain standing tall and not move back.

He paused two arm lengths away from her. “I would like to see you every day before our wedding, if you are available.”

“I believe I will be, if that is what you wish.”

He tilted his head, scanning her head to toe. She lowered her gaze to his feet, hoping she hadn’t mussed her clothing since Jina left her at Yoonji’s tea room. 

“You seem rather nervous.”

Who wouldn’t be, being the focus of one of the continent’s most dangerous men?! Hoyeon shrieked internally. Well, it appeared the emperor was more perceptive than her father, so lying was off the table. “I suppose I am. We have only met once, and I am unchaperoned. I do not wish to cause any damage to either of your kingdoms if there were negative repercussions from this event, Your Majesty.”

He hummed, taking a step back so that his black-clad feet were no longer in her vision. “The doors are open and there are plenty of guards and other staff around, Princess. But, if it would make you feel better–Chief Advisor Kim!”

Barely repressing the flinch at his sudden shout, Hoyeon turned to see who the emperor had just summoned. A tall, handsome man rushed in, arms full of scrolls and books, a pair of spectacles sliding down his nose. He pushed them up, a scroll fluttering from its precarious spot under his elbow. 

Hoyeon stooped without thinking, catching the runaway parchment and handing it back to the man, who flashed a thankful smile at her, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Princess Hoyeon, this is my most trusted advisor, Kim Namjoon. He will be our chaperone,” the emperor said shortly. 

“I’m honoured to meet you, Princess. Congratulations on the wedding.”

“Thank you,” she nodded at him and turned back to her fiance, not wanting to spend his patience with her over another man. Still, his behaviour was unlike anything she was used to. The Mad King was her enigma, and she only hoped it wouldn’t take too long to figure him out. 

D-17

The sound of metal hitting metal drew Hoyeon’s attention from the flowery bushes she was admiring, turning towards the walled courtyard ahead of her.

Jina stopped by her side, both somewhat behind one of the pillars by the entrance, watching the two men in front of them slash at each other, silver swords glinting in the sunlight.

The emperor’s distinctive blond hair gave his identity away, and Hoyeon watched his graceful power with an open mouth, seeing first-hand her fiance’s prowess with a blade.

The other man was about the same height, with short brown hair and a slimmer sword than Yoongi’s. He held it with a careless ease that belied years of training, evenly matched with his opponent. 

Their blades clashed, sun rays reflecting off their entwined blades and blinding Hoyeon. She sneezed unexpectedly, interrupting the men’s moment. They bowed to each other, sheathing their blades and walking in different directions–Yoongi towards her and the other man towards Yoonji, whom Hoyeon just noticed was standing at the other side. 

Hoyeon bowed, greeting the emperor. He nodded back at her, taking the damp cloth his attendant held out to him and wiping his face and neck down. The neckline of his black robe gaped a little, affording Hoyeon a glimpse of smooth pale skin and subtly defined musculature. She blushed red, glancing away quickly to watch Yoonji, who had attained her own sword. 

The emperor followed her gaze, leaning his hand carelessly on his hwando pommel. “That’s Emperor Wang,” he confirmed her suspicion carelessly. “Would you like to make a bet with me?”

“A bet, Your Majesty?” Hoyeon flicked her gaze to him in confusion.

He nodded towards the couple. “On who will win their spar, Yoonji or Gayi.”

“They will spar?” Crown princess versus emperor, fiancee versus fiance?

The two moved towards the now-open sparring area in the middle of the yard, raising their blades to the opening position. 

“They have both trained for years. I’m curious myself about the outcome. So, what do you say, Princess?” The emperor leaned towards her, breath brushing her cheek. “Will you bet with me?”

“Very well, Your Majesty. What are your terms?”

He leaned back, studying her in mild surprise. “Hm…you must answer three questions I ask of you fully and truthfully, when I wish.”

That’s all? Like I could lie to you anyways. “Alright. I will hold the same terms, for the sake of fairness. I bet that the emperor will win.”

Hoyeon felt the weight of his gaze on her. “Not my sister?”

She shook her head. “I saw some of the emperor’s prowess when you two were fighting. I have not seen the princess fight, and the emperor surely has more experience, being on the battlefield.”

“But he will be tired since we were fighting before this,” Yoongi pointed out. “And I have fought with the princess. So, our bet. We each bet three complete, truthful answers about any topic we are asked about by the other if they win–you if Emperor Gayi wins, myself if Crown Princess Yoonji wins.”

