#probably should get my parents on the same page about that though

[genderqueerboy]

fuck off

[lgbtlunaverse]

This page from the adventurer's bible makes me want to cry

Like basically any neurodivergent dungeon meshi fan, I see a lot of myself in the Touden siblings. But I was blindsided by just how much I suddenly related to Falin in this little comic from the adventure bible's complete version.

It's about the Touden siblings' differing relationships with their parents, and why Laios still holds their treatment of Falin against them, while Falin herself doesn't.

We know that Falin was isolated and ostraziced by their village after she saved Laios from a ghost, displaying her uncanny affinity for magic. Her parents, instead of defending her, sent her away, which angered Laios so much he ran way himself before Falin even left for magic school, hoping to make a living so he and Falin could live together alone.

He tells Marcile this, but when she goes to Falin, she says she sees things differently. Her father sent her to magic school to protect her form the rest of the village without having to cause a conflict. He didn't explain that, and we actually see her burst into tears when he says it.

But, well... Laios was gone for a year before Falin went to magic school, and everyone else in the village avoided her. The understanding Falin has with her parents to me looks like one borne out of necessity, she literally didn't have anyone else to talk to.

And this is where we get to the page that made me want to cry

Like I said, I relate to the Toudens because I'm neurodivergent myself. that feeling of suddenly realizing you're disliked, but not knowing what you did wrong or what you should have done instead? Yeah... that's one I recognize.

When I was around 9 years old, the same age Falin is in this comic, a bunch of kids in my class decided to make a "game" where you lost if you touched me. It was basically the 'cheese-touch' from diary of a wimpy kid, except I always had it and couldn't pass it along. They'd pretend I was poisonous or disgusting and run away from me screaming or gagging. The point was to make fun of me. But my autistic little 9 year old ass thought "Oh I get it! It's tag but I'm always it!" So I... played along. Running at a boy and having him fall on the ground screaming in fake pain because you tapped him is, in isolation, pretty funny.

It wasn't until months into the "game" that I realized it was meant to be meanspirited. That the reason I was the one who was always 'it' wasn't an arbritrary rule but the whole point. Because I was weird and gross. I wasn't in on the joke, I was the punchline.

Falin may have come to understand her parents' intentions, but she didn't always. The adventure bible actually tells us that she at first didn't even notice that the rest of their village disliked her. She clearly knows now, but she had to be told. So when her mom tried to exorcise her, she just saw it as an activity she got to do with a mother she usually didn't get to spend much time with because of her poor health. It's only Laios who notices something is wrong.

(Sidenote, Laios being hyper-aware of people's poor attitudes towards Falin but completely blindsided when he's in the same spot, like with Toshiro, is also very relatable as an eldest sibling)

It probably also took Falin months, until after her brother had left and she had no one but her parents, to realize why her mother had been doing all those things.

And I know they're not the same. Even misguidedly, Falin's mom was trying to help her, not make fun of her like those boys in my class. (Though, as a queer person who also cares a lot about the queercoding in Falin's storyline, a parent trying to 'exorcise' their child of a fundamental part of them the parent thinks is evil or corruptive? yeah... that's not perfectly wholesome)

But do you know what I did, when I finally figured out the game was always meant to make fun of me?

To me, it looked like I had a choice.

See, those boys eventually figured out I didn't understand that they were being mean to me. I'd laugh every time I managed to catch one of them, I was visibly having fun. And while it no doubt only made me more of a weirdo in their eyes, they never informed me that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. That the point was for me to feel hurt.

So now that I did know, I had a choice. I could either get upset, and let the insult land as it was supposed to. That wouldn't stop them, because making fun of me was the original goal. Or I could ignore it and go on as usual. They had already accepted that I didn't get it, and they weren't gona stop me from having fun, so why should I?

And the thing is that I had... one friend, in that whole class. One person who actually liked talking to me and hanging out with me. I was lonely. And the 'game' provided me with another social interaction, mean-spirited as it was, that I desperately needed. And it was so delightfully simple. Navigating actual friendships as a kid with autism and adhd was so fucking complicated, and I'd never know when I might break an inivisble rule. But I knew the rules to the game perfectly!

Sometimes, if I was chasing one of them, the others would trap him and hold him down so I could tap him. In those moments it actually did kind of feel like I was playing with them, rather than against them. And it didn't change much, they didnt start actually liking me. But they were willing to roll with the fact that I wasn't upset, and I took advantage of that because I needed to.

So you can look at Falin seeing the best in her parents as her being naïve, but I look at this page and I see myself, at first unable to differentiate between playing and being made fun of. And then later, when I did see the difference, deciding not to get mad about it because that'd mean losing that social interaction, and I couldn't afford to.

Like I said, Falin probably first realized this in the year she spent with her brother gone, and everyone else avoiding her like the plague. If she refused to talk to her parents, like Laios did, she'd have no one left.

I see a lot of people relating to the fight between Laios and Toshiro. that frustration when you realize someone you thougth was your friend actually hates you, and they never said anything, never gave you a chance to fix it because you had no idea that you were even doing something wrong! And I can see that, too. But sometimes, when people don't fully hate you, it feels better to go along with the pretending. Because adressing it won't fix it. Because the problem isn't a specific behaviour, it's you. And if they're willing to tolerate you, despite the fact that it's you, then you'll take it. Because other people do hate you, so this is the best you'll get.

[justwinginglife]

Wait For Me

Inspired by ideas from @adaizel (my dude, you really do be milking the longest fics out of me lmao I appreciate you though)

You'd known Soshiro Hoshina your whole life as both of you came from respectable kaiju-slaying clans, and though you knew most everything about him, you wanted to ignore one particular thing about him- that he was probably not into you.

Having seen you in diapers and then seen you in braces, you were more likely to be seen as a little sister to him rather than a love interest. He'd bandaged you up too many times after you got hurt and wiped your snot from your tear stained face too regularly to think any different. You denied the painful thought frequently though, continuing your active pursuit of him.

He was several years older than you, but you never stopped trying to remind him that you were a woman.

You recalled the first time you'd ever worn a bikini in front of him. He'd wanted to take you swimming in the ocean, the way he always did every summer, and you thought that it was high time that you show off what the lord gave you. But unfortunately, if he was shocked or awestruck at all by the lack of coverage over your body, he didn't show it. Even when you'd jumped in the air trying to hit a beach volleyball and your boobs had bounced their way to kingdom come, he still didn't react.

It made you want to try anything to get his attention. Suck a popsicle a little too hard, little too deep. Dry your dripping body off with his towel, because oops you forgot one. And you even made sure to drag the towel extra slow in between your legs.

Eventually you resorted to trying out different hairstyles and different makeup to try and get any sort of reaction from him. You thought the man should try gambling because he had one hell of a poker face, always treating you the exact same as he always did.

You thought it might be hopeless after all, but you had found out that Soshiro planned on leaving to join the Defense Force soon and you didn't want to give up on him, not after having pined for him your whole life. You felt you needed some sort of closure at least.

You already knew your parents would never let you follow him into battle, you were the sole heir to the clan. It was your duty to run the household, settle down, make more heirs. But before you resigned yourself to your fate, you needed him to know how you felt even if he didn't return the feelings (though you desperately hoped he did).

Your heart pounds as you begin to write him a letter and then you think your heart might just give in and collapse as you hand the letter off to your lady's maid to deliver to him.

Soshiro had been packing the last of his things in the dead of the night, getting ready to ship out in the morning, when he got your letter. He reads it over carefully, his eyes widening as they trail down the page. He rereads it again, making sure he didn't misinterpret.

Then he slips his shoes on quick as he can, and makes the short walk to your house, knocking gently on your bedroom door.

You open the door and smile when you see him but when you notice the letter in his hand and the solemnity etched into his face, you know he's not here to deliver good news. Before he can say anything, you begin to speak, wanting to get your words out before the tears come. "Can you- can you just wait for me? Please? Wait for me to be someone you can love? I'll be finished with my lessons soon and they say I'll be the lady of the house in no time at all. I can come visit you when I find the time. I can... I can make it work. Just please. Wait for me."

He holds both of your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. For the first time in your life, you see his poker face wavering. He musters up his best smile for you, but it's not the sweet smile you know, it's apologetic from top to bottom.

"Thank you... for entrusting your feelings to a fool like me. If I'd known how you felt... well never mind that. I can't change what I would've done just as much as I can't change the different directions we're going in. We- we're living separate lives now, darling. And I can't wait for you, much as I'd like to. I need to do this, I need to go. And you have to stay here. I can't take you with me. Please forgive me."

With every word he says, the tears spill out more and more aggressively until all you are is a quivering mess, watching your one and only true love fade from your life.

"You'll forget me soon enough." He whispers as he pulls you into a quick hug, then he wipes your tears and begins to walk away.

Before he fades from view completely, you yell at the top of your lungs, not caring that it's the middle of the night, "I'd never forget you! I'll wait for you then! I'll always wait for you."

All you can see is his back, and you wonder if he heard you. If he smiled at all. If he reacted at all.

Then he rounds the corner and disappears with all your hopes and dreams.

You fall to the floor, knees crashing against the hard surface, but they don't hurt nearly as much as the ache in your empty chest.

You don't get a good sleep that night. In fact, you don't get a good sleep for many nights to come.

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

Soshiro made Vice Captain of the Third Division rather quickly. The view from the top (he was told) was supposedly rather glorious, but when he got there he found it empty and lacking, realizing there was no one to share in his triumph. No one to cheer on his victory, to tell him they knew he could do it.

Then he thought of you again. It'd been years since he'd seen you but he still thought of you. Nearly everyday, against his will. He'd tried to force the feelings down, tried to ignore the picture of your tear-stained face in his mind, tried to stop hearing your voice echoing in his ears. He'd stayed up late training every night, until the ache in his heart was drowned out by the aching in the rest of his body. He'd even gone on random dates with random women to try to break the cycle of dreaming about you day and night, but he'd hear your voice in someone's laugh or he'd see your sparkle in someone's eyes, and he knew he couldn't deny himself any longer.

Trying not to love you was like trying to stop the push and pull of the waves, or trying to stop the rotation of the Earth, it couldn't be done.

He opens the top drawer of his desk again. Your letter is sitting right there, where he'd left it, for easy viewing access whenever he felt like wondering about what could've been. Wondering about how you're doing, about who you're with.

Do you still visit the secret spot he'd found for the two of you? Do you still play the violin, the one that he bought you? Do you... still love him? Did you wait for him?

The downward spiral of his thoughts sends him into a frenzy, as he hurriedly jams random clothes into a suitcase with just one clear thought in mind- he wants, he needs to see you. He needs to smell you, to hear you, to tell you how he feels. To make up for making you cry. To make up for all these years of lost time. To beg you for another chance. To let you love him. To let himself love you.

Captain Ashiro approves his hasty request for leave (having never seen the man take any time off at all in the many years he'd been in the Defense Force) and soon enough he's on the first bullet train back to his hometown.

He knocks on the familiar wood of your front door. His hands are shaking and his mind is scattered, filled with endless, useless, worrying thoughts, but he knows when he sees you everything will be okay. If he can just see you again, he'll know what to say, he'll know what to do, he'll be whole again.

The door opens and his smile is at the ready, waiting to greet you, but it's your mother that answers the door and his lips freeze mid-smile. He listens intently, his heart dropping into his stomach, as she explains that you've eloped with his brother- Soichiro.

He tastes salt and he realizes he's crying on your doorstep the way you did for him all those years ago. He hurriedly wipes his cheeks and thanks your mother quickly, before backing away. She gives him a sympathetic look as he stumbles down the street, lost in a daze.

For the first time in years, he doesn't know what he wants. What he should do. But he still needs to see you, married or not, and that desire drives him to get onto the next train to the Sixth Division.

When he arrives, it looks like they're throwing some sort of party. He checks his reflection in a nearby window, making sure the crying he did on the way here isn't visible in his eyes or his cheeks. When he's fixed his hair and adjusted his collar to his liking, he heads into the main building.

He asks around and it appears they're inducting a new Vice Captain.

He watches from the back row as the new Vice Captain takes the stage, waving and grinning. His heart roars in his chest when he realizes it's you.

Your speech is sweet and short but he hangs onto every word, watching your lips as they move.

Then you step down from the stage and the ceremony is concluded. Officers start to file out of the room and then eventually it's just you and him.

He lifts a hand awkwardly, giving you a little wave.

He thinks you might ignore him. Thinks you might turn around and walk away. Leave through the nearest exit. Run through the nearest exit, desperate to get away from him. From the man who broke your heart.

But he never could've expected what you'd do.

You do run but you run towards him, leaping into his arms.

He's shocked but he quickly pulls himself together and pulls you tight against him, inhaling the sweet scent of you. He doesn't want to talk about what happened or what is going to happen when you finally let go, he just wants to hold you and let this be enough. But the erratic beat of his heart isn't satisfied with just holding you. He needs to make you his.

He pulls away and grabs your hands, checking for a ring. He almost cries again when he doesn't see one.

You laugh, looking at him puzzled. "Yes? Something you need?"

"You're... you're not married." His breath is so shaky it's a wonder he was able to form words at all.

"I said I'd wait, didn't I?" You whisper, pulling your hands away from his so you can cup his face and stroke his cheeks with your thumbs.

Now he starts crying.

You kiss the tears away from his cheeks. "Hey, I don't remember you being such a crybaby. What happened to the tough Vice Captain of the Third Division?" You tease him but your voice is still soft, filled with concern at his sudden burst of emotion.

"H-he's not here right now. Just me. Just a man who's in love with you, wondering if you can still find it in you to love him back."

You smile warmly at him and he thinks he might just die now and go to heaven, having finally seen your smile for real and not just in his haunting dreams.

"I said I'd wait, and I have. I'd wait a thousand years for you. I'd wait more than that. It's you, it's always been you and it always will be."

He sighs, relieved. He takes you in his arms again, pulling you close and trailing kisses all over you. Then he freezes.

"Wait, I heard you ran off to get married with my brother?"

You laugh and the sound is enough to melt his heart and ease his nerves. "Well I guess that's partially true. I mean I did run away with him but only to join his division, that's it. I was hoping to run into you."

Soshiro squeezes you tighter, afraid if he lets you go this might be a dream. "So marry me then."

The waves continue to push and pull, the Earth continues to spin on its axis, and Soshiro continues to love you immensely and infinitely the rest of his entire life.

[jsprnt]

catching your boyfriend studying about your culture before he meets your parents, makes you a tad emotional

kenan yıldız x mexican! reader

A/N: hopefully my knowledge on mexican culture was portrayed correctly, did some research for it as well!! pulled myself together to write this one after being gone so long, hope it was a good comeback 😭 based on this request! 💖

W/C: 1.535

"kenan?”

you call out, stepping into your boyfriend's apartment. stopping in your steps, you listen to figure out if he'd arrived home already.

training had ended an hour ago, and he would always come straight home, waiting for you to arrive.

"babe?" you call out again, taking off your shoes by the door, before walking through the living room space.

"siri, how do you say 'delicious' in spanish?"

you furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what in the world he was doing.

"here are the results on the web for-"

"ugh! no, you-.."

you snort at the frustration in your boyfriend's voice, finally sneaking into his bedroom.

kenan is sprawled out on his bed, lying on his back, as he's holding his phone up to his face.

"do you mean deliciosa or delicioso?"

you watch him jolt from your sudden words, seeing kenan sit up, his face full of shock.

"baby?"

you grin when he acknowledges your presence, walking up to his bed and falling into his embrace. you bury your face into his neck, taking in the scent of his shampoo.

"hi..” you greet, voice muffled by his shoulder.

"when did you get here?.." he smiles, you couldn’t see, but you knew his dimples were showing.

"just now." you answer, pulling away to press a kiss to his cheek.

"i didn't hear you come in, must've gotten too distracted.." he quirks his brows up, a cheeky expression on his face.

"i heard you, don't try to hide your quarrel with siri.."

he chuckles, pushing you back against the pillows before joining you.

"I was- practicing, okay.."

"your spanish? for what exactly?"

you lift your hand, running it through his damp hair, realizing he probably showered before you arrived.

"for tomorrow. you think I'm going to make a fool out of myself- in front of my in-laws?"

you smile at his word choice, lips stretching in amusement.

"your in-laws? and how do you plan to impress my parents, huh?"

you had been dating kenan for a couple months now. of course, the beginning of your relationship was purely about learning so much more about each other. getting to know each other on a level- you could only get to if you actually dated the other person.

as time passed, and the relationship had gotten more serious, you both had come to a conclusion that you should meet each other's parents.

you had already met kenan's parents weeks ago.

though, it was a mere accident since; hanging out in his apartment, meant running into them when they visited their son.

your own family lived a couple hours away. due to the distance, you were going on a small road trip tomorrow. making it just in time for dinner.

your very loving, and hospitable mexican parents would never allow a guest, especially your boyfriend- to drive home the same day. insisting over the phone for you guys to stay over for a couple of days.

"you know, I'm trying to invest a lot of time into researching about your culture.."

"are you? any progress?" you grin, tracing your kenan’s brows. rubbing your finger along the slit in his eyebrow.

"okay, look.." he mumbles, holding back your hand so you don’t poke his eye. he sits up in a split-second, reaching for and shoving a unfamiliar notebook into your face.

you raise a brow in curiosity, reaching out to grab the object.

you hum when you flip it open. observing a multitude of scribbles, flicking to different pages, you see different spanish words along with the translation written, and a few aspects of your culture scribbled down. some having incredibly long explanations, some short ones.

you raise your brows when you notice the small printed images, a wave of emotion washing through you as you notice the long paragraphs about the things you've already taught him about.

the date and time make you realize he’s been writing since the first month you started dating.

"see?" kenan interrupts your emotional moment, making you look up.

"this is- woah.." you mumble, speechlessness taking over your senses, your bottom lip quivering for a second.

you'd never met someone so interested in learning something about you. as small as the gesture may feel to some, seeing your boyfriend study about your culture. such a huge part of your identity with such passion, pulled at your heartstrings.

"you're really sweet, you know?.." you say, glossy eyes looking into his. you take a deep breath through your nose, trying to keep it together.

you don’t know why you’re so emotional. maybe, it’s the nerves for tomorrow, or it is because, you’ve never received such a pure gesture from anyone before kenan.

"what're you- are you okay, baby?" he furrows his brows, taking the notebook out of your hands to inspect the page you stopped at.

"is it wrong? i did so much research, i thought that's how you write it. I'm sorry if i offended you, honey.." kenan immediately blurts, his hand cupping your jaw. moving your gaze to his face,

he looks into your eyes with guilt.

"no, it's not wrong.." you begin, voice low.

"it's just precious.. you're really cute, baby.." you explain, blinking moisture away from your eyes.

kenan freezes, relief flooding his body as he realizes he's not done anything wrong.

"you scared me, y/n.."

"it's not something to cry over though, schatz.." he runs his other hand over your back, planting a sweet kiss on your temple.

"It's really touching..."

"I've never had anyone show this much interest in my identity. I'm really grateful that you're such a sweet person.."

kenan coos at your last words, pulling you into a tight, warm embrace.

"c'mon that's the least I can do. I love you, and everything about you is interesting to me."

you snuggle into his chest, hand touching his bicep.

"also, did you think I was going to meet your parents with zero knowledge about your background? you've taught me a lot already, but I need more topics to talk about so your parents will like me.."

"they already like you from what I've told them.."

"well, I doesn't hurt if I become their favorite son-in-law.."

"son-in-law? you want them to like you even more than my sister husband?"

"trust me, with the research I've done, it’s easy work.”

you chuckle, looking up from his chest.

"are you just going to steal their hearts with your knowledge on our culture?"

"I'll make sure they'll understand how much I love you, and care for you as well. I have to convince them that their pretty daughter is safe and sound with me.."

"you've planned it all out, huh?" you raise your brows, analyzing his cocky, but loving expression.

"I'm still nervous, I've got to admit." kenan bites his bottom lip, looking down at your snuggling frame.

"just be yourself, they'll love you.." you reassure him, patting his bicep.

your boyfriend gives you a soft smile, pulling you down into his bed.

"cold?" he asks, already pulling the blanket on your body without waiting for your answer.

"yeah, is the air-conditioning on?"

"forgot to turn it off, hold on.."

he reaches for a remote on his nightstand, lowering the volume of the air conditioner before getting under the covers with you.

"there, comfy?"

you hum, pressing your face into his chest. kenan's arms wrapped around your frame.

"good.."

you both go silent for a moment, soaking into each other's comforting presence.

your bodies heat up from the warmth between you. your boyfriend's ears red and flushed.

"what are you thinking of?" you break the peaceful silence, lifting your gaze up to his.

"should I greet your dad with a hand? or is that too formal?"

you snort at the thought, eyes closing as you laugh at him.

"it's a serious question, babe.." he whines, placing his hand on your shoulder to pull you out of your laughing fit.

"a hand is fine.." you choke out, biting your lip to muffle your laughter.

"okay.."

"what dishes are they making?" he asks curious, a hand reaching out to poke your cheek. 

"mhm, some you already know. but I'll keep it a secret- oh!"

your sudden reaction makes kenan's eyes go wide, his brows raising slightly in anticipation.

"what?"

"you have to remember, eat the inside of the tamales, not the surrounding wrapping.."

"eat the filling only? okay, easy.."

"keep it in mind.." you tease, poking his chest..

"I know, I'll try to remember.." he grumbles, burying his face into your neck.

you'd cooked the dish only once in the past for kenan. you thought not eating the corn tusk was common sense, but you were wrong when kenan almost chocked on the first bite..

you run a hand down his back, the memory fading as you both go quiet again.

"baby.." you call out, feeling his warm breath fanning your neck.