“I agree to your terms.” Hoyeon shook the emperor’s hand, feeling his long fingers and calloused palms against her bare skin for the first time. He was warmer than she had expected; somehow she’d anticipated a cold-blooded, rigid man. 

He let go of her hand and she swiftly tucked her hands into her sleeves, feeling the ghost of his palm against hers. Focusing on the duo facing off in front of her, she did her best to ignore the warm presence brushing against her side. 

Yoonji was better than Hoyeon had expected, never having seen a female warrior before. Some of her moves looked similar to the emperor’s, but some were distinctively hers. She seemed to be having fun, however, a large gummy smile forming on her face as she parried the emperor’s strikes and danced into his space, making it more difficult for him to evade her attacks. 

Her opponent also seemed to be having fun, a smile growing on his face as they sparred. 

Hoyeon was glad the two were getting along, albeit in a more violent way than she was used to. Given what she knew of the crown princess’s personality, she was curious how the couple’s relationship would progress.

“The princess is quite good,” she said without thinking.

The emperor hummed in agreement. “I trained with her often. She is one of my best generals.”

Hoyeon whipped around in surprise. “The crown princess is your general?”

He nodded, dragging his eyes from the fight to her face. 

“Then why–” Hoyeon bit her lip, realizing her curiosity could be taken as insolence.

“Continue,” the emperor prompted her curiously. 

“Then why are you marrying your general off to the Kowloon Empire?” she asked quietly. He still appeared to have heard her, as he replied.

“The emperor and my sister have been in love for a while now. I will be saddened by my best general, advisor, and companion’s absence, but it is beyond time for her to have her happiness.”

Hoyeon blinked. Was the emperor…sentimental? And what was that about the marriage argument the other day?

“But…I understood the princess was against the marriage?”

“Not at all, she was being sarcastic. ‘How dare you marry me to the love of my life? Alas, I am ordered to spend time with the only man who makes me happy.’ Like that.”

“Oh.”

“Are you slandering me behind my back, Your Majesty?” Yoonji approached the two, her fiance behind her, carrying their swords.

“Is it slander if it’s true?” he retorted. “It seems my bride has not yet grown accustomed to your strange sense of humour. Now tell me, who won? I have a bet on the line, here.”

Realizing she’d been too distracted by the emperor to see who won, Hoyeon looked to Yoonji, who had what she now realised was a faux-betrayed look on her face. 

“You had better have bet on me, brother.”

“Of course I did,” he replied smugly. “So, I won the bet?”

Yoonji’s fiance spoke up. “No, your lovely fiancee did. Congratulations, Princess.”

“Damn, I should have bet on Gayi.”

Yoonji smacked her brother’s arm for his comment. “You are lucky I’m leaving the palace, Your Majesty.”

Hoyeon watched the siblings banter with wide eyes. The emperor was so relaxed and unlike his Mad King persona today. Which was the real one?

“It’s okay, Princess,” commiserated Emperor Gayi. “No one understands these two’s strange relationship, either.”

“I can behead you, you know,” threatened Yoongi. 

“You better give me his empire if you do,” Yoonji poked his stomach.

“Not if you keep touching me, I won’t!”

“OR,” interrupted Gayi, “you can not behead me and Yoonji can begin her reign over my empire peacefully as my empress!”

“But then I’d still have to hear you talk about my sister,” pointed out Yoongi. “It would be a lot quieter if your head was removed from your shoulders.”

“Say something!” Gayi looked at Yoonji, who sighed.

“Yoongi, don’t kill my fiance. It wouldn’t be a lot quieter because you’d then have to hear your sister talk about how much she missed her dead fiance instead…and your fiancee wouldn’t like you to kill her new ally, I guess.”

Yoongi looked at the bewildered Hoyeon. “Hm. It’s better to remove two nuisances at once, I suppose. I shall endure this next week for the princess’s sake, I suppose, since she won our bet.”

“How generous, Your Majesty,” Gayi and Yoonji bowed formally after the emperor, who left with an eye roll at their antics. 

Yoonji straightened once he was gone and turned to Hoyeon with a smile. “Do you want me to show you to the archery range?”

D-13

The wedding of the Emperor of Kowloon and the Crown Princess of Dalseogu went off without a hitch, which relieved some of Hoyeon’s worries. It was exactly the same as it would be for her and Yoongi, so she had a chance to mentally prepare. There wasn’t too much that could go wrong, thankfully, so as long as she didn’t faint next week, she should be in the clear.