"hm?" kenan hums, his senses overwhelmed with sleep.

"have I ever told you that my dad supports ac milan?"

you chuckle when kenan jumps up. the sleep gone from his eyes.

you know, this is going to be a long night of him complaining..

[estellan0vella]

Fallen Into Place: L.F Lee Felix x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 18.2K

CW: Mentions of physical abuse by a parental figure, Substance Use, Implied and discussed sexual relationships, Discussion of a parent’s death due to cancer General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

Seungmin's room at the Alpha Phi house is a chaotic mix of minimalist black furniture and books shoved in every conceivable corner. A sleek desk is shoved up against the wall, covered in half-empty energy drink cans and a complicated tangle of wires that probably belong to the computer he built himself. You're perched on the edge of his unmade bed, the France trip booklet spread across your lap. The glossy pages feel weirdly fancy for a school trip, like they're trying too hard to make this sound like the experience of a lifetime.

You're not convinced.

"Okay, but seriously," you say, flipping to the section about Paris accommodations. "If that freckled idiot is going, I'm not."

Seungmin snorts without looking up from his copy of the same booklet. He's slouched in his desk chair, one foot resting on the desk, balancing precariously on the edge of his chair like the picture of nonchalant chaos. His black jeans are ripped in just the right places, his vest hanging open over a plain black tank that shows off the lightning-strike tattoos on his right arm.

"Felix? Oh, he's definitely going," he says, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness. "He's a bakery and confectionary minor. You think he's missing a trip to the fucking homeland of croissants?"

You groan and flop backwards onto the bed dramatically, the booklet smacking against your chest. "Of course, he is. God, his whole 'everything is sunshine and rainbows' bullshit is going to ruin the entire trip."

Seungmin rolls his eyes, spinning his chair lazily to face you. "I mean, to be fair, they did offer it to you at a discount since you're French and can actually help translate."

"Yeah, but is the sacrifice of my sanity worth it?" you counter, sitting back up and waving the booklet around for emphasis. "I don't know if I can deal with that guy in close quarters for twelve days. Twelve days, Seungmin!"

"Listen," Seungmin says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His multiple piercings catch the light as he smirks at you. "If I were you, I'd say yes to the trip. You're literally getting it cheaper. You love pastry-making, and honestly, you're not going to find a better opportunity than this."

You huff, crossing your legs and leaning back against the headboard. Your black miniskirt rides up slightly, and you adjust it out of habit. The lace-up stiletto boots on your feet gleam under the overhead light as you cross one ankle over the other.

"They're talking about opening it up to other students to fill the slots," you say, flipping another page. "You and Minho should sign up."

Seungmin shrugs. "I might."

Before you can press him further, Minho's voice comes from the doorway, dripping with his usual dry humour. "Oh, hello, miserable one and two."

You glance up to see Minho leaning against the doorframe, looking like he just walked out of a punk-rock fashion show. His black cargo pants hang low on his hips, the silver chain around his neck catching the light. His sleeveless compression top reveals toned arms, covered in intricate tattoos, and his piercings glint as he smirks at you both.

"Hello, miserable three," you reply, waving lazily at him with the booklet.

Minho strides into the room like he owns it, flopping onto the bed beside you. He leans over to glance at the booklet in your hands, his cherry-red hair falling into his eyes. "What's this?"

"France trip," you answer. "Twelve days. Paris, Nice, Bordeaux. Pastry-making bullshit."

Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And you're debating whether to go because Felix might annoy you to death?"

"Correct," you deadpan.

"You could fuck some hot French guys, though," Minho points out, stretching his arms over his head lazily. His septum ring gleams as he smirks down at you.

You hum thoughtfully. "You might be right."

Seungmin snickers from his chair. "Maybe you and Felix should fight it out."

Minho shakes his head quickly. "Would not advise. That dude did taekwondo for, like, twelve fucking years. He'd wreck your shit. Maybe just fuck it out instead."

The booklet in your hand immediately becomes a weapon, and you start whacking Minho with it as he cackles and shields himself. "You're the fucking worst!" you yell between laughs, unable to keep a straight face.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Minho yells, though his laughter doesn't stop. "God, you're so violent for someone in a miniskirt."

"You deserved it!" you retort, still laughing as you toss the booklet onto the bed. "Don't start shit you can't finish, asshole."

Minho grins, unbothered. "Fair. Anyway, I signed up as soon as they opened the trip to all students."

You blink. "You what?"

"Yeah," Minho says casually. "I want some French dick in my mouth, or I want my dick in some French ass. Either way, I'm winning."

Seungmin chokes on his laughter, and you bury your face in your hands. "I hate you both so much."

"No, you don't," Seungmin says, spinning lazily in his chair. "You'd be lost without us."

Minho smirks. "And you'd be bored as hell."

You sigh dramatically but don't argue. They're right.

The cool night air wraps around the Alpha Phi garden, carrying the faint scent of charcoal and sizzling meat from the grill. The frat house's pool glows a soft blue, its reflection dancing on the faces of Seungmin, Minho, and you as the three of you linger at the edge of the garden, cigarettes in hand. The garden's string lights flicker gently, creating an almost peaceful atmosphere if not for the faint bursts of laughter from Felix, Jisung, and Changbin near the grill, where Chan works his magic.

Seungmin exhales a puff of smoke, his arm resting on the back of a patio chair. "Is a peaceful fucking cigarette too much to ask for in this goddamn house?"

Minho, leaning casually against the pool railing with his cigarette dangling between his fingers, scoffs. "In this house? Yes." His smirk deepens as he takes a slow drag, blowing the smoke toward the sky. "Peaceful doesn't exist when those dumbasses are around."

You roll your eyes, flicking ash from the tip of your cigarette. "It's like they can't laugh at a normal fucking volume. Always gotta be like hyenas on crack."

Seungmin hums in agreement. "Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired after practice today. Changbin looked like he was dying after suicides."

"Didn't stop him from inhaling half the kitchen afterwards," Minho adds, chuckling. "Guy's an actual vacuum cleaner."

Before you can respond, Felix's bright voice cuts through the air, closer now. "What's this? The Pessimist Club holding a meeting?"

You don't even have to look to know it's him. That fucking Australian accent and overly chipper tone are like nails on a chalkboard. You glance over your shoulder to see Felix, Changbin, and Jisung sauntering toward your group, beers in hand and grins plastered across their faces.

"Great," you mutter, stubbing your cigarette out on the edge of a nearby ashtray. "Just what I needed."

Felix grins, his freckles catching the light as he looks at you. "Aw, don't look so excited to see us, Cruella."

"Twilight fucking Sparkle," you shoot back without hesitation, crossing your arms. His eyes narrow, but the grin doesn't leave his face. The nickname makes Changbin nearly choke on his beer as Jisung cackles like a madman.

"Oh, come on," Felix says, feigning offence. "That's not even fucking accurate. I don't sparkle."

"Yet you've got the same overly positive bullshit energy," you deadpan. "Don't deny it."

Felix groans dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "You wound me. Seriously."

Minho snorts. "You walked into that one, Lix."

"Thank you, Minho," you say, tipping an imaginary hat toward him. "At least someone gets it."

Felix narrows his eyes at you, stepping closer until he's in your personal space. "You're just mad because I'm nice and people actually like me."

"Yeah, nice and painfully fucking irritating. It's like you're allergic to negativity," you retort, holding his gaze without flinching.

"And you're allergic to anything remotely fun," Felix snaps back, his grin now replaced with a slight frown. "God forbid someone has a good time around you."

"God forbid you shut the fuck up for five minutes," you counter, smirking slightly.

"Alright, alright," Changbin interrupts, stepping between the two of you with his hands up. "Jesus Christ, you two need a fucking referee."

"Or a muzzle," Jisung adds with a snicker, earning a middle finger from you.

Felix glares at you one last time, but there's no real malice behind it. Just pure, unfiltered irritation. He takes a long sip of his beer, and you watch with a smirk as an idea forms. When you finish your cigarette, you flick the stub neatly into his drink, the small plunk unmistakable.

Felix sputters. "What the fuck, Cruella?!"

You pat his cheek sweetly, giving him an innocent smile. "Oops. My bad." And with that, you breeze past him, heading toward the grill where Chan's flipping burgers with the precision of a chef in a five-star restaurant.

"Y/N," Chan greets warmly, draping an arm around your shoulders as you approach. "You and Lix can't just get along for once?"

You glance up at him, unimpressed. "I'd rather slam my tongue in a car door. Repeatedly."

Chan snorts, his laughter shaking the arm around your shoulders as he uses his free hand to flip a burger. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you love me," you reply, leaning into his side. His familiar warmth is oddly comforting after a long, annoying day.

He hums, ruffling your two-toned hair with a grin. "You doing okay? Last time we talked, your dad—"

"It's fine," you cut him off quickly, your tone sharper than you intend. You force a small smile as you snuggle closer to him. "Seriously, it's fine."

Chan pauses, clearly unconvinced but not pushing. "You know if it's not, you can talk to me, right?"

"I know," you murmur, letting your cheek rest against his shoulder. The sounds of laughter and bickering fade into the background as the scent of grilled meat fills the air.

Chan flips another burger before glancing down at you. "You ever need to crash here-"

"Yeah, I know," you interrupt, your voice softer now. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Of course," he replies without hesitation, his arm tightening around you briefly. "You don't even have to ask."

You smile faintly, letting the comfort of his presence calm the restless energy buzzing in your chest. As annoying as the Alpha Phi house can be, moments like this make it bearable. Even if it means dealing with Felix's Twilight Sparkle bullshit for another day.

The Alpha Phi living room is a chaotic mess of overstuffed furniture, mismatched throw pillows, and random items that scream college frat house. The TV is on, playing some action movie that no one is really watching. You're crammed into the loveseat between Seungmin and Minho, your legs crossed and your black miniskirt riding just slightly higher than you intended. Not that you care. The snake tattoo on your left arm glints under the warm light as you sip on an iced Americano from the café down the street.

Chan is sprawled on the couch with Jeongin, who's flipping through some fashion magazine and pointing out ridiculous outfits. Hyunjin sits cross-legged on the floor with his sketchbook, his black hair falling into his face as his pencil scratches against the page. Changbin is perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through his phone.

The peace, if you can call this chaos peaceful, is shattered when Felix and Jisung walk in mid-conversation.

"Honestly," Felix says, his accent sharper than usual, "I can't imagine anything more horrifying."

Without missing a beat, you dig into your bag, pull out a small pocket mirror, and hold it up to his face. "There you go."

The room bursts into laughter as Felix glares at you, his freckled face reddening slightly. "You're such a fucking menace, Cruella."

Leaning back against the loveseat, you smirk and take another sip of your Americano. "And you make it so damn easy, Twilight Sparkle. Don't dish it if you can't take it."

Minho chuckles beside you, elbowing you lightly. "She's got a point, Lix. You walked right into that one."

Felix opens his mouth to retort, but Jisung cuts him off with a grin. "He wasn't even talking about himself, you know. Felix was telling me about some guy he knows who went on a shitty date."

"Oh yeah?" Seungmin asks, raising an eyebrow. "What happened? She ghosted him or some shit?"

"Nah, worse," Jisung replies, his grin widening. "Apparently, she spent the whole time talking about her ex and then made him pay for everything. Like, didn't even pretend to offer."

"Fucking brutal," Minho mutters, shaking his head. "But hey, Lix, what about you? Thinking about dipping your toes into the dating pool? Maybe get some Tinder dates lined up? Or, I don't know, snag a hot French girlfriend on the trip?"

Felix hesitates for a second too long, and you seize the opportunity.

"Yeah," you say, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Because his last girlfriend deflated when he nibbled on her ear."

The laughter that erupts is immediate and overwhelming. Changbin is the first to lose it, throwing his head back and falling off the arm of the couch entirely. Hyunjin tries to keep his composure, but his shoulders shake as he hides his laughter behind his sketchbook.

"Oh my fucking god," Changbin wheezes from the floor, clutching his stomach. "I'm gonna die."

Jisung is biting his lip so hard it looks like it might bleed, but even he can't hold it together when Felix starts spluttering, his face as red as a tomato.

"You're such an asshole!" Felix snaps, his voice higher-pitched than usual. "It wasn't even funny!"

"Oh, come on, Twilight Sparkle," you say, setting your cup down on the side table with a dramatic sigh. "We all know your girlfriends have been inflatable. It's okay."

Minho immediately raises his hand, and you slap it in a victorious high-five as Felix groans loudly. The room explodes into laughter again, Jisung practically collapsing onto the couch as he gasps for air.

"Stop fucking calling me that!" Felix yells, his voice cracking slightly. "It's not even clever!"

"You're just mad because it fits," you reply smugly, leaning back and crossing your legs.

Jeongin, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks up with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Lix, if you do get a French girlfriend, maybe Cruella can help you translate."

"Fuck off, Jeongin," Felix snaps, shooting him a glare. "Like I need her help."

"Oh, you definitely do," Minho cuts in, smirking. "Your French is trash. What was it you said last time? Je suis un croissant? Dude, you called yourself a fucking pastry."

Felix throws his hands up in frustration as the laughter intensifies. "Why are all of you ganging up on me?!"

"Because you're easy to mess with," you say with a shrug, picking up your iced Americano again. "And honestly, it's fun watching you get all flustered."

Felix glares at you again, muttering something under his breath that you can't quite catch. You don't care, though. Riling him up is one of your favourite pastimes, and the fact that he keeps rising to the bait only makes it better.

"Anyway," Changbin says, wiping tears from his eyes as he finally sits back up, "you guys are fucking ridiculous."

"And yet, you hang out with us," Hyunjin points out, his voice still tinged with amusement as he goes back to his sketchbook.

"Yeah, because you're entertaining," Changbin retorts. "It's like watching a live comedy show."

Felix slumps onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, still glaring at you from across the room. You meet his gaze with a sweet, innocent smile, and he groans, running a hand through his hair.

"Fucking Cruella," he mutters under his breath, and you can't help but grin.

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

The lecture hall is buzzing with conversation as students file in, taking their seats around tables scattered with booklets and itinerary sheets. The Paris trip meeting is supposed to be straightforward, but nothing about being stuck in a room with overexcited classmates screams "calm." You're running late but you don't care. The thought of spending hours cooped up going over the fine details of travel plans is already giving you a headache.

You click your way into the room, the sharp staccato of your boots echoing against the tile floor. Your black leather miniskirt clings just right, and your dark red turtleneck contrasts perfectly with your half-black, half-white hair, messily clipped up in a way that somehow still looks flawless.

"Late as always," Felix mutters from just behind you. He's trailing after you, also late, because of course he is.

"Look who's talking, Twilight Sparkle," you snap back, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. "What, too busy spreading sunshine and glitter to get here on time?"

"Funny, coming from someone who probably spent twenty minutes perfecting her eyeliner just to intimidate the rest of us," Felix retorts, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, it's working," you say, smirking back. "You look terrified."

Felix opens his mouth to reply, but the professor at the front of the room clears her throat, gesturing for the two of you to find seats. The only available ones are at a table already occupied by Minho, Seungmin, and Jisung. Great.

"Perfect," Felix mutters as he drops into the chair beside you. "Now I get front-row seats to Cruella's tragic personality."

"And I get to sit next to an overgrown My Little Pony," you reply sweetly, settling into your chair and crossing your legs.

Minho, Seungmin, and Jisung exchange amused glances as you and Felix settle in. Minho leans back in his chair, his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

The professor begins walking through the itinerary, her voice droning on about flights, hotel check-ins, and scheduled activities. You try to focus, but Felix shifting in his seat beside you keeps pulling your attention.

"So," Felix whispers, leaning slightly closer. "What are you planning to do on your free days? Suck out the souls of innocent Parisians?"

"Yeah," you reply without missing a beat, your voice equally low. "So they don't have to suffer through your sunshine bullshit. It's a mercy soul-snatching, really."

Felix snorts, unable to hide his amusement. "At least you're self-aware."

"Besides," you add, smirking as you turn your head toward him, "at least their souls are being snatched by someone attractive."

Felix chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound. Minho and Jisung exchange wide-eyed looks, while Seungmin just shakes his head, clearly holding back his own laughter.

"Wow," Felix mutters after a moment, still grinning. "You really think highly of yourself, don't you?"

"Someone has to," you reply, tilting your head. "You're all too busy worshipping the ground you walk on."

Felix shakes his head, still smiling. He won't admit it, but he actually enjoys these exchanges. You're sharp, quick-witted, and, unfortunately for his sanity, ridiculously attractive. He had a massive crush on you during your first year of college and never quite managed to shake it. Bickering with you is the only way he can interact with you without embarrassing himself, so he keeps it up, even if it means getting roasted half the time.

"Will the two of you shut up?" Seungmin finally hisses, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "I'm trying to actually listen to this shit."

"You're just mad because we're more entertaining than the professor," you say, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms.

"She's not wrong," Jisung mutters, scribbling aimlessly on the corner of his itinerary. "You two are better than Netflix."

The professor glances in your direction, and you immediately sit up straighter, pretending to focus. Felix bites back another laugh, and you elbow him sharply.

The meeting drags on, but eventually, the professor wraps up her presentation with a reminder about packing lists and travel documents. Just as everyone begins gathering their things to leave, she calls your name.

"Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Minho and Seungmin exchange a glance before sitting back down, clearly deciding to wait for you. You roll your eyes but nod, making your way to the front of the room where the professor is organizing her papers.

"I just have a quick question about the forms I need to fill out," she says, looking up. "Will I be putting that you're using your French passport or your Korean one?"

"French," you reply easily. "It's just easier to travel to the EU with an EU passport."

The professor nods, scribbling something down. "Got it. Thanks for confirming."

"No problem," you say, turning to head back toward Minho and Seungmin, who are lounging at your table with matching grins.

"So," Minho says as you approach, "French passport, huh? Fancy."

"Shut up," you mutter, grabbing your bag. "Let's go before Felix decides to keep following me."

Seungmin chuckles as the three of you make your way out of the room, leaving behind the chaos of the meeting and the lingering scent of Felix's cologne.

The BBQ place is packed, the smell of sizzling meat and spices wafting through the air as waiters bustle around, carrying trays piled high with food. You, Minho, and Seungmin are crammed into a small booth in the corner, the table already cluttered with banchan and beer bottles. The grill in the centre of the table is heating up, and Minho is poking at the coals with the tongs.

You sip your soju, leaning back against the booth and glancing between your two best friends. "You know something?"

Seungmin barely looks up as he flips a piece of pork belly. "What?"

"I am a fucking catch," you declare, gesturing dramatically with your glass. "I have a nice ass, tits to die for, and flawless eyeliner. But for some reason, no one approaches me. Wanna know why? It's because of you two."

Seungmin raises an eyebrow while Minho smirks, clearly enjoying where this is going. "Us?" Minho asks, his tone mocking. "How is this our fault?"

You set your glass down and point at them accusingly. "You're like my tattooed, pierced bodyguards. Guys take one look at me sandwiched between you two and immediately assume I have the emotional baggage of a Bond villain."

Minho snorts, finally looking up from the grill. "Have you considered," he says with a smirk, "that maybe it's your personality?"

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. "Personality means absolutely nothing for a one-night stand, Min. You know that."

Seungmin hums thoughtfully, propping his chin on his hand. "Honestly, we're doing you a favour. We're keeping you from being the subject of a fucking Netflix true crime documentary. Your taste in men is horrendous."

"Excuse me?" you say, voice pitching higher as you glare at him. "I think my taste is fine, thank you very much."

Minho barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, fuck off. Your taste in men is like a shopping cart full of bad decisions. Honestly, we're saving ourselves hours of police interviews. Do you know how many shady hookups we've already intervened in?"

"Uh, fuck you," you shoot back, kicking his shin under the table. Minho barely flinches, grinning at you like the devil he is.

Seungmin leans back in his seat, his lips twitching. "On national television, we'd be like, 'Yeah, we all fucking saw this coming.' Any shady guy with tattoos and an authority kink has a one-way ticket to you."

You sputter, choking on your drink as Minho doubles over laughing. "An authority kink? You're such an asshole, Seungmin."

"I mean, he's not wrong," Minho says, smirking. "It's the daddy issues."

You swat his arm, but you're laughing despite yourself. "Fuck you, Minho."

"Love you too, sweetheart," he replies, smirking as he pops a piece of grilled meat into his mouth.

Seungmin leans forward, grinning wickedly. "You know we wouldn't hold back in any press interviews if you ever disappeared, right?"

Minho nods sagely, pointing at you with his chopsticks. "We'd tell them everything. Your embarrassing drunken escapades, your horror hookup stories, the whole fucking list."

You narrow your eyes at them, though you can't fight the smile tugging at your lips. "You two are the fucking worst."

Seungmin grins. "We'd tell them about that time you climbed out of the Theta Tau frat house window, and Chan had to catch you like a goddamn princess."

Minho cackles, nearly dropping the tongs. "Oh, or the time Hyunjin pretended to be your fiancé, bursting into your apartment and pretending to catch you cheating just to get that creep to leave."

"That was a good one," Seungmin says, nodding. "Or remember the time we had to dress up in all black with sunglasses and pretend to be your private bodyguards? Changbin pinned the guy down like a linebacker."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "In my defence, Changbin only pinned him after he stuck his hand up my skirt."

"Oh yeah," Minho says, his voice darkening slightly, "and then we- how do I put this nicely?- beat the shit out of him."

You peek at him through your fingers, trying not to laugh. "Nicely, huh?"

Seungmin smirks, tilting his head. "It's true. That guy looked like he got hit by a freight train after Changbin was done."

The three of you dissolve into laughter, the sound loud and unfiltered, cutting through the noise of the BBQ place. Despite their teasing, you know Minho and Seungmin would throw hands for you any day—and that thought, as annoying as it is, makes your chest feel a little lighter. Even if they are tattooed, pierced, overly sarcastic bodyguards.

Jisung's room is a disaster, as usual. Clothes are strewn across the floor, empty takeout containers balance precariously on his desk, and the faint smell of weed lingers in the air. Felix is sprawled on the beanbag chair next to the bed, a controller in hand as they play some chaotic multiplayer game on Jisung's beat-up TV. The screen is a mess of flashing colours, and the sound of explosions fills the room.

Jisung leans back on the bed, one leg dangling off the side, controller in one hand, and a bong resting on the nightstand within reach. "Honestly," he says, his voice casual but curious, "what is with you and Y/N?"

Felix groans, his freckled face scrunching up as he mashes the buttons on his controller. "She fucking hates me for being positive. I don't like her for being miserable. It's that simple."

"Uh-huh," Jisung hums, unimpressed. He pauses the game to grab the bong, taking a long, slow rip before passing it to Felix. Smoke curls lazily in the air, blending with the already hazy atmosphere.

Felix takes the bong, shaking his head. "I'm serious. She's all doom and gloom, and I'm just trying to exist without getting roasted every five fucking seconds."

"You do bring it on yourself, Twilight Sparkle," Jisung says, grinning as Felix glares at him through the haze of smoke.

"Don't you fucking start with that," Felix mutters, exhaling a cloud and passing the bong back. "She's got the whole Cruella de Vil aesthetic going, and somehow I'm the one getting all the shit."

Jisung snickers, setting the bong aside for now. "Okay, but like, you've got to admit, you still have that crush on her from last year."

Felix freezes, the controller slipping slightly in his hands. "What?" he says, his voice slightly higher than usual. "That's fucking ridiculous."

Jisung raises an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. "Oh, is it? You spent all of first year following her around like a lost puppy. Don't think I didn't notice."

Felix huffs, leaning back in the beanbag chair and staring at the screen. "Yeah, well, that's over. She's- Whatever. She's a pain in my ass now."

"Sure," Jisung says, clearly unconvinced. He grabs the bong again but doesn't take another rip just yet. "But, you know, any clothes we take on this France trip are gonna have to be deep-cleaned and sealed in our suitcases. Gotta make sure the drug dogs don't sniff this shit out at the airport."

Felix snorts, grateful for the subject change. "Yeah, no kidding. Last thing we need is to get fucking detained in customs because you smell like a walking dispensary."

Jisung smirks, leaning back on his elbows. "You're deflecting, by the way. You still like her."

"And what about your big, fat crush on Minho?" Felix shoots back, smirking now that the spotlight isn't on him.

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Bitch, I am proud of my big, fat crush on Minho. Why do you think I signed up for the France trip? Six days in the city of love. I'm going to woo that tattooed sexy man with pastry and my bomb dick game."

Felix bursts out laughing, doubling over in his seat. "Your what?"

"My bomb dick game," Jisung repeats confidently, sitting up straight. "You think I can't pull? I'm gonna have Minho eating out of the palm of my hand. Or, you know, somewhere else."

Felix shakes his head, still laughing as he wipes tears from his eyes. "There's no fucking way, Sung. Minho would make you his subby bottom bitch in, like, point five seconds."

Jisung grins, unfazed. "I mean, honestly? I wouldn't even be mad about it."

Felix groans, leaning back in the beanbag again, a wide smile still on his face. "You're fucking hopeless."

"And you're deflecting again," Jisung points out, wagging a finger at him. "Admit it. You still think Y/N is hot."

Felix doesn't respond immediately, focusing on the game instead. But the faint flush creeping up his neck gives him away.

Jisung smirks, taking another rip of the bong. "Thought so."

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

Incheon International Airport is a chaotic mix of noise, announcements, and the overwhelming scent of overpriced coffee. Everyone going on the France trip has already checked in their suitcases, leaving the group gathered near security. You glance around, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Your green leather miniskirt catches the light, and your black lace-trimmed camisole barely offers any protection from the chill of the air conditioning.

Minho stands next to you, scrolling through his phone while Seungmin argues with a vending machine that just ate his money. The three of you are clearly overdressed compared to the sea of tourists in sweatpants and hoodies. But when have you ever given a shit about blending in?

"Let's get this over with," you mutter, stepping toward the metal detector.

The moment you step through, the machine beeps loudly, its accusatory tone cutting through the background noise. A security worker waves you over to the side. You groan as Minho and Seungmin snicker, stepping through after you and immediately setting it off themselves. Of course.

"Piercings," Minho says simply, shrugging as the male security worker gestures for him to step aside too. "This is gonna take a while."

The three of you stand in a line, waiting as the security team gathers their wands and gloves. A female worker approaches you first, holding up a handheld metal detector.

"Hold still," she says, her tone polite but firm. She waves the wand over your face, and it immediately beeps.

"Eyebrow piercing," you say, pointing to it before poking your tongue out. "Tongue piercing too. Oh, and the lip ring."

The woman nods, moving the detector down. It beeps again as she waves it over your chest, and you sigh dramatically. "Nipple piercings," you explain, "and probably the underwire in my bra."

The worker's expression remains neutral as she begins patting you down, her hands brushing over your sides and chest. You glance over at Minho, who's already standing with his arms out like a bored mannequin.

When the detector beeps over his crotch, Minho smirks. "That piercing was brutal. Prince Albert."

You snort, unable to hold back your laugh, while Seungmin chokes on air beside you. "We held his hands when he got it," Seungmin says, grinning. "He cried."

"I did not cry," Minho shoots back, but he's clearly lying, and you both know it.

"You definitely cried," you say, shaking your head. "I was there."

Seungmin steps forward as the worker moves to him, holding his arms out. The wand goes off near his chest, and he glances down. "Nipple piercings here too," he says casually.

"Shocker," you mutter, rolling your eyes as the female worker finishes with you and waves you forward.

You step to the side, adjusting your bag and scanning the room for the others. Your eyes land on Felix, who's being waved over to another security lane. The worker waves the detector over him, and you can't help but notice when it beeps over his crotch.

Minho leans in close, his voice low but filled with amusement. "No fucking way. Felix has a Prince Albert? Did not have that on my 2024 bingo card."

You bite back a laugh, glancing at Felix, who looks mildly annoyed but unfazed as the security worker pats him down. "Twilight Sparkle with a secret edge," you mutter. "Who knew?"

Before Minho can reply, Jisung gets pulled to another station, and the detector immediately goes off over his chest and, moments later, over his crotch. Minho arches an eyebrow, clearly fighting a grin.

"Interesting," Minho says, drawing out the word.

You smirk, nudging him with your elbow. "Just admit you like the guy already. We all know it. You two are set for the perfect friends-to-lovers romance arc."

Seungmin, still watching the scene unfold, nods in agreement. "Seriously. Everyone knows. You're like one heartfelt confession away from being that couple, the guy who looks like a dom and is a sub and the guy who looks like a sub but is a dom."

Minho glares at you both, but the tips of his ears are turning red. "Oh, fuck off. You're both subby as hell too."

"Yeah," Seungmin says, shrugging as he crosses his arms. "But we're not ashamed of it."

"Exactly," you add, grinning. "We own it. Unlike you, Mr. Denial."

Minho groans, running a hand through his hair as Jisung finally gets cleared and starts making his way back toward the group. "You two are the fucking worst."

"And yet, you love us," Seungmin says, smirking as he slings an arm over Minho's shoulders.

You watch as Felix joins the group again, his expression unreadable as he adjusts his jacket. He catches your gaze for a moment, and you offer him a saccharine smile. "How's it feel to know we're both walking red flags, Twilight Sparkle?"

Felix smirks, his freckled cheeks faintly flushed. "Better than being an open invitation for disaster, Cruella."

The tension crackles as the group begins moving toward the boarding gate, bickering and bantering all the way. It's going to be a long trip.

The plane is already filling up as you make your way down the aisle, your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at the numbers on the overhead compartments, searching for your seat. When you finally find it, you stop dead in your tracks.

You're sandwiched between Felix and Jisung.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter under your breath, adjusting your bag before reluctantly squeezing past Felix, who's already lounging in his seat. Jisung flashes you a bright smile as you settle into the middle seat.

"Hi, Ji," you say, offering him a small smile despite your mood.

"Hey," he says back, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he pulls his headphones off one ear. "Ready for the long-ass flight?"

"Not anymore," you reply, side-eyeing Felix as you drop into the seat. You barely have time to get comfortable before Felix leans over, grinning at you.

"Where's my greeting, Cruella?" he asks, his tone dripping with mock offence.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat. "If you wait till we're thirty thousand feet in the air, open the door to the plane, and jump out, you'll find it on the fall down."

Jisung bursts out laughing, his head tilting back against the headrest. Felix glares at you, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile.

"Charming as ever," Felix mutters, shifting in his seat.

Behind you, Minho and Seungmin are settling into their own seats. Unfortunately for them, they've been joined by Jihyo, a girl who's infamous at Alpha Phi parties for clinging to the two of them like a magnet. She's already leaning over, batting her eyelashes as she touches Seungmin's tattooed arm.

"Wow, Seungmin," she says in a voice that's somehow both high-pitched and grating. "This tattoo is so detailed. Did it hurt?"

Seungmin gives her a tight-lipped smile. "Not as much as this conversation."

Minho snickers, pretending to cough into his hand. "Yeah, Seungmin's great at enduring pain. You know, like a champ."

Jihyo doesn't seem to catch the jab, her hand now moving to Minho's arm. "Your tattoos are so cool too, Minho. Did you design them yourself?"

Minho smirks, leaning back in his seat. "Nope, just got them to scare off straight girls. Works most of the time."

You stifle a giggle, glancing back over your shoulder to see Jihyo frowning slightly, trying to figure out if she's being insulted. Minho meets your eyes and winks, earning a quiet laugh from Seungmin.

"God, how long is this flight?" Minho mutters under his breath, though his voice is loud enough for you to hear.

Felix, ever the boy scout, chimes in. "Fourteen hours, fifty-five minutes. Non-stop from Korea to Paris."

Minho groans dramatically, leaning his head back against the seat. "Kill me now."

Meanwhile, Jihyo continues draping herself over Seungmin, her fingers brushing over the lightning-strike tattoo on his arm. Seungmin finally snaps, pulling his arm away. "Look, Jihyo, I get it, you think tattoos are hot. But can you maybe not treat me like a goddamn exhibit?"

Minho bursts out laughing, and you have to bite your lip to keep from joining in.

Turning back around, you reach into your bag and pull out your copy of Madame Bovary, the French edition. As you flip it open, Jisung glances at you curiously.

"Wait," he says, his head tilting slightly. "You can read French?"

"Uh, yeah," you reply, lifting the book slightly so he can see the cover. "And speak it. Dual nationality perks."

"Dual nationality?" Jisung echoes, clearly intrigued.

You nod, digging into your bag again and pulling out your French passport, flipping it open briefly to show him. "My dad's Korean, but my mom was French. EU citizenship is convenient."

Jisung whistles low. "Damn, I'm sticking with you this trip."

"Not if he's hanging around," you reply, jerking your thumb toward Felix.

Jisung hesitates for a moment before sighing dramatically. "Sorry, Felix."

Felix gapes at him, looking genuinely betrayed. "What the fuck, Ji? You're abandoning me for Cruella?"

Jisung shrugs with a sheepish grin. "She's got the dual citizenship card, man. It's survival instincts."

You smirk, leaning back in your seat as Felix mutters something under his breath.

As Jihyo continues her not-so-subtle attempts at flirting with Minho, he leans over and whispers to you, "Seriously, though, how long is this flight again?"

"Fourteen hours, fifty-five minutes," Felix says again from beside you, not looking up from his phone.

Minho groans louder this time. "I swear to god, if she keeps this up, I'm jumping out of the emergency exit."

"Take me with you," Seungmin mutters, glaring at Jihyo as she giggles at something she clearly thinks is charming.

Deciding you all need a distraction, you reach into your carry-on and pull out a bottle of duty-free vodka. Minho and Seungmin immediately perk up.

"Oh, hell yeah," Jisung says, grinning as you crack open the bottle and take a long sip before passing it to him.

You dig around in your bag again and pull out a juice box, handing it to Felix with a sweet smile. "Here, sunshine. Don't want you to get too wild."

Felix takes the juice box, raising an eyebrow. "Joke's on you, this is my favourite."

You blink in surprise as he sticks the straw in and takes a sip, smirking at you the whole time.

"Well," Minho says, opening his own bottle of soju, "this is gonna be a very interesting fourteen hours."

Seungmin snorts, leaning over and clinking his bottle against yours as the plane finally begins taxiing down the runway.

Almost fifteen gruelling hours later, the plane finally lands in Paris. The seatbelt sign dings off, and the passengers begin shuffling to grab their bags. You're sandwiched in the middle seat between Jisung and Felix, both of whom look equally wrecked from the long flight.

Jisung stretches, cracking his back as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Fucking finally. My ass is numb."

"Could've been worse," Felix says from the window seat, his voice scratchy from hours of dry aeroplane air. "At least we didn't get stuck near a screaming baby."

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. "No, we just got stuck next to you, which is worse."

Felix smirks, unbothered as he leans down to grab his bag from under the seat. "Good morning to you too, Cruella. Sleep well?"

"Keep talking," you mutter, adjusting your camisole as you unbuckle your seatbelt. "I'll tell the nearest worker you're wanted internationally. A few hours locked up ought to cool you down."

Jisung snorts so loudly it earns him a glare from a passenger across the aisle. "Please do it. I'll film the whole thing."

"Shut the fuck up, Ji," Felix mutters, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he files into the aisle behind Jisung.

Once the group manages to shuffle off the plane and through the long stretch of security, you all make it to the baggage claim. The belts are spinning lazily, and you lean against one of the metal rails, waiting for your suitcase to appear.

Felix, of course, can't resist. "Don't lose your suitcase, Cruella. I'd hate to see you terrorize the French airport staff."

"Keep it up," you snap, not even looking at him, "and I will report you having a brick of coke or something. Bet they'd love to lock you in the back room for a few hours while we explore Paris without you."

Minho and Seungmin, standing nearby, both snort into their hands while Jisung straight-up laughs, earning another glare from Felix.

"You're all assholes," Felix mutters, but there's no heat in his tone.

Once everyone has their bags, you make your way toward the exit. The group pauses by the bus pickup area, where a coach is supposed to collect everyone. However, the wait is longer than expected, and the sun is already warming the Parisian streets.

"There's a café near the exit," Jisung suggests, nodding toward the small glass building visible through the crowd. "Let's grab something while we wait."

The group agrees, and Jisung practically drags Felix along as you all head toward the café. The warm, rich scent of coffee greets you as you step inside, and you immediately take charge at the counter.

"Okay," you say, glancing over your shoulder at the guys. "What's everyone having?"

"Iced Americano," Minho and Seungmin chime in simultaneously.

"Same," Jisung says, leaning against the counter as he nudges Felix. "What about you, Twilight Sparkle?"

Felix glares at him, then shrugs. "Tea."

The cashier waits patiently as you translate their orders into French, your pronunciation smooth and confident. You smile politely at the barista, who flushes slightly as he takes the payment.

As you step to the side to wait for the drinks, Felix mutters, "Really?"

You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

He nods toward the barista, who's glancing at you every few seconds as he works. "That."

"Oh, come on, man," Jisung says, grinning as he nudges Felix. "Everyone thinks she's hot. Just those two," he gestures toward Minho and Seungmin, "scare everyone else off."

Felix huffs, crossing his arms. "Except you. You're the only one dumb enough to stick around because you're too busy jerking it to Minho every night."

Jisung grins shamelessly, shrugging. "Guilty. I'm not denying shit."

Behind him, Minho's grin grows as he exchanges an excited glance with Seungmin, nudging him lightly with his elbow. Seungmin shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh.

When the drinks are ready, you grab the cups from the counter, handing them out one by one. You hold Felix's tea in your hand, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Before passing it to him, you lean down and run your tongue over the lid's mouthpiece, licking it slowly.

"Here," you say, holding it out to him with an innocent smile.

Felix rolls his eyes but takes the cup anyway, muttering, "Not even fazed."

As he takes a sip, Jisung whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, "Indirect kiss!"

Without missing a beat, both you and Felix turn to him and kick him in the shins simultaneously.

"Ow! Fucking hell!" Jisung yelps, hopping on one foot while the rest of you laugh.

Minho takes a sip of his Americano, grinning. "This is gonna be a long trip, huh?"

"Fourteen more days of this," Seungmin mutters, shaking his head. But even he's smiling as the group heads back toward the coach pickup, drinks in hand and the promise of chaos already brewing.

The coach finally pulls into the parking lot of a modest motel on the outskirts of Paris. The building is squat and nondescript, with faded paint and a flickering neon sign that does little to inspire confidence. As the group files off the bus, Minho stops dead in his tracks, his eyes scanning the building with an unimpressed glare.

"Absolutely fucking not," he says, turning to you. "You're not staying in a single room here. This is where people get murdered."

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. "Oh, so now you're my knight in shining armour?"

"No," Minho replies, deadpan. "But I do have a vested interest in not having to fly back home to attend your funeral."

Seungmin, standing behind you both, looks over the list of room assignments. "I'll pair up with someone else," he says, waving toward a random guy he recognizes from the flight. "That way you two can share. No one's getting stabbed on my watch."

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with them when they're in one of their overprotective moods. "Fine. But if Minho snores, I'm leaving him for dead."

"Bold of you to assume I'd protect you if the murderer shows up first," Minho quips, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

The two of you make your way to your assigned room, unlocking the door to find a small, slightly dingy double room. The bed is pushed against the wall, the sheets a shade of white that screams "washed too many times," and there's a single chair by the window. You pause in the doorway, your eyes narrowing at the faint outline of what looks suspiciously like chalk on the carpet.

"Is that... the remains of a fucking chalk outline?" you ask, stepping into the room cautiously.

Minho peers over your shoulder, his expression unimpressed. "The college really cut corners with this place, huh?"

"Check the windows," you say, dropping your bag on the chair. "Make sure they're bolted."

Minho nods, walking over to the small window and giving it a firm shake. "Bolted. Barely, but it's something."

You sigh, flopping onto the double bed. The mattress creaks loudly, but you've slept on worse during past adventures with Minho. He joins you a moment later, lying on his back beside you. The two of you stare at the cracked ceiling, the faint hum of traffic filtering in from outside.

"This place is depressing," you mutter, your hands resting on your stomach.

"Very," Minho agrees. "But at least we've got each other."

"Aw," you say, smirking. "Didn't know you were so sentimental."

Minho chuckles, turning his head slightly to look at you. "So, let's cut the shit. Do you have a crush on Felix?"

You splutter, sitting up so fast you nearly lose your balance. "What the fuck, Minho?"

He's laughing now, full-on cackling as you grab the nearest pillow and whack him with it. "I'm just asking! You two bicker like an old married couple!"

"Because he's a pain in my ass, not because I like him!" you snap, hitting him again as he shields his face with his arms, still laughing.

"Okay, okay!" Minho wheezes, tears in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. "Just checking!"

You throw the pillow back onto the bed, flopping down dramatically beside him. "You're the fucking worst, Minho."

"And yet, you love me," he says smugly, turning his head to grin at you.

"Not right now, I don't," you grumble, staring at the ceiling again.

The two of you lie there in silence for a moment before Minho speaks up again. "But seriously, if Felix tries to pull some 'Twilight Sparkle' bullshit this trip, I'll handle it for you."

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. "Thanks, Minho."

"Anytime, Cruella," he replies, smirking.

The pastry-making class is set in a pristine kitchen with wide marble countertops, rows of stainless steel appliances, and a faint smell of butter and sugar in the air. Each workstation is stocked with bowls, utensils, and pre-measured ingredients. Everyone's already donned aprons, black for you, red for Minho and Seungmin, and an obnoxious pastel blue for Felix across the room.

You're thriving. Your dough is already chilling in the fridge, perfect in texture and consistency, because of course it is. Felix, annoyingly, has also finished, his smug grin flashing every time you accidentally catch his eye across the room. You both know you're equally talented in this department, though neither of you will ever admit it aloud.

Minho and Seungmin, however, are another story.

"I swear to fucking god," Minho mutters, staring down at the gloopy mess in his bowl. "This dough is cursed. It's the pastry's fault. I'm perfect, so it can't be me that did anything wrong."

You burst out laughing, leaning over to check his dough. "You're perfect, huh? Well, perfect Minho, your dough looks like it's been chewed up and spit out by a dog."

Seungmin snorts, his own dough looking only marginally better as he tries to roll it out on the counter. "Honestly, it's a good thing you don't have an ego or anything, Min."

"Fuck off," Minho retorts, throwing a pinch of flour at him before looking at you. "Alright, pastry goddess, fix this mess."

You giggle, grabbing his bowl and starting to work the dough. "Okay, first of all, you overmixed it. Second, you didn't measure the butter properly."

"Details," Minho says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "I'm a big-picture kind of guy."

"Yeah, well, the big picture here is that you suck at this," you reply, smirking as you knead the dough back into something usable. "But don't worry, that's why I'm here."

Across the room, Felix is helping Jisung with his dough, his tone patient but clearly amused. "Ji, you have to fold it gently. You're not trying to wrestle it into submission."

"I am being gentle!" Jisung protests, his hands pressing down hard on the dough. "It's just not cooperating."

Felix sighs, stepping closer and showing him the correct technique. "Like this. See? It's all about finesse."

"Fucking show-off," you mutter under your breath, glancing at them briefly before turning back to Minho's dough.