Spending time with her fiance the past week and a half, as well as with his sister and her fiance, helped relax Hoyeon. He was courteous, surprisingly soft-spoken in private, and less menacing than she had been prepared for. Slowly, she began to wonder if the rumours had been exaggerated, as royal rumours tended to be, and if she might in fact be safe in the Dalseogu empire. 

Then came the day of her wedding, and all Hoyeon’s nerves returned full-force. Yoonji had left for Kowloon with Gayi, unable to stay for the wedding, and only Jina was there as someone she could rely on.

Her father had sent a witness to his only child’s wedding, too concerned over possible attacks to come himself. Hoyeon snorted as she read the letter his delegate had handed to her, dropping the paper to the table carelessly.

So he could send his daughter to live in the empire, but couldn’t come in person to celebrate her nuptials, the entire reason he would be safe visiting? Well, it wasn’t like she’d expected anything from him, but it still pinched in her heart. 

Jina brushed her robes out smoothly, stepping back and giving her a reassuring nod. “It’s time, Your Highness.”

D-Day

The entire ceremony was a blur, Hoyeon too focused on not making a mistake to take in anything else. She had the vague sense that the atmosphere was overcast, but nothing more than that.

The celebration feast was similarly unfocused, for slightly differing reasons. Yoongi, her new husband (what a strange thought), was right beside her at the head table, paying rather unnerving attention to her. 

Small bites were all she could choke down under his scrutiny, though he did his best to keep her dishes full. Hoyeon was a little confused when he kept adding delicious-smelling dishes to her immediate reach. Any other day, she’d be happy to try the new and intriguing dishes, but with the nerves in her stomach and the eyes on her chopsticks, she couldn’t choke down more than a few bites, something she bemoaned.

Toasts and cheers were continually offered by the celebrating ministers and nobles filling the hall, gallons of alcohol flowing freely. 

Hoyeon grabbed her goblet, draining the dregs in a couple gulps, coughing a little at the afterburn. Yoongi’s scrutiny became heavier, his warmth overwhelming her as he leaned even closer to whisper in her ear. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?”

Hoyeon hiccuped. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. Just thirsty.”

His expression told her he didn’t fully believe her, but he leaned back, letting her breathe easily again. She turned away, patting her burning cheeks with the back of her hand. 

It really should be illegal for someone to look that handsome up close. She considered her previous fears that he would behead her within six months and revised it to worry that she’d be overcome by his beauty within six months instead. 

A sudden weight on her hand made her look down from picking up individual grains of rice with her chopsticks.

Yoongi’s hand rested on hers, his thumb caressing her pulse point. Her heart skipped a beat at the simple touch. He didn’t look at her anymore, thankfully, but his hand stayed on hers the rest of the feast.

Her eyes darted between his profile and her chopsticks several times. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being his empress. 

General taglist (open): @bangtanwritershq @kayleefriedchicken @otome-wandering + (@moni-logues you seemed intrigued when we sprinted so I hope this is okay :] )

Divider by @bunnysrph | Moodboard photos from Pinterest/Google, edit is mine :]

[241cookies]

For those who don't know what a queer platonic relationship is, "Queerplatonic relationships (QPR) and queerplatonic partnerships (QPP) are committed intimate relationships which are not romantic in nature."

(Source - Wikipedia)

These relationships are common among those in the aroace spectrum, and are can often be seen used in the community. This poll is made out of pure curiosity!

[yellowbirdy]

Oooooooo the first time I’ve ever drawn Sandy, I think he came out well.

And ooooo silktea content ❤️

By far my fav ship haha, just never had the courage to draw sandy….. so many muscles!

Anyway a little headcannon of mine is that Huntsman is the kind of person who has to feel useful in order to feel welcome. The problem is that his kind of useful, is well the destructive kind.

He isn’t called Huntsman, for no reason and he isn’t exactly used to a domestic setting.

So while living with Sandy he can’t help but feel useless and like he doesn’t belong, he knows the big guy loves him but at the same time… he feels out of place.

So to help his little spider, Sandy asks him to help around the home, for example… changing a lightbulb 💡 doing dishes small things, and each time he does he Sandy floods him with praise and affection.

He never forces the demon to help and never gets upset when they refuse.

Eventually Huntsman starts to do things around the house without being prompted and starts to feel more and more at home. So much he refers to the place as his home.

Oh and @its-kall-the-clown you like the jumper 😉 what if I told you not only was it Sandy’s, but he knitted it himself.

[its-kall-the-clown]

I like to think Huntsman eventually comes around to the idea of a nest.