"You jealous, Cruella?" Minho teases, his lips twitching into a grin. "Looks like your little nemesis is winning Teacher of the Year over there."

You roll your eyes, throwing a bit of flour at him. "Shut up and focus, perfect one. Your dough still needs fixing."

Seungmin groans as his own dough tears under his rolling pin. "Why is this so fucking hard? I don't understand. It's just flour and butter!"

"Clearly, it's beyond your skill level," you tease, stepping over to help him. "Okay, stop manhandling it. Just let me do it before you make it worse."

"God, you're bossy," Seungmin mutters, but he steps back to let you work.

"Yeah, and you love it," you reply, not missing a beat.

Felix, who's clearly been eavesdropping, calls out from his side of the room. "Hey, Cruella, how's it going over there? Need me to come save the day?"

You glance at him with an exaggerated fake smile. "Oh, Twilight Sparkle, I didn't realize you were auditioning for France's Next Top Pastry Chef. Should I start clapping now, or wait till you mess up?"

Felix grins, his freckles scrunching up as he leans on the counter. "Keep talking. Just remember, my dough's already in the fridge. Can't mess up perfection."

"Perfection?" you echo, scoffing. "You're such a smug little shit."

"And yet," Felix says, smirking, "you're still watching me."

You flip him off, earning a laugh from Jisung, who's now trying to scrape sticky dough off his hands. Minho watches the exchange with an amused smirk, clearly filing it away for later teasing.

Once you've finally managed to salvage Minho and Seungmin's doughs, you guide them to wrap it up and get it into the fridge.

"See? Not that hard when you listen to me," you say, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Yeah, yeah," Minho mutters, glaring at his dough like it personally wronged him. "Next time, I'm sabotaging yours just to feel better."

"Like you could," you reply with a grin, bumping his shoulder as you walk past.

The class instructor announces the dough will chill for a while before the next step, giving everyone a chance to clean up. As you rinse your hands in the sink, you catch Felix's eyes across the room. He raises an eyebrow, and you can't help but smirk back.

The restaurant is dimly lit, cosy, and packed with the sound of clinking glasses and soft conversation in rapid French. The guys are seated at a round table near the back, a small candle flickering in the centre. Jisung glances at the empty seat next to Minho, frowning as he stabs at a piece of bread on his plate.

"Hey," he says, looking up. "Where's Y/N?"

Minho doesn't even glance up from the menu as he flips through it. "She had somewhere to go tonight."

"Where?" Jisung presses, leaning his elbows on the table.

Seungmin sighs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "The Père Lachaise Cemetery."

Jisung pauses, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "Why the fuck is she at a cemetery?"

Seungmin exchanges a quick glance with Minho before replying, his tone quieter. "Visiting her mother's grave."

Jisung immediately sets the bread down, his expression softening. "Oh. Fuck. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well," Minho says, setting the menu down and flagging a waiter over. "She doesn't talk about it much, so don't mention it when she gets back."

Jisung nods solemnly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the breadbasket. "Is that why she said her mom was French?"

Minho nods, turning to the waiter as they approach. "Can we get five bottles of wine? One for each of us and one for Y/N when she gets here."

"Five bottles?" Felix echoes, raising an eyebrow. "That's excessive even for us."

Minho shoots him a look. "You met her, right? She's going to need it."

Felix smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Fair point."

The wine arrives a few moments later, and they start pouring drinks while chatting about the class earlier that day. Jisung keeps the conversation light, cracking jokes about his disastrous attempt at dough-making, while Seungmin mocks him for not even being able to handle flour properly. Felix mostly listens, sipping his wine and occasionally chiming in with sarcastic remarks.

Just as Minho raises his glass for a toast, the door to the restaurant swings open, and you step inside. The candlelight catches the sharp angles of your face, your makeup still perfectly intact despite the long day. You're wearing a sleek black miniskirt and a long-sleeved turtleneck under a long black coat. A beret sits tilted on your head, and your lace-up stiletto boots click softly against the floor as you make your way over.

Without a word, you plop into the seat next to Minho and grab the unopened bottle of wine in front of you. "Good timing," Minho says, pouring you a glass.

You fill it to the brim, taking a long sip before leaning back in your chair. "Well, don't everyone look so excited to see me."

"Glad you're back, Cruella," Felix says, his smirk faint but present. "Thought maybe you'd gotten lost in the catacombs or something."

You glance at him, unimpressed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Twilight Sparkle." Then you raise your glass in mock toast. "Sorry to disappoint. Still alive and kicking."

Jisung, who's been noticeably quiet, finally speaks up. "We saved you a bottle," he says, nodding toward the wine in front of you.

"Good," you reply, downing half the glass. "You're not entirely useless after all."

The group falls into easy conversation, the tension from earlier slowly melting away. Minho keeps the wine flowing, and by the time the first bottle is finished, even Felix looks like he's having a good time.

As the night wears on, you catch Minho watching you out of the corner of his eye. When you finally meet his gaze, he simply smiles softly and raises his glass.

You nod back, grateful for his silent understanding. Because if there's one thing Minho knows, it's when to say nothing at all.

It's late, and the motel room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight creeping in through the thin curtains. You're sprawled across the king-size bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone while trying to ignore the questionable creaks and groans coming from the walls. Dressed in black hotpants and a tank top, you've already resigned yourself to the lacklustre accommodations and are just trying to wind down.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts your quiet. Frowning, you toss your phone onto the bed and pad over to the door, pulling it open without bothering to check who it is. Standing there is Felix, looking thoroughly annoyed, his freckled face slightly flushed, either from lingering embarrassment or leftover wine.

"Minho and Jisung are fucking in my room," he announces flatly, his voice tinged with disbelief. "All that wine we drank apparently worked like a goddamn aphrodisiac for them. I walked into my room and saw Jisung balls deep in Minho's ass."

You blink at him, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh. Good for them."

"Good for them?!" Felix repeats, exasperated. "No, not good for them! My fucking room!"

"Yeah, well," you say with a shrug, "you're not staying here. Sleep in the hallway."

Felix stares at you, clearly unimpressed. "You have twin beds, right?"

"Nope," you reply, leaning your head against the doorframe. "One king-size bed. Minho and I have been sharing it. Hence why you cannot crash here unless you want to sleep in the bath or on the floor, because I am not sharing the bed with you."

Felix raises an eyebrow. "You're that against sharing a bed with me?"

"Absolutely," you say, deadpan. "But I'll be generous. I'll give you a pillow and blanket for whichever you choose. Bath or floor?"

Felix sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Floor, I guess."

You smirk, stepping back and gesturing for him to come inside. "Brave man. I don't think these carpets have been cleaned since the place opened, though. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Felix drops his bag near the door, eyeing the carpet with mild disgust. "This place is one step away from being condemned. How the hell did the college book it?"

"Budget cuts," you say, tossing a pillow and blanket onto the floor. "Here. Make yourself at home, Twilight Sparkle."

"Don't start," Felix mutters, crouching down to arrange the makeshift bed. As he stretches out on the floor, he props his head up on one arm, looking up at you. "I misjudged Minho, by the way. I thought he was a top."

You laugh, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "Minho? Pfft. No. He's a subby man, just like Seungmin."

Felix grins, his freckled face lighting up with mischief. "And you?"

Your reflexes kick in before your brain does. You grab the pillow you'd been leaning on and hurl it at him, hitting him square in the face. Felix laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, as he pulls the pillow away and smirks at you.

"Struck a nerve, huh, Cruella?" he teases.

"Shut up," you snap, though there's no real venom in your tone.

Felix chuckles, flopping onto his back on the floor. "This is going to be the longest fucking trip of my life."

"Right back at you," you mutter, turning off the bedside lamp and pulling the covers up.

As you settle in for the night, the sound of Felix softly muttering about the state of the carpet almost makes you laugh again. Almost.

It's been an hour since Felix set up camp on the carpeted floor, and he's still shifting around. Every few seconds, there's a rustle of fabric or the faint sound of him exhaling in frustration. You've tried ignoring it, burying your head under the pillow, but it's fucking impossible to tune out.

"Jesus Christ," you groan, sitting up in bed and glaring down at him. "Can you stop moving for five fucking seconds?"

"I'm trying," Felix mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow. He shifts again, this time with more aggression, as if that'll help. "This floor feels like sandpaper."

You let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fine. Fucking fine. Get in the bed. You're pissing me off with your constant fidgeting."

Felix freezes for a moment before scrambling to his feet, grabbing the pillow and blanket as he clambers into the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and he immediately wiggles around like a contented cat finding the perfect spot.

"This is so much better," he says with a satisfied hum, settling under the blanket. He stretches out with an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"You tell no one we shared a bed," you warn, pointing a finger at him. "If you do, I will shave you bald."

Felix hums, clearly unfazed by your threat as he nestles into the pillow. "Sure, Cruella, whatever you say."

You roll your eyes, lying back down and turning to face away from him. For a few blissful moments, there's silence. But of course, Felix can't help himself.

"You know," he says softly, his tone casual but tinged with amusement, "I don't believe you hate me as much as you say you do."

You splutter, spinning around to face him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Felix laughs, the sound low and warm, as he props himself up on one elbow to look at you. "Exactly what I said. I think you're full of shit. If you really hated me, you wouldn't let me sleep here."

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, you're left blinking rapidly, your brain short-circuiting as you try to come up with a rebuttal. Felix's grin only widens as he watches you struggle.

"You're so fucking smug," you finally manage to say, your voice lacking its usual bite.

"And you're fun to mess with," Felix counters, leaning back against the pillow with a self-satisfied smirk.

You glare at him, but before you can retaliate, he speaks again.

"You know," he says, his tone softer now, "you're really pretty with no makeup on."

That shuts you up immediately. Your eyes widen, and you stare at him, completely caught off guard. For once, you can't think of a single sarcastic remark.

Felix watches your reaction, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches out, pushing a strand of hair out of your face with gentle fingers. His hand lingers for a moment before he pulls back.

"Night, Cruella," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You're still frozen, blinking up at him as he settles back into the bed, turning onto his side with a faint smile on his face. The room falls into silence again, but your thoughts are anything but quiet.

For the first time in a long time, Felix has left you completely speechless.

The morning light filters through the thin motel curtains as the door to your room swings open with an unceremonious bang. Minho strides in, yawning, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees you and Felix snuggled up in the bed. His jaw drops, and his voice echoes through the tiny room.

"What the fuck?!"

You bolt upright, startled, your hair a mess and your tank top slightly askew from sleep. Felix jerks awake beside you, his limbs flailing as he loses balance and topples off the edge of the bed with a loud thud.

"Shit!" Felix groans from the floor, rubbing his shoulder as he glares at Minho. "What the hell, Min?"

"What the hell me?" Minho snaps, his hands gesturing wildly at the scene. "What the actual fuck am I looking at?"

You groan, running a hand through your dishevelled hair. "This is your fault, you know."

"My fault?" Minho repeats, incredulous. "How the fuck is this my fault?"

Felix scrambles to his feet, his face red with both frustration and leftover embarrassment. "Because you decided to fuck Jisung in our room! What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Sleep in the hallway?"

Minho's eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "Wait, hold up. You saw us?"

Felix points a finger at him, his tone accusatory. "Yeah, I fucking saw you! You were on all fours, getting it up the ass from Jisung!"

Minho's smirk widens, and he strikes a dramatic pose, one hand on his hip. "Did I look good?"

Felix throws his hands up in exasperation. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"My arch is amazing, right?" Minho continues, completely unbothered. "I can bend like a pretzel. Years of practice, you know."

You groan loudly, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at Minho's head. "Oh my god, shut up!"

Minho catches the pillow with ease, laughing as he tosses it back onto the bed. "Excuse me for being sexy and irresistible," he says, grinning. "But at least I had a good night, right?"

Felix growls under his breath, grabbing a pen off the nightstand and throwing it at Minho, who dodges it easily. You follow up with a hairbrush, which Minho deflects with the pillow, laughing even harder.

"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!" Felix huffs, grabbing his things and stomping toward the door. He pauses in the doorway to glare at both of you. "This is fucking ridiculous." Then he slams the door behind him.

Minho flops onto the bed beside you, letting out a satisfied sigh as he stretches out. "Well, that was fun."

You roll your eyes but don't resist when he slings an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, the comfortable silence between you only broken by the faint sounds of the motel creaking around you.

After a few minutes, you speak up. "I think Felix flirted with me last night."

Minho freezes for a second before turning to you with wide eyes. "Oh? Do tell."

You recount the events from the previous night, the way Felix had called you pretty without makeup, how he'd pushed your hair out of your face, and how he'd smirked as he whispered goodnight. By the time you finish, Minho is staring at you with an amused grin.

"Yeah," he says, nodding slowly. "Oh shit, yeah, he was flirting with you."

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. "Great. Just fucking great."

Minho snickers, patting your back. "Hey, maybe it's not so bad. Felix is hot, you know. And he's definitely into you."

You glare at him from between your fingers. "He's Twilight Sparkle. I can't take him seriously."

Minho shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Sounds like a you problem."

"You know," you say, leaning back against the headboard, "Felix was very surprised that you were subbing for Jisung."

Minho giggles, his grin widening. "Oh, he was, was he?"

You nod, smirking now. "Yep. He couldn't believe it. Guess you really shattered his illusions."

"Jisung was the best dom I've had in a while," Minho says casually, leaning back with a dreamy expression. "You know, maybe that's what you need, a good dom to fuck all your angst away."

You groan, smacking his arm. "Shut the fuck up, Minho."

He laughs, completely unbothered. "I'm just saying! Something to think about, Cruella."

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. Minho, as infuriating as he is, always knows how to make you laugh. Even when the topic of conversation is the most absurd thing imaginable.

The midday sun glints off the glass pyramid of the Louvre, casting shimmering reflections across the courtyard. The group lingers outside, the chatter of tourists and the clicking of cameras forming a constant background hum. You’re dressed to kill in a black leather miniskirt, a green sleeveless halterneck top that shows off your snake tattoo, and your signature black lace-up stiletto boots. Your half-black, half-white hair catches the sunlight as you lean against one of the barriers, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Felix stands a few feet away, looking equally bored. He’s dressed in black baggy cargo trousers and a grey vest top under a black zip-up hoodie, his layered chains catching the light. His hair is pushed back in a way that looks almost effortless. His expression says it all: he doesn’t want to be here.

Your eyes meet across the group, and there’s an unspoken agreement. Neither of you says a word as you slowly edge away from the crowd. Minho is too busy taking selfies with Jisung, and Seungmin is engrossed in reading the itinerary. No one notices as the two of you slip out of the courtyard and onto the streets of Paris.

Once you’re far enough away, Felix lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck. I thought I was going to die of boredom back there."

You smirk, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one followed. "Yeah, standing in a crowd for hours just to stare at a painting sounds like a blast. Come on."

Felix falls into step beside you as you navigate the bustling streets of Paris. "Where are we going, Cruella? You’ve got that ‘I know everything’ look on your face."

You roll your eyes. "We’re in Paris. I lived here for twelve years. Of course, I know where we’re going. Just try to keep up."

The streets are alive with energy, from street performers juggling in the squares to couples sipping wine at sidewalk cafés. You point out landmarks as you pass, your voice casual but tinged with pride.

"That’s the Pont des Arts," you say, nodding toward the famous bridge. "Used to be covered in love locks until they removed them. Too heavy."

Felix glances at it, then back at you. "What, no romantic gestures here? Shocking."

You scoff. "Romantic? Please. The locks were just tourists trying to leave a mark."

As you walk, Felix asks occasional questions, and you find yourself answering more than you expected. Eventually, the two of you end up in the Latin Quarter, where the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wafts through the air.

"We’re stopping here," you announce, pointing at a quaint little café with outdoor seating.

Felix raises an eyebrow. "Coffee and pastries, huh? You trying to impress me with the full Parisian experience?"

"No," you reply, smirking as you head inside. "I just don’t want to deal with your whining if you get hungry."

The two of you order. Coffee for you, tea for Felix, and a platter of assorted macarons to share. Sitting at a small table outside, you take a sip of your coffee, sighing contentedly as you watch the world go by. Felix cradles his tea, taking a sip before leaning back in his chair.

"I can’t believe you’re actually being nice to me," he says, his tone teasing but curious.

"Don’t read into it," you reply, shooting him a look. "It’s nice to show my home to someone who’s never been here before. Even if it is you."

Felix snorts, shaking his head. "Thanks, Cruella. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

You smirk, popping a macaron into your mouth. "You need to try these. You think you’ve had macarons before, but you haven’t unless they’re from a café in Paris."

Felix picks up a macaron, inspecting it like it might bite him. "They’re just cookies, right?"

You scoff. "Just cookies? Oh, you poor, uncultured soul. Try it."

He takes a cautious bite, his eyes widening slightly. "Okay, that’s... actually really good."

"Told you," you say smugly, reaching for another. "We should get the platter and share. That way, you can try all the flavours."

Felix nods, already grabbing another macaron. "Fine by me. As long as you don’t hoard all the good ones."

"No promises," you reply, smirking as you take another sip of coffee.

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, sharing macarons and watching the city bustle around you. It’s oddly peaceful, and even Felix seems more relaxed than usual. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s... nice. But you’ll never tell him that.

Inside the Louvre, Minho, Jisung, and Seungmin stand in the seemingly endless queue to see the Mona Lisa. The atmosphere is a mix of hushed awe and impatient murmurs as tourists shuffle forward. Minho is leaning against the velvet rope divider, his arms crossed, while Jisung fidgets with his phone, and Seungmin reads the little exhibit signs with mild interest.

Jisung glances around suddenly, his brows furrowing. "Hold on," he says, his voice cutting through the relative quiet. "Where the fuck are Y/N and Felix?"

Minho straightens up, looking around with a frown. "Shit. Did they even come in here with us?"

Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple like the realization physically pains him. "Are you fucking serious? They were probably gone before we even walked in the door."

Jisung lets out a low whistle, smirking. "Guess they had better things to do than stare at some overrated painting."

"Yeah, like stare at each other," Minho quips, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Seriously, though, can we talk about how obvious it is that they like each other?"

"Thank god you said it," Jisung replies, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "It's been driving me fucking insane. Like, the constant bickering? The tension? They're one good argument away from ripping each other's clothes off."

Seungmin nods, his expression surprisingly serious. "It's fucking ridiculous. The way they look at each other when they think no one's paying attention? They might as well have a neon sign that says 'we're into each other.'"

Minho chuckles, nudging Seungmin. "Alright, let's make this interesting. Twenty euros says they fuck the night before we leave Paris."

Jisung grins, holding out a hand to shake on it. "You're on. But my money's on Bordeaux. Twenty euros they fuck there."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head at both of them. "You're both wrong. Twenty says it happens in Nice. They'll let the tension build up for a few more days, then wham bam thank you ma'am."

Minho leans back against the divider, his grin widening. "So we've got Paris, Bordeaux, and Nice. This is going to be hilarious when one of us wins."

Jisung laughs, looking far too pleased with himself. "I can't wait to rub it in your faces when it happens in Bordeaux. They'll be all emotional and shit after drinking wine at some vineyard. Classic setup."

Seungmin rolls his eyes but smirks. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that. Let's just hope they don't get themselves into too much trouble before then."

Minho chuckles, his gaze drifting toward the exit. "Trouble? With those two? Never."

The Abbey Bookshop in the Latin Quarter is a cosy labyrinth of old wooden shelves stacked to the ceiling with books in every language imaginable. The smell of aged paper and ink fills the air, mixed with a faint hint of coffee from the little café section near the entrance. As soon as you and Felix step inside, the world outside seems to disappear, replaced by the quiet hum of literary charm.

"This is heaven," you mutter, glancing around at the organized chaos of books. Your sharp eyeliner and bold outfit contrast with the soft, almost whimsical atmosphere of the shop, but you don’t seem to care. Felix trails behind you, his black cargo pants swishing softly as he looks around, his layered chains glinting in the dim light.

"Looks small from the outside," Felix says, his voice hushed. "But this place is huge."

"It’s a maze," you reply, already heading for the French literature section. "Try not to get lost."

Felix snorts, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets as he follows. "Guess I’m the pack mule today, huh?"

"You catch on quick, Twilight Sparkle," you say with a smirk, grabbing a copy of Le Petit Prince off the shelf and handing it to him. Felix takes it without complaint, holding it against his chest as you weave through the narrow aisles, scanning the spines of the books.

Next comes Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then Notre-Dame de Paris, followed by La Princesse de Clèves, La Peste, Les Misérables, and finally Les Trois Mousquetaires. Each one lands in Felix’s growing pile.

"You’re going to buy all of these?" Felix asks, peering around the stack of books in his arms. "Pretty sure this is half the French canon."

"They’re better in the original language," you say simply, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you pull another book off the shelf to examine its cover. "You should learn French, though. You’d get it."

"Really?" Felix asks, tilting his head as he adjusts the stack of books in his arms. "Think I’d be any good at it?"

You hum, your lips quirking into a half-smile. "Maybe. If you don’t butcher the accent."

Felix grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cruella."

You roll your eyes, glancing down at your phone as it vibrates in your pocket. The screen lights up with a familiar contact: Appa. Your expression hardens slightly, and without a second thought, you swipe up to put your phone on Do Not Disturb, silencing the call.

Felix catches the shift in your demeanour and raises an eyebrow. "You can grab that if you want."

"Believe me," you say, your tone clipped, "I do not want to grab that call."

He doesn’t push, just nods and adjusts the books in his arms again. "Alright. What else can we do after this?"

You tilt your head, considering your options as you run a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf. "We could go to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s like a ten-minute walk from here."

Felix hums, nodding thoughtfully. "Sounds nice. Or?"

"Or," you say, turning to face him fully, "we can hop on a train and see the Palace of Versailles."

Felix looks genuinely torn, his freckled face scrunching slightly as he thinks. "Both sound good. Guess it depends on how long you want to carry me around as your personal assistant."

You smirk, grabbing one last book to add to his pile before making your way to the counter. "You’re surprisingly good at your job. Maybe I’ll keep you around."

As you pay for the books, Felix leans against the counter, watching you with a faint smile. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something soft in his gaze, something he’d never admit out loud. When you’re finished, you hand him a few bags of books and gesture toward the door.

"Come on, Twilight Sparkle," you say, leading the way back into the bustling streets of Paris. "We’ve got more ground to cover."

"Lead the way, Cruella," Felix replies, falling into step beside you, the weight of the books seemingly forgotten as he keeps pace with your confident strides.

The sun has dipped low on the horizon by the time you and Felix step out of the cab and into the gravel lot of the motel. The air is cooler now, and the faint hum of city noise has quieted to a low murmur. You’re juggling a few bags filled with books, your black leather miniskirt swishing slightly as you walk. Felix carries the rest of the bags, his hoodie unzipped and chains catching the faint light.

As the two of you approach the entrance, you spot Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho standing by the door. They look like they’ve been waiting, their postures ranging from bored to irritated. The moment Jisung locks eyes on you and Felix, his expression shifts into full-on dramatic exasperation.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Jisung practically screeches, his arms flailing for emphasis. "No note, car gone! You could have died! You could have been seen!"

Felix stops dead in his tracks, blinking at Jisung. "Are you seriously quoting Molly Weasley right now?"

"Get off your high horse or your flying car, Lee Felix!" Jisung snaps, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You two just vanished without telling anyone!"

Seungmin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "To be fair, Ji’s got a point. You could’ve at least sent a text or something. We were about five minutes away from putting your faces on milk cartons."

Minho, leaning casually against the wall, smirks as his eyes flicker between you and Felix. "You do realize how fucking suspicious this looks, right?"

Felix groans, rolling his eyes as he adjusts the bags in his hands. "Relax, Molly. We just went into the city. It’s not like we were out committing crimes."

"Yeah, well," Jisung huffs, crossing his arms, "a little communication wouldn’t hurt, Twilight Sparkle. You know, for the people who care about your sorry ass."

You let out a loud sigh, walking past Felix and shoving the bags into his chest as you take your own. "This is exhausting," you mutter, turning to Minho with a raised eyebrow. "Minho, let’s go to our room and drink some cheap wine."

Minho’s face lights up immediately, and he pushes off the wall. "Fuck yes. You don’t have to tell me twice."

"Wait a minute-" Jisung starts, but you’re already brushing past him, dragging Minho by the arm toward the door. Felix stares after you, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

"You’re just going to leave?" Jisung shouts after you, throwing his hands in the air. "What the hell!"

You don’t bother answering as you and Minho disappear into the motel, your laughter echoing faintly in the hallway. Felix watches you go and Seungmin elbows him lightly, smirking.

"Jealous much?" Seungmin asks, his voice low enough for only Felix to hear.

Felix scoffs, shaking his head. "Of course not. Why would I be?"

"Whatever you say, Twilight Sparkle." 

In Felix and Jisung’s motel room, the air is filled with the sweet aroma of takeout desserts. The small table between their beds is piled high with boxes of crepes, profiteroles, crème brûlée, madeleines, tarte au citron, and a few other pastries they couldn’t resist ordering. A bottle of wine sits uncorked, their glasses half-full as they dig into the sugary spread.

Jisung, already halfway through his second serving of profiteroles, gestures at Felix with his fork. "You finally ready to admit you’re crushing on Y/N?"

Felix freezes mid-bite, a forkful of crepe hovering near his mouth. "No," he says firmly, though the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

Jisung grins, shoving another profiterole into his mouth before speaking, his words muffled. "So you have a crush, but you’re still not ready to admit it? Got it."

Felix chokes on his wine, coughing as he sets his glass down and glares at Jisung. "That’s not- What the fuck are you even talking about?!"

"You’re blushing," Jisung says smugly, pointing at him with the fork. "Look at you. All red and flustered."

"I’m not-" Felix starts, but the way he splutters and stammers only makes it worse.

"Just admit it to me, Lix," Jisung presses, leaning forward with a wide grin. "Come on. I won’t tell anyone."

Felix sighs, dropping his fork onto his plate and running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he mutters, avoiding Jisung’s gaze. "I like her, okay? I’ve liked her since first year."

Jisung’s face lights up like Christmas morning, and he lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. "Knew it! Fucking knew it!"

Felix groans, burying his face in his hands. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

"Are you kidding me?" Jisung says, practically bouncing in his seat. "This is huge. Now we need an action plan."

Felix lifts his head just enough to shoot him a withering glare. "An action plan?"

"Yeah, dumbass!" Jisung says, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring himself another glass. "You’ve been crushing on her for almost two years. It’s time to do something about it. You’ve gotta romance her. She has to like you too, right?"

Felix hesitates, then sighs. "Fine. Let’s plan. But don’t make it fucking weird."

"Too late," Jisung says, grinning as he grabs a piece of paper and a handful of glitter pens from his bag. "We’re in France, my dude. We’ve got two more days in Paris, the City of Love. Then we’ve got Nice and Bordeaux. Prime romancing locations."

Felix rolls his eyes but grabs a pen, settling in across from Jisung. "Alright. Mindmap time."

"Fuckin’ A," Jisung says, uncapping a glitter pen and writing ROMANCE PLAN FOR CRUELLA in big, sparkly letters at the top of the page. "No ideas are bad ideas. Let’s brainstorm."

Felix leans forward, tapping his pen against his chin. "Okay. Dinner at a fancy restaurant?"

"Good start," Jisung says, writing it down. "What about a picnic in Nice? Beaches and shit are romantic."

"Not bad," Felix agrees. "What about flowers? Like, one of those Parisian flower markets?"

"Classic," Jisung says, nodding. "But we gotta balance the sweet stuff with something big. Like, I don’t know, serenading her under the Eiffel Tower."

Felix groans. "That’s terrible. I can’t sing for shit."

Jisung shrugs. "It’s supposed to be romantic, not good."

"Fine," Felix mutters. "What if we go wine tasting in Bordeaux? She likes wine."

"Now you’re thinking," Jisung says, scribbling it down. "Ooh, ooh! What about locking a love lock on a bridge? Isn’t that a thing here?"

"They removed most of the locks, dumbass," Felix says, snorting. "But I guess we could still do it somewhere."

Jisung grins, clearly getting way too into the brainstorming. "Okay, hear me out. What if you rent one of those little rowboats and take her out on a lake?"

Felix raises an eyebrow. "That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

"Disasters can be romantic," Jisung says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Felix shakes his head but doesn’t argue, watching as Jisung adds it to the list. The page is quickly filling up with a mix of ideas, ranging from sweet and thoughtful to utterly ridiculous.

"Okay," Felix says, leaning back with a smirk. "What if I just challenge her to a baking competition? Winner gets to make the other do something embarrassing."

Jisung cackles, slapping the table. "I love it. That’s so you two. Petty and competitive as fuck."

As the list grows longer, Felix finds himself smiling despite himself. Maybe Jisung’s enthusiasm is contagious, or maybe he’s just finally allowing himself to imagine what it might be like if things were different between him and you. Either way, he doesn’t stop the ideas from flowing.

And neither does Jisung. "Alright, last one, get a fucking bottle of champagne, bring it to the Seine at sunset, and confess. Boom. Game over."

Felix groans, but the faint blush creeping up his neck gives him away. "You’re such an idiot."

"Yeah, but I’m an idiot with amazing ideas," Jisung says, grinning as he holds up the finished mindmap. "Cruella’s gonna fall for you, Lix. Just wait."

The final day in Paris dawns bright and clear, the perfect weather for a free day. The group heads to the Palace of Versailles, the grand estate shimmering under the morning sun. The palace looms in front of you like something out of a dream, its golden gates gleaming and its architecture an overwhelming display of opulence.

You’re dressed to kill as usual: a red leather miniskirt, a black sleeveless halterneck top that shows off your intricate snake tattoo, and your signature black lace-up stiletto boots. Your half-black, half-white hair is styled perfectly, and your makeup is sharp enough to cut. Beside you, Felix looks effortlessly cool in beige baggy cargo trousers with black stripes, a black t-shirt, a cropped black jacket with silver zipper detailing, and stacked silver chains.

As you all make your way through the gardens, Felix walks beside you, stealing occasional glances your way. Jisung, walking a few paces ahead with Minho and Seungmin, catches Felix looking and immediately grins, giving him an exaggerated thumbs up.

Felix groans under his breath, running a hand through his pushed-back hair. "Subtle as a brick," he mutters, earning a side-eye from you.

"What’s his deal?" you ask, nodding toward Jisung.

"Nothing," Felix says quickly, a little too quickly.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously but let it slide, focusing instead on the sprawling gardens around you. The air smells like freshly trimmed grass and blooming flowers, and the sound of fountains bubbling in the background adds to the serene atmosphere.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Minho notices Jisung’s antics and raises an eyebrow. "What’s that about?" he asks, nudging Jisung with his elbow.

Jisung leans in, whispering conspiratorially. "Love! Romance!��Bow chicka wow wow!"

Minho stops in his tracks, turning to Jisung with a smirk. "Like our bow chicka wow wow?"

Jisung grins, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh yeah. Felix will, uh-"

"Dominate the shit out of her?" Minho interrupts, his voice low but filled with amusement.

"Yeah!" Jisung says, nodding enthusiastically.

"Good," Minho replies, his smirk growing. "Y/N needs that. Maybe it’ll take the edge off her eternal ‘fuck everything’ vibe."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head as he listens to their whispered conversation. "You two are the worst," he mutters, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

Back in the rear of the group, Felix feels like his ears are burning. He doesn’t even need to hear what Minho and Jisung are whispering about to know it’s about you. Beside him, you’re admiring the ornate fountains, completely unaware of the chaos brewing just a few steps ahead.

"Wow," you say, your voice tinged with genuine admiration as you take in the gardens. "I forgot how ridiculous this place is. It’s like stepping into another world."

Felix chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Yeah, it’s insane. Kind of makes you wonder what it’d be like to live here."

"Probably boring as fuck," you reply, smirking. "I mean, what do you even do with all this space? Play hide-and-seek with servants?"

Felix laughs, the sound warm and unguarded. "You’d probably make them regret taking the job."

"Of course," you say, flashing him a wicked grin. "It’s part of my charm."

Felix shakes his head, his lips twitching upward despite himself. He risks another glance at Jisung, who’s now whispering animatedly to Minho, gesturing wildly like he’s planning a heist. Felix sighs internally. This trip is going to kill me.

"Come on," you say, grabbing Felix’s arm and tugging him toward one of the side paths. "I want to check out the Queen’s Hamlet. It’s the only part of this place that doesn’t look like it was made for a goddamn peacock."

Felix lets himself be dragged along, ignoring the knowing looks from the rest of the group. As he follows you deeper into the gardens, he can’t help but wonder if Jisung’s ridiculous romance plan might actually have a chance of working.

The Queen’s Hamlet is quieter than the main gardens, the rustic charm of its cottages a stark contrast to the ostentatious grandeur of the palace. You and Felix walk side by side, the gravel crunching under your boots and his Air Forces. It’s peaceful, but the air shifts when your phone buzzes loudly in your bag.

You stop abruptly, pulling it out. The screen lights up with a familiar name: Appa. Your expression hardens instantly.

"Hold up," you mutter, stepping away from Felix. "I need to take this."

Felix watches you go, tilting his head slightly. He leans against a low stone wall, idly fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. At first, your voice is too low for him to catch much of what you’re saying, but then it rises, sharp and clipped.

"No, Appa, I told you already," you snap. "I don’t want to meet any more men you’re trying to set me up with."

Felix freezes, his brows furrowing as he pretends to focus on the surrounding scenery. But your voice keeps drifting over, laced with frustration.

"I’m not interested," you say firmly. "What part of that don’t you understand? I don’t care how rich or successful they are. Stop treating me like some... project you can hand off to the highest bidder."

Felix’s grip tightens on the stone wall. He’s never heard you sound like this- So raw, so... vulnerable.

"I’ve said no every fucking time, haven’t I?" you continue, your voice biting. "And yet, here we are, again. You call me, drop a name like it’s supposed to mean something, and expect me to just fall in line."

There’s a pause, and Felix assumes the person on the other end is speaking. He risks a glance in your direction, seeing the way your shoulders are tense, your free hand clenched into a fist at your side.

"Because it’s not your fucking choice," you bite out, your voice trembling slightly now. "It’s my life, Appa. Mine. I’m not going to live it on your terms."

Felix swallows, his chest tightening as he listens. The sharp edge in your voice is familiar, it’s the same one you use when you’re deflecting, trying to mask something deeper. He’s heard it plenty of times in your bickering, but it feels different now. More real.

"I have to go," you say abruptly. "Don’t call me about this again. I mean it."

You hang up and stand there for a moment, your shoulders rising and falling as you take a deep breath. Felix looks away quickly, pretending to inspect the nearest flowerbed when you turn around and walk back toward him.

"You good?" Felix asks casually, though his voice is softer than usual.

You nod, slipping your phone back into your bag. "Fine. Just family shit."

He doesn’t push, though a dozen questions burn on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he falls into step beside you as you continue walking, the silence between you thick but not uncomfortable.

For the first time, Felix finds himself wondering if there’s more to you than the sarcastic, sharp-tongued persona you wear so well. And he hates how much he wants to find out.

The next morning, the group boards a coach for a day-long tour of Nice. The warm Mediterranean air filters in through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and blooming flowers. The vibe is decidedly more relaxed than it was in Paris, but chaos still manages to cling to your group like a second skin.

You’re dressed in a green leather miniskirt and a black sleeveless halterneck top, the snake tattoo on your left arm catching the morning sunlight. Your stiletto boots click softly as you step onto the bus, your hair styled to perfection. Felix follows behind, his blue baggy jeans cinched with a black belt, a white t-shirt peeking out from under his black sleeveless leather vest. His boots thud against the metal steps, and his silver chains glint under the sun.

"I’m sitting with you," Felix says casually, brushing past you and dropping into the seat by the window before you can argue.

You roll your eyes, sliding into the seat beside him. "Lucky me."

Further back, Minho is sprawled across Seungmin’s lap, his head resting comfortably against Jisung’s shoulder. Seungmin looks mildly annoyed but doesn’t push Minho off, while Jisung beams as though having Minho draped over them is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

The tour guide begins rattling off facts about Nice over the intercom as the bus pulls away, but you barely pay attention. Felix leans over slightly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"You’re glowing today, Cruella. Mediterranean air looks good on you."

You glance at him, your lips quirking into a smirk. "Nice try, Twilight Sparkle. I know flattery’s just your way of killing time."

Felix chuckles, his freckles scrunching as he grins. "Who says I’m not serious?"

"You always have an ulterior motive," you reply, crossing one leg over the other. "And I’m not buying whatever it is you’re selling."

Felix leans back, arms resting on the seat’s armrest, his grin never fading. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in mock innocence.

Across the aisle, Jisung watches the exchange with poorly concealed glee. He nudges Seungmin, whispering, "They’re at it again."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head. "I’m telling you, I’m winning this bet. My money was on Nice."

"They’re slow-burning," Jisung whispers back. "This is buildup. They’re not fucking here. Bordeaux is when it’ll happen. Mark my words. Minho’s already out—he bet Paris."

Seungmin hums thoughtfully, his eyes flicking to Felix and you before muttering, "We’ll see."

Minho stirs in Seungmin’s lap, his head tilting to look up at him. "You two gossiping about my loss?"

"Obviously," Seungmin deadpans, and Minho groans dramatically.

The bus stops at the first destination, a stunning overlook with a panoramic view of the Mediterranean. As the group pours out of the coach, Felix sticks close to you, his casual demeanour laced with a certain intensity. You pretend not to notice, but the way his arm brushes against yours as you walk doesn’t escape you.

"Look at that view," Felix says, nodding toward the sea. "Almost as pretty as you."

You snort, folding your arms as you glance at him. "You’re laying it on thick today, aren’t you?"

Felix grins. "Can’t help it. The setting’s inspiring me."

"Careful," you tease, leaning in slightly. "Keep talking like that, and I might think you’re serious."

Felix holds your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, his grin softening just a touch. "Maybe I am."

The group moves from site to site throughout the day, exploring historic plazas, charming old streets, and local markets. Felix keeps up his flirtatious remarks, and you match his energy without missing a beat. It feels almost natural, the back-and-forth between you two flowing effortlessly.

At one point, as the group gathers for lunch, Jisung elbows Seungmin again, whispering, "See? This is foreplay. Bordeaux. I’m calling it."

"You’re so fucking smug," Seungmin mutters, taking a sip of his water. "But we’ll see who’s laughing when I win."

Minho chimes in from his spot, still half-draped over Jisung. "Whoever wins, we’re all enjoying this way too much."

By the end of the tour, the sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over Nice. You and Felix walk side by side back to the coach, your conversations now dipping into quieter, more personal territory.

And though you’d never admit it, you find yourself enjoying his company far more than you expected.

The moonlight dances on the surface of the River Seine, casting shimmering ripples along its winding path through the heart of Paris. The air is cool but not cold, the faint scent of the river mixing with the aroma of freshly baked bread from nearby cafés. You and Felix walk side by side along the cobblestone path, the sound of your stiletto boots clicking rhythmically against the ground, contrasting with the quiet scuff of his sneakers.

Minho and Jisung had disappeared together hours ago, giggling about some “special” plans, while Seungmin had hit it off with a charming Frenchman and gone back to his hotel. That left just you and Felix, the two of you strolling in companionable silence under the soft glow of the city’s streetlamps.

"You’re quiet tonight," Felix says after a while, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The silver chains around his neck glint faintly, matching the slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Just enjoying the peace," you reply, your sharp eyeliner cutting through the soft shadows of your flawless makeup. "Nice change from Minho and Jisung’s nonstop chaos."

Felix chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black baggy jeans. "True. Those two could talk a brick wall into running away."

You snort, a small smile tugging at your lips as the river laps gently against the banks. The quiet stretches on for a moment longer before you break it, your voice soft but direct.

"Just ask."

Felix blinks, looking over at you. "Huh?"

You glance at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. "About my father. I know you’re curious, so just ask."

"Pfft," Felix scoffs, his hand brushing through his blonde-and-black pushed-back hair. "I wasn’t curious."

You give him a look, sharp, knowing, and utterly unamused. "Sure, Twilight Sparkle. Keep lying to yourself."

He grins sheepishly, his freckles catching the light. "Okay, fine," he concedes. "I was kinda curious."

You pull a cigarette from your bag, lighting it with ease before exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. "My mother died when I was two," you begin, your tone even but detached, as if you’ve told the story a hundred times before. "Ovarian cancer. They caught it too late. She’s buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery."

Felix’s grin fades, his expression softening as he listens.

"After she died," you continue, taking another drag, "I got shipped off to my father in Korea. I only spoke French and English at the time, so I had to learn Korean from scratch. That was... a fucking nightmare."

Felix stays quiet, letting you talk.

"Then I hit sixteen," you say, your voice sharpening, "and all he’s done since is shove marriage proposals down my throat. Rich men, powerful men, people who’d secure my future." You scoff, rolling your eyes. "And he gets less than happy every time I turn them down."

"That’s why you crash at the frat house so much?" Felix asks, his voice careful, soft.

You nod, flicking ash off the end of your cigarette. "One time, I called Chan from home. My loving father had just pushed me down a flight of stairs for saying no to one of his fucking ‘matches.’"

Felix’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists in his pockets.

"Once I’m twenty-one, I’m free," you add. "My mother left me an inheritance, enough to make sure I never have to deal with him again."

Felix nods, his voice low when he speaks. "You got a smoke for me?"

You glance at him, one eyebrow quirking up. "You smoke now?"

"Apparently," he says with a shrug, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Rolling your eyes, you hand him a cigarette and your lighter. Felix lights it clumsily, inhaling with a small cough before adjusting his hold. He exhales, watching the smoke curl into the air before looking back at you.

"So only Chan knows?" he asks.

You nod. "He patches me up if I need it. Minho and Seungmin know about the proposals, but not the rest. Chan’s the only one who gets the full picture."

Felix stares at you for a moment, his cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. He’s trying to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels big enough for the weight of what you’ve shared.

"You’re tough as hell, Cruella," he finally says, his tone quiet but sincere.

You glance at him, lips quirking into a small, sardonic smile. "Takes one to know one, Twilight Sparkle."

For a while, the two of you walk in silence, the river flowing beside you and the smoke from your cigarettes curling into the night sky. Felix can’t help but admire the way the moonlight catches in your two-toned hair, highlighting the sharpness of your features and the strength in your posture.

The quiet between you stretches for a few beats, the occasional murmur of tourists passing by in the distance blending with the sound of the Seine lapping against the riverbank. You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly as you glance at Felix, his gaze fixed on the water.

"What’s with the switch-up, by the way?" you ask, your tone sharp but not biting. "You’re being nice to me. It’s... weird."

Felix turns to you, smoke curling from his lips as he exhales upward, the tendrils dissipating into the night air. His silver chains glint faintly in the moonlight, and he quirks a brow, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. "Can’t a guy change?"

"Change?" you scoff, flicking ash onto the cobblestones. "Our entire dynamic is based on verbally abusing each other. Now you’re Mr. Thoughtful and Mysterious? It’s fucking throwing me off, Twilight Sparkle."

Felix lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette. He exhales again, the smoke floating lazily between you as his gaze locks onto yours. "You’re so blind."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Felix doesn’t answer, not with words, anyway. Instead, he steps closer, the faint scent of smoke and leather clinging to him as he closes the space between you. Before you can fire off another sarcastic remark, his hand reaches up, fingers tangling in your half-black, half-white hair.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not tentative or hesitant. It’s a kiss filled with frustration, intensity, and a heat that catches you completely off guard. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt, soft but firm, demanding but not rough. The world around you blurs; the hum of the city, the gentle ripple of the Seine, all of it fades as his other hand grips your waist, pulling you closer.

For a moment, you freeze, shocked by the suddenness of it all. But then your instincts kick in, and you kiss him back just as fiercely, your lips moving in sync with his. Your cigarette falls from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands find their way to the lapels of his leather jacket, gripping tightly.

Felix groans softly against your lips, his fingers tightening in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss. The gentle tug on your hair sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath hitches as his hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you even closer.

It’s electric. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, every subtle shift of his hands. There’s a heat between you that feels both overwhelming and inevitable, like this moment has been building for years. When you finally pull back, it’s only because you need air, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Felix’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his thumb brushing the back of your neck. His voice is low, slightly hoarse. "Took me long enough, huh?"

You blink up at him, still dazed, your lips tingling. "What the fuck was that?"

He smirks, his freckled face glowing under the moonlight. "What do you think, Cruella?"

"You kissed me," you say, as if stating it out loud will make it less surreal.

"Yeah," Felix replies, his tone soft but unwavering. "I kissed you. And I’m gonna do it again if you don’t stop me."

Your lips twitch into a small smirk of your own, your hands still gripping his jacket. "Bold move, Twilight Sparkle."

Felix chuckles, his nose brushing against yours as he leans in again. This kiss is softer, slower, but no less consuming. His hands hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away, and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to push back, to argue, to keep your walls up.

When he pulls back this time, he lets out a breathy laugh, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. "You’re not as scary as you think you are."

"Shut up," you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

As you both stand there by the Seine, the river sparkling behind you, it’s clear that the dynamic between you has shifted. And for once, you don’t mind.

The Alpha Phi living room is dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows on the walls as Coraline plays. The eerie stop-motion animation fills the room with an unsettling yet oddly comforting vibe. You’re perched sideways in Felix’s lap, one of his arms draped securely around your waist while the other rests on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the leather of your miniskirt. His warmth seeps into you, and you lean slightly against him, the two of you completely at ease.

You’re wearing a black leather miniskirt, a black sleeveless halterneck top, and your signature lace-up stiletto boots. Your hair is styled to perfection, the half-black, half-white strands cascading down in sleek waves. Felix looks effortlessly put together in black baggy jeans, white sneakers, and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket. His layered silver chains catch the light every time he moves.

The movie’s dialogue is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by footsteps. Chan walks into the living room, mid-sentence about something, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees the two of you. His mouth opens, then closes, his brows furrowing as he blinks rapidly like he’s trying to clear his vision.

"Oi!" he finally says, pointing at the two of you. "Everyone, get in here! I need to know I’m not fucking hallucinating."

"What the fuck are you yelling about now?" Minho calls from the kitchen, followed by the sound of chairs scraping as everyone gets up.

One by one, they pile into the living room: Changbin, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Jisung, and Jeongin, all looking various shades of confused and curious. The room grows crowded quickly, the boys practically shoving each other to get a better view.

"What the fuck?" Hyunjin mutters, his wide eyes darting between you and Felix. "Am I seeing this right?"

"Is she... in his lap?" Jeongin asks, pointing as if he needs confirmation from a higher power.

"She is," Minho says, his tone laced with mock astonishment. "Holy shit. This is real."

"Since when do you two-" Changbin starts, but Jisung cuts him off, grinning like a maniac.

"Wait, hold up," Jisung says, stepping forward and pointing dramatically. "When did you first fuck?!"

You snort, rolling your eyes at the sheer lack of decorum, but Felix answers without missing a beat. "Bordeaux."

"YES!" Jisung shouts, throwing his fists into the air. "The betting pool was sixty! Sixty times two is one twenty. What’s the euro to won conversion rate?"

"181,327.80 won," you deadpan, smirking as Jisung immediately turns to Minho and Seungmin, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Fucking hell," Minho mutters, digging into his wallet. "I knew I should’ve doubled down on Paris."

Seungmin sighs, pulling out cash as well. "I should’ve known you’d win, Ji."

Jisung grins triumphantly as he collects the money, stuffing it into his pocket like it’s the best day of his life. "Thank you, thank you. I’ll be accepting all congratulations and apologies from the losers now."

Felix shakes his head, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh as he mutters, "You’re all fucking insane."

"You love us," Jisung says, winking at him.

"Debatable," Felix replies, smirking before looking down at you. "How’d we end up with these idiots?"

"Bad life choices," you say, leaning back into him with a grin.

The room erupts into laughter, the atmosphere buzzing with the usual chaotic energy of Alpha Phi. As the conversation shifts to other ridiculous topics, Felix leans in close, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"Still think our dynamic is just verbal abuse?" he teases, his breath warm against your ear.

You glance up at him, your smirk softening just slightly. "Guess you’ve got a point, Twilight Sparkle."

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling back. "Took you long enough to admit it, Cruella."

The two of you stay like that, tangled together on the couch as the chaos of your friends swirls around you. For once, it feels like the world has fallen into place.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

Requested by anon

Proofread by @eastjonowhere

[hoeleeheeseung]

Arrest

genre: smut; dom! heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: running away from the cops was easy as pie until he came along; is getting a taste of him worth risking getting caught?

warnings: marking, fingering, oral (reader receiving), use of profanity, unprotected sex (stay safe y'all), mentions of murder, smoking, degrading.

trope: cop! heeseung x criminal! fem! reader

a/n: not proofread :(

mdni!!

_________________________________

You heard sirens not too far from where you were currently hiding

'Fuck, I can get caught' you thought to yourself.

You managed to take a shortcut through an alleyway, hoping to devise a plan soon enough to successfully escape from the cops.

__________

Heeseung stared at the page of his notebook, scribbles all around your name on it.

" Hmm, what can you be hiding? Perhaps, a traumatic childhood? Or maybe you're just one who thrives on the thrill of committing heinous crimes?"

Heeseung zoned back in after his co-worker, Jake spoke to him through the handheld transceiver.

" Ivy is on the run, she's fleeing. Her current location cannot be tracked because her cellphone's switched off."

Jake, knowing her, we know that she's probably switched the sim card already. URGHHH! this is so frustrating, how is it possible that the only information that we have about this criminal is that they're a female, approximately 20, and that their height is 5'7?!"

Jake sighed, before answering.

" Her last location that we were able to track was ' Clentwood Street, Block 4'. Our team is currently reporting to that location. I will get back to you after we're done searching the place."

" Alright, Jake. I'll be heading to Brooklyn for some work"

___________

You decided to get on a ship that you hoped would take you farther away from this place, too many soul-crushing memories held you back and prevented you from leaving your hometown up until this very moment.

You hoped that you had enough time to plan your next move.

As you sat on the edge of the ship, you thought about what you had done; was killing your ruthless aunt really the only way out?

You didn't believe in unnecessary violence, nor did you ever plan on doing what you had done. It was all so sudden.

The night from 4 months ago was still fresh in your mind.

Flashback

Tears rolled down your face as you held the folder in your hand that comprised all of the proof of your parents' murder.

You lost your parents when you were 7 years old, the cause of their death was declared to be a conflagration. After that tragic incident, you lived with your aunt. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, as you found out that your parents didn't die due to unforeseeable circumstances, instead, they were killed.

What hurt even more was that the culprit was your aunt, the same aunt who had raised you since you were 7.

You weren't supposed to find out, this was supposed to be kept hidden away from you. Even though you did find out, you didn't quite know what to feel. You'd known your aunt for longer than you knew your parents, so you couldn't even dream of taking revenge. Yet again, she was the reason behind why you didn't know your parents as well as every child should.

You found yourself standing in front of your aunt with a knife pointed in your hand. Terror was visible on her face.

" You killed my parents; how the fuck were you able to raise me after committing such a grave crime, let alone living your life as if nothing happened??"

" You don't get it; your parents were planning on taking over the property that your grandparents left for your father and me. They refused to give me my share of the property--

" So, you decided that the best way to resolve the issue was to KILL THEM? You dared to live a normal life after that?"

" Try to understand-

" What?! That even after everything you've done, you shall still be considered a saint?! You're a ruthless monster; a selfish one too."

The argument got heated really quick, she charged at you to grab the knife from you, but you stabbed her in order to save yourself.

End of Flashback

As you thought about the incident, you felt tears threatening to roll down your face. You realized that you didn't have anyone to rely upon anymore.

Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a fine, tall male.

" Careful there, you might trip and fall into the water."

You turned around to look at the man, he was pretty.

" Who are you?"

You asked, you should've stayed quiet. This was one of the few times that you had interacted with another person, you usually didn't interact with people much, unless it was deadly necessary; mainly because you didn't want to give away any important information.

" I'm Lee Heeseung, the Head of the Rhode Island Police Department, and you are?"

You panicked the moment you found out that he was a cop. Now, if you were a criminal by profession, you wouldn't even have flinched, but the panic was visible on your face.

Heeseung had definitely sensed that you were uncomfortable, you could tell based on what he said next.

" Calm down, I'm not going to just toss you into jail unless you've done something punishable."

You took a deep breath to calm down, and his phone rang just as you were about to reply.

" Heeseung, we've scanned every single corner of Ivy's last hiding spot, and we didn't find anything apart from a legal document regarding the property of Mrs. Carolyn Wilson."

Heeseung stepped away from you a little to attend to his teammate; however, the dreadful look on your face was not missed by him.

He pretended to walk off and sounded extremely engrossed in the conversation, but he still tried to keep an eye on you.

" Carolyn Wilson? I've heard this name before, look into who this woman is, Jake, and find out how her property is related to Ivy."

You could still hear his conversation with his co-worker, even though it was faint; your face dropped once you heard him mention your fake name 'Ivy'. You panicked, there was obviously no place to escape at this very moment.

You realized that your fate now depended upon how you played your cards, so you decided to do the only thing that you knew a man couldn't resist, seduce him.

You quickly masked your fear and replaced it with a confident look, the one little thing that slipped away from Heeseung's gaze, that too because he was too focused on what Jake was saying to him.

" Don't worry, Heeseung, I've already looked into it; Carolyn Wilson appears to be a victim of a conflagration, in the year 2009."

" So, is it possible that Ivy is Mrs. Wilson's daughter? But if that is the case, then Ivy also happens to be the daughter of..."

" RICHARD WILSON! Heeseung, Ivy is the daughter of Richard Wilson, he was a successful businessman back in his day. Now, I don't expect you to remember or even know who that is since you and I were practically kids back when he also died in the same fire as his wife. "

" Jake, now that I think about it, wasn't the case declared to be an awful accident? If Richard Wilson was that big of a man, practically a business tycoon, why wasn't the case suspected as a murder case?"

" It's because they weren't the only victims of the fire, some other neighbors of theirs also happened to be victims of the fire; no one would kill twelve other people just to sabotage the career of a businessman. Also, after the tragic death of the Wilsons, Ivy was raised by her aunt, Rebecca Wilson for about 15 years."

" So, if Ivy was raised by Rebecca Wilson, then why haven't you and your team looked for pictures of Ivy at Rebecca Wilson's apartment?"

" We did, we weren't able to find anything, which is what's weird, considering how she practically knew her aunt longer than she knew her parents."

" Jake, go to Richard's farmhouse, look for pictures of Ivy over there, you'll find something for sure."

By now, you were seated not too far away from Heeseung, who had made his way to the bar on the ship, as he continued to speak to his colleague.

From the safe distance that you had managed to maintain, you were able to hear his conversation clearly, while still maintaining a low profile; little did you know, he had noticed you, sitting right across from him, pretending to be busy on your phone as you sipped on numerous appletinis, one after the other.

Heeseung had paid close attention to your attire, to him, it didn't look like you were wearing appropriate clothes to sail on a relatively expensive ship. Your outfit consisted of a plain navy-blue top, paired with beige trousers, although it didn't exactly seem to raise suspicion amongst anyone else, it seemed off-putting to him.

He thought it would be important to make sure Jake was aware of his suspicions about you, so he decided to text him.

Jake, there's this woman on the ship who seems suspicious to me, she's been weird ever since I first interacted with her on the ship.

You on the other hand, were careful with how much you drank, you wanted it to be enough to convince him that you were drunk but not enough for you to spill any secrets that you held.

After about half an hour, you finally decided that you should make a move, but since you forgot to keep an eye on him, now you had to look for him on the deck.

Lucky for you, he wasn't too far away, you saw him standing near the edge of the deck, smoking a cigar.

You slowly walked towards him, careful to not raise any suspicion. You pretended to trip onto something before bumping into him, causing the cigar in his hand to fall straight into the water.

He clicked his tongue before turning to look at you, to see who had robbed him of his sole source of pleasure in the moment.

" Oops, sorry- didn't see you there, handsome. I got blinded by your beauty."

He let out a dry chuckle, once he realized that it was you. He deemed this as a great opportunity to get you to spill more secrets about you, since you were already drunk.

" Hi, didn't see you there. I'm sorry our conversation was cut short due to the call that I had to take."

" Make it up to me, a simple sorry won't do"

You frowned, hoping for him to give in gradually.

He simply took his jacket off and placed it around your tiny torso.

" Hmm, what do you want me to do?"

He expected you to say something to him, to ask him to do something stupid like imitate a chicken or give you a piggyback ride, and that would've been fine with him, for it would still allow him to keep his guard up whilst trying to get you to let your guard down.

To his surprise, however, instead of saying anything, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. As much as he'd hate to admit it, he was slowly letting his guard down, and as much as he'd want to be disappointed in himself, all he could think of was just how perfectly you kissed him.

He knew that he should've pushed you away, for multiple reasons. Firstly, because you were drunk, and also because his intention of continuing the conversation with you was completely different. However, it was too late now since you were practically rubbing yourself against his dick, with your hands roaming all over his torso, eventually grabbing his biceps and squeezing them; he was HARD, all he wanted at that moment was to bend you over and fuck your hole till your knees go weak

" You're so pretty, I wouldn't mind the thought of you filling me up."

He smirked against your lips, his grip on your waist being gentle.

" I would love to fill you up, but not for people to see how pretty you are"

You moved back a little, still continuing to grind against his clothed crotch.

" Where do you suggest we should go?"

The answer to your question came rather quickly, he groped onto your ass as he made his way to one of the empty rooms nearby. You giggled in his embrace as you finally found an empty room, which you presumed was a room for the staff only.

He pushed you into the room and followed close after. It was a small room with a dim yellow light, you figured it was a washroom, as you saw the mirror.

Heeseung took out his handcuffs and cuffed you to the tap of the sink, immediately peppering kisses down your soft skin.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your body shivering under his touch. His hands roamed all over your body, slight frustration being visible on his face due to the fact that you were still clothed.

He pulled his blazer off you and discarded it next to the door, his hands went under your top, immediately tearing the piece of fabric, leaving your upper body half naked.

He stood behind you, kissing your neck, leaving hickeys, making you let out a loud moan as you leaned more into his touch, slowly grinding yourself against his groin. You could feel your pussy squelching under his touch.

He unbuttoned his shirt before throwing it to the side, his lips never leaving your neck. His hands found their way to the buttons of your trousers, the cold metal of his wristwatch on your bare waist sending shivers down your spine.

Heeseung unbuttoned your trousers, pulling them down to your ankles, his hands finding their way between your things, feeling your wet pussy through your underwear.

He picked you up and placed you on the counter, after freeing your hands from the cold, metallic feeling of the handcuffs.

" Such a pretty pussy, just for me."

He lifted both of your legs and dragged the underwear down, throwing it next to his shirt.

He threw your legs over his shoulders, burying his face in your wet hole, licking all over.

" S-so good--fuck! Ruin me like I'm- ahh"

" Mm-what a good whore you are--fuck, could eat you all day."

His hands groped onto your ass, giving them a light squeeze, slowly moving upwards to unhook your bra, squeezing your boobs, and flicking onto your nipples.

You felt a knot starting to build up, tightening as each second passes. Heeseung continued to massage your tits, while sucking and licking your cunt.

" Gonna--cu-m! fu--ck"

" Hold it in, you slut."

He started licking your wet cunt more vigorously, his nose grinding against your swollen clit from time to time.

His hands gradually started to move from your tits to your thighs, spreading your legs, and flicking your clit with his thumb.

You let out an airy moan, bucking your hips to the best of your abilities to give him more access.

Heeseung caught you off guard by pushing his middle finger into your hole, watching your pussy stretch.

" Ahh-mmph-fuck- just like-that-ahh"

He immediately pushed another digit in, as he watched your hole stretch even more, making his fingers disappear. Heeseung continued to play around with your sensitive cunt, spitting in your hole, ramming his fingers in, and scissoring your hole.

The knot in your stomach started to tighten beyond measure until you couldn't hold it in anymore and came undone all over his fingers.

He moaned at the sound of your orgasm blending with your moans, he felt his cock twitching in his pants.

You moved your hands to grab his trousers, before unbuttoning them and pulling them down, immediately rubbing your hand against the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down swiftly, and watching his erect beauty, it was hard and veiny.

Heeseung moaned into your ear, licking your earlobe slightly.

He pumped himself up a little before spreading your legs apart even more and ramming into your hole, making the both of you fill the room up with the sounds of your moans, both your voices blending together perfectly.

" Ahh-what a good cunt- fuck! You make me want to fill yo-u up"

" Hmm-Ah, what's stopping you--"

This got him going, and the speed of his thrusts increased. He mercilessly thrust in and out of your hole, your throbbing, swollen cunt stretching around his size.

His thrusts kept on getting sloppier and faster, your hands scratching his back, as his mouth sucked on your boobs, leaving hickeys all over, and his hands groping your ass, pulling you closer, as if it was even possible,

" I'm gonna c-um"

" You are such a good slut-cum all over my cock"

You came undone for the second time that night, pushing his face deeper into your tits, squishing his face between them.

You felt his dick twitch, making your eyes roll back, as he filled you up with his thick, white, creamy fluid, making you moan louder than you ever have.

Thick strings of cum slid down your thighs, as you felt your body shiver, the alcohol immediately leaving your system after you felt the best orgasms of your life.

Heeseung smirked, backing off from you and holding his blazer for you to take and wear, he was aware of how mercilessly he tore your top, leaving you with nothing to cover up with.

The both of you cleaned up before wearing your clothes. Just as you were about to leave, you felt a familiar cold metal wrap around your wrists, holding them behind your body

" Ivy Wilson, you are under arrest for committing murder. You are reported to have committed the murder of your late aunt, Rebecca Wilson."

You felt yourself flinch, too scared to do anything; your crime had been discovered and now you've been caught, with no way out.

" Officer, let me explain-

" You may explain yourself at the headquarters, or you may stay silent, you have the right to remain quiet."

" But-

" I have to admit, you did a great job trying to stay undercover, but unfortunately for you, I fuck too well. I made you believe that you're the one seducing me when it was the complete opposite of that."

[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two (you're here!)

I know I just posted part one but I've got Thoughts for this AU that include: Steve's first birthday in Genovia and then his 16th, his conversation with his grandmother about attending public school in America for his senior year, and then we get into him attending Hawkins High and meeting Eddie!

So, yeah, plans lmao

Anyway, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

"You'll have a rotating course schedule. Mondays and Wednesdays will focus on math and social studies. Tuesdays and Thursdays will be science and literature. Friday will be Royalty lessons and the history of Genovia. We can also include an elective, if you'd like."

Steve blinks, staring at Sue for a moment before glancing at Jonathan and Robin. Jonathan is looking through a book of photography and Robin is idly scratching behind Dart’s ears. "Will we all have the same elective?" Steve asks.

"Not unless Jonathan and Robin want to join you," Sue says, looking at Steve expectantly. She's got a pen at the ready to write down what he says, and it suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

Is there a wrong answer here? Is there an answer that gets him sent back to his parents? He looks down, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. Before he can lose himself in his thoughts, a cold and wet nose presses against his hand. Steve blinks, smiling at Dart and picking her up to hold close. "What kind of electives are there?" he asks.

Sue hums softly, flipping to another page on her clipboard. "Possible electives include art, music, theatrical performance, physical education, equestrian studies, botany, and foreign languages, to name a few."

"I'll be taking photography lessons," Jonathan says, looking up at Steve and gesturing to his book.

Robin nods and leans back on her palms. "I'll be doing the physical stuff. Like learning how to fight and practicing ballet to improve my balance," she says, leveling a look at Steve that dares him to say anything about the ballet.

Steve wouldn't, though. He doesn't want to make Robin angry enough to ditch him. He looks down at Dart, thinking for a moment before asking, "Can I take more than one?"

"Of course, but you're limited to three for now," Sue says.

What would be the most helpful? Foreign languages, probably, since he'll definitely have to speak with ambassadors from other countries at some point. He should also learn something that can be shown off, a skill that he could pull out at functions to make his grandmother proud or distract guests.

"What language should I learn?" he asks.

Sue thinks for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin. "Mandarin. It's a business language, and we have close relations with a few representatives from China and Hong Kong. If you'd like to learn a Romantic language first, though, Spanish is good."

"I'll learn Mandarin," Steve decides, nodding once to himself. "And music. I want to learn to play...hmm...the piano."

With a nod, Sue writes his electives down. "Let me know if you'd like to add an elective later, Your Highness. In my opinion, though, your current courses will keep you properly challenged for now."

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

Sue wasn't kidding about his academics being challenging. Steve struggles in math, muddles his way through science, drags himself through literature, and is ready to drop when he hits social studies. He'd ask the tutors to spend more time on topics, but Robin and Jonathan seem to have no problem keeping up, and Steve can't bring himself to disrupt their pace.

His Mandarin lessons are going just slightly better if only because the tutor seems to recognize that slower is better for him. After almost a month, he's starting to understand intonation and vocal variation better, and he can recognize a few characters on sight.

Piano lessons are also going well. His tutor there doesn't burden him with theory; she introduces the keys, shows him how to read sheet music, and then lets him choose songs to learn. Steve feels the most at ease when he's squinting at sheet music and slowly pressing piano keys into something recognizable.

The lessons he really looks forward to, however, are the ones for his Royalty Education. He gets to see his grandmother then, and she spends the whole day with him. Even better, something about this stuff just clicks. He's good at fixing his posture and memorizing silverware placement. He bows just right on his first try and his grandmother compliments his wave.

By the end of the lesson, she'll be smiling, her pride obvious, and take him for a walk in the gardens or to eat cookies in the kitchen.

"Royalty requires maintenance," Clarisse says, standing in front of Steve with relaxed shoulders. "You maintain your demeanor, your image, your knowledge of foreign dignitaries, your understanding of the people’s needs, and your humility. But you must also maintain your pride and your boundaries."

"That sounds like a lot," Steve says, idly tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"It can be overwhelming, but it becomes second nature in time," Clarisse explains, smiling reassuringly. "When you're royalty, you are constantly watched. Many eyes are kind or curious, but others are malicious, and you want to do everything you can to disappoint the malicious ones."

"How?"

"By acting like the Crown Prince you are."

"What kind of prince am I?" Steve asks, finally voicing the question that's been lingering since these lessons started. What kind of prince does his grandmother want? What kind of prince would best serve the people? What kind of prince will be so loved by all that nobody could even think of thinking about getting rid of him?

Clarisse hums, thinking for a moment. "I suppose a good one," she says, her slight smile telling Steve that she's only lightly teasing. "My hope is that you'll be kind and competent. You will make Genovia prosperous without compromising tradition. You won't allow politics to stand in the way of doing what's right by the people of Genovia. But this is a tiring job, so I hope you'll learn how to balance your duties with relaxation."

It's a lot, but Steve can do it. He can be that kind of prince, especially for the country and grandmother that's offered everything he's ever wanted and more. He nods once. "Okay," he says, "What do I need to learn, then?"

Clarisse smiles fondly at him. "Let's start by reviewing Genovian history. Only by knowing the past can you face the future."

With that, she places a book on Steve's desk and doesn't wait for him to open it before telling him about Genovia's founding.

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

Steve has weekends off from classes, which leaves him with more free time than he knows what to do with when he doesn't have to clean a house or make his own meals. So, he's bored, and telling Robin that he was bored was a huge mistake after she suggested riding bikes around the garden only to learn Steve didn't know how.

She'd insisted that he should learn, insisted that Clarisse be the one who teaches him, and insisted on hearing no objections.

And now he's here, standing in front of Clarisse's desk and staring down at his feet as she finishes writing something on the paper in front of her. Joe is standing just to her right, hands behind his back.

"Okay," Clarisse says, gently placing her pen on the desk before looking at Steve with an encouraging smile. "What did you want to ask me, Steve?"

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, takes a deep breath, and looks up. "Well, um, Robin wants to ride bikes, but I don't know how," he says.

"Well, that's easily fixed," Clarisse says, reaching for a phone at the corner of her desk. "I'm sure a member of staff is free to teach you."

Before she can pick up the phone, Steve finds himself blurting out, "Well, I...I was hoping...you could teach me."

Clarisse freezes, blinking twice with confusion before looking at Steve. "You want me to teach you?" she asks. When Steve nods once, she sighs softly. "A queen does not ride bikes. Besides, I have too much work to complete. Perhaps I could accompany you for a walk this evening to make up for it."

Despite himself, despite bracing for rejection, it still hurts. In the three months he's been in Genovia, Clarisse has agreed to just about every request he's made. Every held breath as he waits for cruel words has been released with unprecedented relief when none came. Even when he broke something---a priceless vase, according to Jonathan---his grandmother had simply surveyed the damage, thanked him for being honest, and asked him to avoid kicking soccer balls in the presence of priceless vases in the future.

Perhaps Steve has gotten too comfortable. He shouldn't be pushing like this. If he wants his grandmother's affection, he should know when to hold himself back.

So, despite the unfamiliar urge to ask again in case Clarisse might change her mind, Steve nods once. "I look forward to walking with you, Grandmother," he says, his voice quiet. He glances up, waiting long enough to see Clarisse's smile before turning on his heel and leaving the office as quickly as he can.

Clarisse watches him go, her head slightly tilted as the door closes silently behind Steve. She nods once, glad that Steve is sensible enough to understand things like work and propriety, and picks up her pen once more.

"If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?" Joe asks.

"At this point, Joe, you may as well assume the answer is yes."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, and please pardon my French, my experience has been that assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

It takes a moment for Clarisse to understand the joke. When she does, she can't help her amused smile. "Fair enough," she says, "Go ahead, Joe."

"Do you remember what I said about being Steve's grandmother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps now is one of those moments where being a grandmother is more important than being a queen. His Highness does not ask for much, and he is not the kind to ask more than once, even if he really wants something. I imagine it took a significant amount of courage to ask you to teach him in the first place."

"Are you suggesting that I...I risk making a fool of myself for all to see?" Clarisse asks.

"I am suggesting you spend time with your grandson, who asks very little of you because he does not believe he can ask for anything."

Clarisse is silent a moment, letting Joe's words process and settle in her brain. Finally, she sighs and gestures to the papers on her desk. "I have work to complete," she says.

"Your Majesty, editing these proposals was on your schedule two weeks from now. You are ahead of your work. A break would not be unreasonable or unwarranted."

Well, when he puts it like that.

Clarisse sighs, leans back in her chair, and looks up at Joe. He's still staring at the door, giving no indication that he feels her eyes on him, but she knows he does. "Have a groundskeeper retrieve bikes and safety gear and meet us in the garden," she says, standing from her chair and bracing herself to look like an utter fool.

Her apprehension fades away fifteen minutes later. It can't hold last when she sees Steve's surprised and delighted expression at her presence. As she helps him put on knee and elbow pads, shows him how to pull the helmet's strap tight, and holds the bike steady as he sits on it, Clarisse decides a little foolishness is perfectly fine (necessary, even) if it will keep the smile on Steve's face.

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

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv, @potato-of-the-lord,

[miyakazashi]

The M family Age question

Ever since Akira-sensei revealed Ron's age, I've always been curious about the other characters ages, especially the M family, since they don't even have an age range to go off of, however in some chapters from part two of the series, we finally get some clues to use...so here are those clues and my little analysis

*If I get anything wrong in this analysis, I apologize in advance

*Beware of spoilers (ch.96 and onwards)

I'm focusing on Mylo, Winter and Alice, since they're the ones currently alive in the series, and also the ones we have more info about.

First is to make sure we're all on the same page, even if most people probably know this

From Chapter 72

Mylo's the first child, Winter is the fourth, and Alice is the fifth and final one, with 5 of them (plus teo and the other one who died in a feud or something), for the ages to make sense, there atleast needs to be a one year age gap between each of them (because it wouldn't make much sense for their parents to give birth twice in a year, and we're counting 9-10 months as a year btw)

Next is...

Alice Moriarty's age reveal

From Chapter 115

From here we can tell that, she's probably 16-17. she says that she was going to take over the M family at age 17, but "six months before that" Mylo got defeated by Ron.

With that, now is the time to pinpoint where we are in the timeline right now, first is when the cruise incident happened

From Chapter 96

October 25th would've been when the cruise arc ended, aka the "six months before that" Alice mentions, with the "that" meaning the day she turns 17. With all of this we can assume her birthday to be around April, which is close enough to Mylo's birthday(March), so it's probably okay to not take their birthdays into consideration, since they would turn one year older around the same time.

*Assuming she's roughly 16 years and 9 months old, we can round that up to 17 since we don't need to consider the months

In conclusion, Alice is probably 17 years old

From the same panel from Chapter 115, the line "That's the same age as when you became head of the family", tells us that, Mylo was 17 when he became the head of the moriarties, in a later scene we learn that, that's the same age he was when he shot Alice dead (or rather, attempted to do so)

From Chapter 115

Even though this doesn't really help us right now, I still thought I should mention it, just in case it was ever mentioned at what age did Alice supposedly "die". Though I don't recall it ever being specified.

With Alice's age and the one year age gap between all siblings, we can get a rough estimate of-

What age do each of the Moriarty siblings need to be atleast?

*Basically, the youngest they can possibly be

Mylo 21

The second son 20

Teo 19

Winter 18

Alice 17

It would look something like this, but then in a later chapter, this is said

From Chapter 146

Mylo is confirmed to be the one behind the bloody field trip (the one in charge of it), which means, atleast 5 years would have had to pass after he became head of the M family, which would make him atleast 22 in the current timeline

Finally, Winter being the 4th child, would need to be atleast one year older than Alice, and atleast 3 years younger than Mylo, which would make Winter around 18 or 19 years old

From Chapter 72 (this isn't important,I just think they all look adorable in the flashbacks)

In conclusion,I think that Alice is 17 yrs old, while Mylo is probably 22 yrs old, and winter's probably 18 or 19 yrs old.

Than again let me remind you all, that except for Alice, these are just the ages they atleast need to be

However I think there is definitely more to this, since I don't actually think only 5 years passed after Mylo became the head of the M family, I mean it's hard to believe that the first thing he did after becoming the leader, was to make Ron's life miserable, not to mention since Ron is canonically 23, this begs the question, is Mylo older than Ron or younger than Ron ? And also, is he older than Toto ? Or maybe even Spitz ?

That's when you come in, if you have any thoughts about this, whether you have evidence from the manga or if it's just a headcanon, I'd like to hear what everyone has to say about this, so please share your thoughts

[the-moonprophet]

concept: Riordanverse demigods meeting up (for whatever reason), and they bump into a young man, probably not much older than themselves. He’s dressed casually—just a hoodie and jeans—but there’s something off about him. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but the demigods know enough to be wary of him.

“Should we talk to him or something?” Carter asks.

“He hasn’t done anything, though…” Magnus puts in. Still, they all have a strange feeling they should approach the guy.

Percy’s the first to move. He strides up to the guy, who’s staring down at a book while he waits for the bus.

“Hey,” Percy calls out to him, and the guy looks up. There’s something weirdly magnetic about him—Percy finds himself wanting to stand closer. The other demigods apparently feel the same gravity; when Percy glances over his shoulder, they’re standing right behind him.

“Hello,” the guy responds, his warm eyes studying the group. “Can I help you?”

“Um…” What is Percy supposed to say, exactly? He isn’t even sure why he’s speaking to this stranger.

Recognition passes through the guy’s eyes, and his brows twitch upward. “Oh, it’s you guys?”

Magnus steps forward. “You know us?”

“Of course!” The guy shrugs, tucking his book under his arm. He didn’t even mark his page. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t know who you are? You’ve all saved the world, haven’t you?”

Some of us multiple times. Percy thinks. Somehow, he’s not surprised by this guy’s knowledge of their heroics (if that’s what you want to call it).

“Well… What kind of person are you?” Sadie asks cautiously.

The guys laughs, and Percy finds himself smiling along with him. “What do you mean?” the stranger asks.

“Y’know,” Magnus shrugs, gesturing around their group. “We’re all descended from all-powerful beings and such.”

Normally, they should’ve been hesitant to share this kind of information. But something about this strange man makes them drop their guard. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that they know nothing about him, including his name.

The guy grins. “Yeah, we’ve got that in common.”

“Which god is your parent, then?” Percy asks. He finds himself hoping it’s a Greek deity; he would love to bring this guy back to Camp Half Blood. He’s certain everyone would love him.

“God,” the guy says in a thoughtful tone, his fingers tapping the book under his arm.

“Yeah…” Carter says haltingly. “Gods. Like the deities that control different parts of the world?”

The guy chuckles. “No, I know. That was my answer.”

Nobody says anything for a long moment.

Percy breaks the uncomfortable silence. “You’re descended from…”

“God,” the guy confirms with a gracious nod.

“Like, capital G God?” Magnus the Atheist says, looking pale.

“But—isn’t everyone? Technically?” Sadie asks. None of them know much about christianity, but hadn’t all of mankind been created in the Big Man’s image?

The guy laughs again—it’s an oddly healing sound. Any worries that had been swirling at the back of Percy’s mind instantly vanish.

“Well, I suppose if you want to get technical about it,” the guy says with another shrug. “But I myself am the only direct descendant.”

The Kane siblings can do nothing but blink at the man. Magnus looks like he might pass out. Percy seems to be the only one capable of getting more information out of the stranger, but even he feels like his voice is stuck in his throat.

“You mean…” Percy stutters. “You’re—”

The screeching of brakes cuts Percy off. The guy looks up as the bus doors swish open, and he grimaces.

“Ah, looks like our time was cut short.” He shoots an apologetic look at the demigods. “It was nice to meet you all. You’ve done humanity proud. Keep up the great work!”

The words would have sounded incredibly shallow and unimportant coming from anyone else, but when this guy spoke them, Percy felt like he’d been applauded by the president of the United States—or, more accurately, by the prince of the universe.

The guy waves them goodbye and steps onto the bus. No one moves until the vehicle peels away, leaving them gaping at the empty bus stop.

“Was—” Magnus croaks, swallowing hard. “Was that really—”

Percy nods. “The son of God.”

Man, Percy couldn’t wait to tell Annabeth.

[anothergameofwickedgrace]

Okay I'm starting this post off with saying I do not tolerate discourse. I will block immediately. I am posting my own thoughts and opinions, not looking to debate. Just stop reading if you don't like it.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but it's still one I feel very strongly about .

I don't want Millie to keep the baby. She should abort it. They shouldn't have kids.

I know a lot of people like to fantasize about them having kids, but I fucking hate it. Why is it bad to have a happy couple so dearly in love that doesn't have or want kids? Why is that always invalidated in media?

I'm so very tired of every fucking time a woman gets pregnant in a show, she ends up keeping it. For once, can we please see someone choose to not have kids? As a person who has never wanted kids, it's so disheartening to see this play out like that time and time again. It makes me sad.

I also don't think she wants it. I think she's scared Moxxie does.

Think about it. She's the oldest of 5 kids (and a girl). She definitely grew up helping raise them. There's no way she wasn't parentified to some extent. A lot of people who grew up like that end up not wanting kids because they spent their own childhood being a 3rd parent.

She also doesn't seem the type to want them in general. Nothing about her makes me think she'd dream of or want to be a mother. It also puts a huge damper on the life she's currently happy living; she'd have to stop doing the job she loves. Everything would have to change.

Now on to Moxxie. I think she'd be right in worrying he'd want to keep it. He had a shitty family and having a chance to have a happy version of his own is probably appealing. He's super kind and responsible, and I think he'd make a great dad. I feel he'd be very excited about a baby.

But I don't think that'd make Millie happy. (Though I think she'd definitely feel pressured to keep it if Moxxie wanted it.) In the end, Moxxie would come around because his wife and her happiness matters more than a hypothetical child. That he's happy with their current life. That Millie is enough for him and he doesn't need a kid for their lives to be fulfilling and happy. That it's perfect the way it is.

(Also, people please figure out what you'd do in this kind of situation before getting married. You should both be on the same page from the start if it were to occur.)

[kikyoupdates]

Crushed Velvet ⭑˚🥀⭑ 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑐𝑎𝑘𝑒

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

Your parents are thrilled to have secured an engagement for you with the royal family. Your suitor, the crown prince, has agreed to be wed to you. It seems as though your entire future has been assured, so why is it that from this moment onward, your life starts to fall apart at the seams?

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[Name],

My parents have instructed me to invite you to the palace so that we can spend some time together. Please find the time to come meet me tomorrow. Failing to do so would not place you on good terms with my family.

Xeno.

You gaped down at the letter, absolutely dumfounded. It was easily the most dry, unpleasant personal message you had ever received. And what, was this supposed to be a threat? He was a prince, for crying out loud, and yet his manners were practically nonexistent.

“Look at this,” you scoffed, waving the letter in front of Ella’s face. “Do you see what I mean? This is how he speaks to me. If he’s going to act like this, of course I’m not particularly thrilled about our engagement.”

Ella’s eyes kept darting to and from the page. “Um… forgive me, my lady, but I’m not so sure I should be reading any sort of correspondence you have with the Crown Prince…”

“I’m letting you see it, so it’s fine. Don’t you agree that it’s ridiculous?”

“I-It’s really not in my place to comment,” she stammered.   

“Oh, come on. You can’t lie. He’s an asshole.”

“Miss…”

“Asshole,” you muttered, crumpling up the letter between your fingers. “He has no tact whatsoever. He doesn’t even try to pretend like he wants to see me. It’s just his parents forcing him to. And he’s clearly giving me no choice in the matter, otherwise the King and Queen will be upset with me. Such a prick.”

Poor Ella was at a loss for words. You loved your sweet little maid. She was one of your closest, most valued companions. You knew you shouldn’t be burdening her with all this, but every time you told yourself it wasn’t that bad and decided to give Xeno the benefit of the doubt, he went ahead and pulled something like this.

You stared down at the crumpled letter for a few moments, then eventually smoothed out the wrinkles with your hands. “Actually, I’m going to show this to my parents and see what they think of it. They’re so fond of kissing up to the royal family and acting as if they’re all saints. I wonder if this might change the impression they have.”

It didn’t, of course.

“He simply gets straight to the point,” your mother defended. “Prince Xeno must be very busy with all his duties. It’s understandable that he wouldn’t have much time to invest in writing his letters.”

“If anyone ever wrote to either of you this way, you would be furious.”

“We are in no place to be judging him,” your father eagerly piled on. “Remember, we are forever at the service of the King and Queen. Xeno may be a little curt, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a good person. You just don’t know him very well yet, that’s all.”

No matter what you said, no matter how Xeno acted around you or whatever evidence you provided, their opinion would never be swayed. All you could do was shake your head and sigh in defeat, the same way you always did. You were already dreading tomorrow.

Your mother patted your shoulder. “Don’t look so dejected. Why don’t you go into town for a bit before you meet with him tomorrow and pick out a nice gift? I’m sure he’ll be pleasantly surprised, and this is a good opportunity to commemorate your engagement as well.”

“But I don’t even know what he likes,” you protested. “I don’t even know if there are things he likes.”

“It’s the thought that counts. He’ll appreciate it no matter what.”

Right. Somehow, you highly doubted that. He’d probably scrunch up his nose and think that you were trying too hard to kiss up to him. Well, whatever. Maybe you could at least pick out some treats for yourself while you were in town.

With the exception of that horrible week you’d spent running all over the place to prepare your dress for the engagement party, it had been quite a while since you’d gone into town. It had just been day after day of dealing with visiting nobles and that recent debacle concerning your new tutor. Though you couldn’t exactly call this a break, per se, it would be nice to just walk around for a bit and take some time for yourself.

The following day, as per Xeno’s classless letter, you went into town by carriage along with a few servants. They pretty much insisted on following you everywhere, but they didn’t pester you or anything, so you were free to keep to your own devices.

At first you just walked around, enjoying the beautiful weather and the fresh air. After a while, it became abundantly clear that you had no particular goal in mind. You really had no clue what Xeno would appreciate as a gift. Food was probably the most logical decision. It was better than some random, permanent trinket that he probably wouldn’t even end up using. Also, if you were being honest, you were getting kind of hungry anyways.

You turned towards one of your servants. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in town. Have any new shops opened up recently? I was thinking of picking out something nice to eat for when I visit the Prince.”

“I haven’t heard of anything in particular, my lady. Would you like us to ask around?”

“Hm, I guess that wouldn’t hurt. We’ve still got quite a bit of time, so how about we split up? You can all go around and report back to me if you hear about anything good.”

He gave you a worried look. “Oh, but… your father told us to stay right by your side and make sure nothing happened to you.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “Then two of you can go ask around, and one of you can stay with me while I browse shops and restaurants on my own. How does that sound?”

They nodded, hastily deciding who would stay and who would go. You would have honestly preferred to just make a day out of this, perusing through town and enjoying the sunshine. Still, now that you were already here, you may as well get what you’d come for.

Something Xeno would enjoy…

You didn’t have the faintest idea. His icy demeanor did a pretty good job of shutting you out and keeping you fully in the dark. He was so dry and rough around the edges. Also bitter. He was definitely bitter. Put all those things together and you got…

“What’s dry, has a rough texture, and also tastes bitter?” you asked the servant.

“I-I beg your pardon? That doesn’t sound like it would be all that palatable…”

He was probably right about that. The closest thing that fit your impression of Xeno was burnt vegetables, and you got the sense that he would probably kick you out of the palace if you brought something like that as a gift.

Just like that, you were back to square one, but you didn’t mind the challenge. It actually gave you the opportunity to find all kinds of new, tasty food—mostly for yourself. If your parents had given you a larger sum to spend, you might have bought a dish from just about every restaurant you stepped into.

“I’m still having trouble deciding,” you sighed. “No matter where I look, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s just going to hate whatever I bring…”

“That’s not true, my lady. He will love it, I’m sure.”

Everyone seemed so eager to say that. Obviously, they were just trying to be encouraging, but they also clearly didn’t know what Xeno was like. Perhaps you were being a bit too ambitious, trying to stumble upon some extravagant dish that you were hoping he’d never eaten before. Yeah. That was probably unrealistic. It might just be better to stick to something simple instead.

You looked towards the other end of the street, where clusters of people were coming out of a store carrying small boxes in their arms. It was a store you didn’t recognize, but based on all the customers that seemed to be going in and out the doors, it seemed like the business was thriving.

“Just a moment,” you said. “I’m going to go take a look.”

“Ah, Lady [Name]! Where should I wait—?”

The sound of his voice soon became lost in the crowd. You cut through the large group of people and stepped through the doors, curious to find out what had everyone so excited. The second you walked inside, you were greeted with a sweet aroma, the scent of baked bread, fresh fruit, and lots and lots of sugar.

It was a pastry store. The interior was decorated with soft, pastel colors that complimented the countless delicious treats on display. You could feel your mouth watering already. Everything looked so good. You could easily spend a whole day here sampling out all kinds of desserts, but you got the feeling that Xeno wouldn’t much care for any of this. It was probably a waste of time.

You were about to turn around and leave, but the woman behind the counter called out to you in a cheery voice.

“Welcome,” she smiled. “Can I help you find anything in particular?”

“Oh, um… I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m—”

“Ah!” she suddenly exclaimed. “You are… pardon me, but aren’t you Lady [Name]? I thought I recognized you from somewhere. Our shop once catered the desserts for a tea party hosted at your manor.”

You smiled and nodded, feeling a bit guilty that you didn’t recognize her at all. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry. I must not have recognized the name of the store. My mother organizes most of those events, so I didn't realize who you were. But it seems as if she made a good decision to hire you back then, just based on how popular your store is.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I only saw you the one time, in passing. And yes, we were a relatively small business back then, but we’ve since made a bit of a name for ourselves, I suppose. Oh, and I heard the news! You’re engaged to Prince Xeno now, are you not?”

“Y-Yes.”

“That’s amazing!” she beamed, clasping her hands together. “You have my congratulations. I hope the two of you are very happy together.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, I know. To celebrate the occasion, how about I let you have some desserts on the house?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” you shook your head. “I very much appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you out. I probably need to be on my way regardless. I’ve been looking for something to eat to bring the Prince, but I still have no clue what he’d enjoy. I should keep on searching.”

Her smile just got even wider. “Well, that’s perfect. It just so happens that Prince Xeno loves our strawberry shortcakes. Why don’t I send you off with a box of them?”

“He loves… strawberry shortcake?”

You couldn’t help but wonder if she was messing with you. Someone as cold and stuck-up as Xeno, liking something as fluffy as strawberry shortcake? While it was possible that he had a sweet tooth, the image was just so jarring that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it.

“I’m sure it must seem out of character for him,” she chuckled. “But I can promise you that he really does enjoy them. He likely has all sort of talented chefs around the palace to whip up his favorite desserts for him, but every now and then we still get a bulk order to deliver to him. Especially for any large gatherings they hold; we always get rather busy around those times.”

“Well, you probably know better than I do,” you acknowledged. “I’ll take a few shortcakes, in that case.”

“Excellent! Like I said, they’re on the house.”

“No, no, I’ll pay.”

“Please, I insist.”

You tried to protest further, but she was already loading several pastries into a box for you. She carefully folded the edges in and patted everything in place, then handed it to you with a bright smile.

“Here you are. I promise you he’ll enjoy them.”

“Thank you very much,” you smiled appreciatively. “I was really at a loss as to what to bring over.”

“It’s my pleasure. With time, I’m sure you’ll discover all his preferences.” She then cleared her throat, suddenly looking a tad nervous. “Speaking of… have you been finding it difficult being around the Prince? You know, because of his condition…?”

“Condition?”

She must’ve realized she’d said too much, because she’d all but clamped her palms over her mouth. “I-I apologize!” she stammered out. “I’m not even sure what I was trying to say… please, ignore my rambling. I hope you enjoy your time together!”

You flashed her a skeptical look, but she probably wouldn’t have explained, even if you stayed around to pester her. You’d already spent quite a bit of time in town. If you didn’t hurry up and leave soon, you would end up being late, and you got the feeling Xeno would never let you live that down.

“Very well. Thank you again for the pastries. Have a nice day.”

Equipped with your box of strawberry shortcakes, you stepped outside, feeling a lot more confident than earlier. You had to push your way through the crowds again—it was exceptionally busy this time of day—and you traced your steps back to regroup with your servant.

Only to realize that he was nowhere to be found.

I thought he was going to wait? Perhaps I ran off too quickly.

You sighed. This complicated things somewhat. It wasn’t anything too major; you could just head back to where you’d left the carriage and you were sure they’d naturally make their way over as well. Walking with the large box in your arms was slightly awkward, and you really wished that one of the servants was here to help you. The midday sun was beating down much more vigorously than before, burning your cheeks and making you squint through the rays.

Momentarily blinded by the brightness, you accidentally walked straight into someone, nearly dropping the box to the ground.

“Shit!” you cursed out. “That was close…”

“Watch where you’re going, goddammit!”

The young man you’d just bumped into was glaring you down. He had pretty mint-green eyes framed by long lashes, and turquoise colored hair that cascaded down the sides of his face. He was also wearing a familiar white uniform—the official garb of Aeolia’s knights.

You pressed your lips together. “That’s rather rude. I apologize, but the sun had gotten in my eyes and I couldn’t quite see for a moment. There’s no need to yell at me. And why should I be the only one to watch where I’m going? You didn’t notice me either. My pastries might have gotten crushed.”

“Right, your pastries,” the man reiterated sarcastically. “That would have been a tragedy.”

“Well, seeing as these pastries are a gift for my fiancé, Prince Xeno, your statement is really not that much of an exaggeration.”

That sure got a reaction out of him. You were usually loath to play the “prince’s betrothed” card, but it did a pretty good job of shutting people up.

“Oh,” he said simply, his eyes slowly widening. “Oh. You are… the prince’s—”

“Future wife, yes.”

All of a sudden, he looked like a guilty puppy. “I-I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize who you were. Lady [Name], correct? Please forgive my rudeness. I’ve been known to get irritated a little too quickly…”

“It’s funny how your tone changed the second you knew who I was,” you snorted.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he mumbled shamefully. “I was already in a bad mood to start, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have yelled at anyone like that, let alone you. Will you accept my apology?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange to ask for my forgiveness when you haven’t even introduced yourself?”

His cheeks darkened from embarrassment. “Ah… yes. My name is Keith. Keith Lybell. I apologize again for my rude reaction, Lady [Name].”

“It’s fine,” you chuckled. “I wasn’t really all that upset anyways. But I appreciate you owning up to your mistake.”

“Thank you for your understanding. Um, that box looks quite heavy,” he remarked. “Is there no one to help you carry it?”

“I got separated from my servants earlier. I’m heading to my carriage now, so that I can get to the palace in time for my meeting with the Prince.”

“I could carry it for you,” he offered. “And escort you to your carriage so you aren’t walking all alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s the least I could do. I am still a protector of the people, after all. This much is nothing.”

You, for one, couldn’t wait to let go of that bulky box, and you handed it over to Keith gratefully. Perhaps he really was only kissing up to you, but you appreciated the help. And maybe you’d just caught him in a bad mood. Knights were, for the most part, hardworking selfless people. They put their lives on the line for the greater good.  

Keith kept glancing over at you, a little unsure what to say. “If you don’t mind me asking… what is in this box?”

“Strawberry shortcake.”

“Eh?”

“Yes. Apparently the Prince is fond of it.”

“Huh.” He scrunched up his nose. “I can’t really picture that.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” you mused. “I personally assumed he hated anything and everything, just based on how he acted.”

“Is it okay for you to be saying those things?”

You flashed him a teasing look. “Why? Are you going to tell on me?”

“N-No,” he blushed. “Of course not.”

“Then we’re fine. Besides, if he ends up not liking these, that just means there’s more for me. Oh,” you blinked. “My carriage is right over there. You can hand me the box back now.”

Keith placed the box back in your hands, just in time for a familiar squeal to pierce through the air.

“My lady!” one of your servants panted as he ran over, looking absolutely traumatized. “I-I’m so sorry! You just ran off so quickly, I lost sight of you in the crowd. I tried following after you, but I wasn’t sure which store you’d gone into, and—and—”

“Relax,” you chuckled, patting his head. “I’m fine. This nice knight helped walk me over. Nothing happened.”

Keith quirked a brow. “I’m nice?”

“You aren’t?”

“Uh… maybe. No one’s ever called me that before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” With the help of your servant, you stepped up into the carriage, placing the box of shortcakes on your lap. “Thank you, Keith,” you smiled. “And I’m sorry again for bumping into you. I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”

Keith looked like he wanted to say something, but the carriage door closed, and he clamped his lips shut, offering a timid wave instead.

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[zippidi-dooda]

You smiled, reminiscing as you watched the stoic male scribble away at his desk. He dipped the nib into the dark jar, each swirl of the pen trailed by shimmering ink. His fingers were never dotted with mess and sleeves pristine.

For how many pages you'd seen, lines neat with dotted eyes and crossed 't's, his tilts and formalities were ever familiar.

You couldn't even keep track of how many you'd recieved.

But you did remember adoring them.

"Hey, Rollo? When am I getting my next note?"

"What?" He raised a brow, turning over his shoulder to look at you.

You padded across the wooden floorboards, placing your hands over the back of his seat.

"A letter. You never responded to my last one."

He set his pen down, shifting to better face you. "What's the need? Anything that needs saying can be done in person now that we're in the same house."

"Well, yeah," you sighed, "but you enjoy them don't you? No one really sends letters nowadays, it feels romantic."

An attempt to cover his blushing face was stopped by your hand on his.

"... it was simply for ease. Hand writing keeps one enriched. Besides it's safer." He turned back to the table. "Your meal's been prepared in the kitchen. If you favor something else, tell me, I'll only be a minute."

Your eyes watched him for moment, tracing the creases in his robes, the rare stray strands out place in his silvery hair, the light hitting him just right to envelop him in a warm glow.

Then you leaned forward.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, nose nuzzling into the soft heat between his chin and neck.

To say he was caught off guard would be an understatement. He practically jumped at your intrusion, tired eyes snapping down to you.

"What are you doing!"

You chuckled nuzzling deeper, "you've been working for a while, let me keep you company."

An uncomfortable noise buzzed in his throat.

He looked at the wall in front of him, a slender hand pressing over where your arms crossed.

"N-no ... that's alright. I just need to sign this before sending it out."

"What's it for?"

"... my parents."

You perked up, eyes looking up at him. "Parents? How sweet. You know, I don't think you've mentioned them much before ...."

He reached for his pen again. "Yes, well ... I do not see them much. Though, they're happy I'm doing well and write me often. Honestly, they worry too much."

You positioned your head on his shoulder, scanning his letter.

"Will I meet them someday?"

He flushed once more, eyes squinting shut. "I'd rather not. They'll probably put up more of a fuss."

His eyes drifted to his ruby ring on your finger.

A pause.

Then he sighed again.

"Though I suppose now's the safest time to tell them about about our ... predicament ...."

You straightened up, smiling.

"I think we should invite them for dinner."

"What!" He pushed back his chair. "Y/N we cannot do things on a whim. There are cues and expectat-"

"Oh, it's your parents, Rollo. If they write you I'm sure they'll be happy to actually see you again."

"Y/N, there are times where-"

You cupped his cheeks, squishing them to form his lips into a pout. "I'd like our son, daughter, or whatever, to know at least your parents since they can't know mine. And I'd like to know the people who created this perfect gentleman in my hands."

His nose twitched as you squeezed his cheeks for emphasis.

He desperately wanted to roll his eyes and storm out to make his own point, but instead he breathed deeply and looked to the side.

It wasn't that he didn't want you to see his parents, if circumstances were different he would've rushed you to them the instant you'd eloped.

But he didn't want to see them.

It was the reason he was so far away in the first place.

He couldn't stand to see them after all that had happened.

And he was certain nothing good would come out of it.

They'd tell you about ...

Well, the less you knew about him or his family the better.

Besides, focusing on the two of you and what was to come was best right? Yes, best to avoid adding stress factors to your soon to be unprompted hormones.

He pried your hands from his face and stood, "We'll see about invitations."

"I knew you'd come around! And I think-"

He wrapped his free arm around you, hand on your hip as he guided you away from his papers, "yes, yes, let's worry about keeping you in safe condition, those plates aren't going to clear themselves."

You chuckled, leaning into his arms as he led the way.

You both knew he had nothing to be so fretful for, but his readiedness regarding your well-being just made you feel to warm inside.

You couldn't think of a single thing about him there was not to be fond of.

... but he could

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[hardyshoe]

Sonnenblumen - Chapter seven: Queen Anne's lace, for complexity.

Masterlist.

Also posted on AO3 - here

⚘⚘⚘

 You can feel every spring in your mattress underneath you where you are laying on your side. The light from the moon is coming in through the gap in your curtains but you don't move to close them. Late as it is, you know sleep will evade you tonight. The sunflower is watching you, you can't bring yourself to look at it. It is imprinted on your mind enough to taunt you anyway. 

 You can feel the green blue background rising on the flower, drawing a shadow over its head and beckoning it deeper into the haze. As for the flowers on the base, the darkness has swallowed them into the green. 

 It is not that you are changing your mind, there is nothing truly keeping you here anymore, it is that you cannot stop hoping. You are not a pessimist by heart and you cannot think of this in terms of giving up on him, that is now how it is. 

 Still, you know you cannot take down the sunflower and fold it into the pages of the scrapbook to come with you. 

 You turn onto your back and huff, lifting your head to let it drop back onto the pillow. You are closing your eyes, wriggling deeper into the duvet when you get one of those jarring snaps of a feeling like falling. Paired with a phantom calling of your name, it has your heart hammering. 

 You turn on your bedside light and sit up, curling over your knees as you draw them to your chest. The light stings your eyes and you screw them shut against the assault. You are just getting a hold of yourself when you hear it again. It is tainted with the same unsurety in its wake as the first but something about the voice makes you raise your head. 

 Then, “sunflower?”

 You're out of bed before you can temper yourself and stumble to the window, your foot catches on the corner of your rug and you nearly fly face first into the bedside table. The pink lamp is knocked to the floor in your struggle but you hardly notice. One hand pulls back a curtain while the other passes straight through the gap to splay on the glass, the warmth of your skin on the cold surface ringing an imprint of soft fog.

 Your eyes don't even need time to adjust, not when the moon has his hair lit in silver like molten mercury. 

 Your heart stops beating, so much so that you can feel it twinge when it starts thumping rapidly against your ribs again. Your pulse hammers in your neck, your wrists, even the pads of your thumbs feel as though they are throbbing. 

 Then you see that he is carrying something, a dark mass of familiar green wool. You wouldn't have been able to make it out from the way it hangs heavy over his arms, if it weren’t for the white-blond head poking out the top. 

 Your bedroom door slams as you fly out of it, it will wake your parents but you can’t stop to feel bad. They probably should be up. Nothing about this feels right or good.

 When you miss a step on your way down you have to shutter away memories of when you had last raced down these steps to meet Aegon, a bloody handkerchief in your hand. There is no light and warmth to greet you on the other side now, just a startling wall of cold when you open the door.

 “What is it?” The Mid-February dew feels like needles under your bare feet as it melts from frost on your skin, somehow the feeling only registers in the abstract, “What happened?”

 Aegon just stands there, letting you pull back the coat from Daeron’s face enough to see that he is asleep. There are blotchy pink tear streaks down his face and his tiny white eyelashes are clumped together with salt. The tip of his nose is bright pink, so are his ears. What really worries you though is the heat coming off of his forehead when you place the back of your hand over it. You know it is not just the difference between him and the night air. 

 “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” Aegon whispers. He is looking right at Daeron when you lift your head to him. 

 “What happened,” you repeat but it is like he can’t even hear you. He just repeats his admission of guilt again and again. 

 You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. When his eyes meet yours he jerks like he has been struck. You cannot focus on that right now, “Aegon, I need to know what happened.”

 You hear the back door rattle against the wall behind you and you are aware that your parents are calling out for you but you don't look away from Aegon. 

 “He has a fever, I don’t know what it is but he went to the matron and she said he was lying. He tried to call our mother again, just like last time…” white horror goes through you and you are pulling at the fabric of the coat before he can finish talking.

 You find Daeron’s hands in the tangle of wool. In the darkness, they look as though he has dipped them in thick black oil. 

 “Mum!” She is next to you in an instant, aghast when she looks down to the blood now on your fingers as well. “He’s not well. I don’t know what to do-”

 She senses the rising panic in your voice and shushes you gently. She then turns to the older of the brothers. “Aegon, can I?”

 She doesn’t leave much room for argument in the way she begins to peel Daeron from his brother’s hold but Aegon puts up no fight. As soon as your mother has Daeron in her arms, Aegon drops like a sack of potatoes, falling to his knees and dropping his head into his hands. 

 His shoulders are shaking so violently that you cannot tell if she is shivering or crying. 

 “I am going to take him in,” your mum says, hoisting Daeron up higher. She looks at Aegon on the floor and then to you, “I will have your dad make up the spare room.”

 You nod and watch her go back to the door, speaking in low tones with your dad who gives you a concerned look before going inside. 

 Alone with him, you can hear his heaving breaths. You realise that there is no bike anywhere on the lawn and your worry piques again. 

 “Did you walk-”

 “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for coming here. I just-” he curls further in on himself and sobs between sentences. “Matron left and he was so hurt and he just kept getting worse.”

 He looks at you and it punches the air right out of your lungs. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

 Maybe it is the look in his eyes or the way his sweat soaked shirt is clinging to his chest in a way that must sting with the biting wind, maybe it is just that it is the right thing to do, but you know you won’t turn him away. Really you know that at the root of it, it is because it is him. 

 “It’s okay,” you give him, unable to offer anything more. “Will you come inside? It’s too cold for you to be out here dressed like that.”

 He glances down at the thin blue shirt like he doesn’t recognise it. “It didn’t feel cold when I was running.”

 A shiver cracks his spine as you process what he has said and he pulls himself awkwardly off the floor. The knees of his jeans are dark with dew and you know there will be wicked grass stains there in the light. 

 You want to touch his shoulder, the side of his face, anything, but you also couldn't bear watching his move away from the gesture. 

 “Come inside, it helps no one if you get ill too from the cold,” you tell him, a weird feeling playing on you at the unfamiliarity of the way you do not know how to talk to him. You line your arms down your sides stiffly and walk back towards the house, relaxing just a bit when his footsteps start up behind yours. 

 Inside, your mum has Daeron on her lap while your dad wipes the blood from his hands with a cloth. The little boy is wrapped in a quilt and his head is resting heavily on your mum’s shoulder.

 They all turn when you appear in the doorway, your dad flicking between you and the presence behind you. 

 “He’s still asleep?” Aegon asks, voice small behind you.

 “It’s for the best,” your dad says, wincing when he looks back at the raw cuts on the unmoving little hands on his own. You can see his quiet rage in the stiffness of his shoulders as he works. 

 Aegon makes a sound and your mother nods you towards the kettle on the stove. She speaks like she might spook him if she is too loud or too fast. “While the fever breaks and we clean up his hands it is better that he stays asleep. He is going to be just fine, he needs rest, a warm bed and time.”

 You watch Aegon nod blankly, still staring at his little brother's blood on the flannel. My fault, you hear in the silence. 

 “They can share the spare bed,” your father says as you push a warp teacup into Aegon’s hands. “Show him where it is and give him a pair of my pyjamas. We will bring this one up when we have sorted out this mess and given him something for the fever.”

 “His name is Daeron,” you say, fiddling with your own cup in your hands while you wait for your parents to take it in before turning and leading the way to the upstairs of the flat. 

 The awareness of him behind you makes you feel almost as though you have forgotten to walk. It is like the inability to breathe normally when you think about it. You feel so watched despite knowing that his eyes are probably on the floor. 

 At the top of the stairs, you turn on the light and go to the linen cupboard. Every sensation is heightened, each movement feeling so much more important than it has any right to. You dig down the pile of towels for one that doesn’t feel so rough and well washed as the others. You tell yourself there is no reason for the action. 

 He doesn't move when you go into your parents room and take a pair of blue striped pyjamas from the bottom of your dad’s drawer. He is still just standing there when you emerge. You think he might be blinking at his own reflection in the tea but you don't stare for long enough to be sure.

 “Come on,” you say, taking him down the hall to the guest room. Your dad has gotten as far as putting out the sheets and laying them on the bed. Aegon doesn't even look around, he’s almost catatonic and it is making you worry more and more each second. 

 “I will go and turn on the hot water so you can wash, it will only take ten minutes or so to warm up.” 

 He nods, it's maddening. 

 “Aegon?” you might as well have been speaking underwater for all he hears of you. 

 You move to stand right in front of him and it's like he is looking through you. You try again, firmer this time, “Aegon.”

 You know you’re overstepping but you cannot think what else to do so, you brush his hair from his forehead with your hands very lightly. He finally looks at you. 

 “How is any of this your fault?”

 He shuffles back to sit weakly on the edge of the bed, you try not to take it as a rejection. He takes a gulp of tea that almost certainly burns his tongue and rubs his free hand over his face. “I used to pretend to be ill all the time, I was awful with it, but I just hated lessons so much that the infirmary didn’t seem so bad in comparison.”

 “That’s not-” but he isn’t finished.

 “Matron didn’t believe him because of me, thought he was a little liar as well. Aemond came and told me, told me it was all because of my own selfishness that she wouldn’t believe Daeron and-”

 He looks up to the ceiling and blinks before lowering his head to continue, you watch his jaw tick while he talks. “I went and shouted at her, told her to send him to the infirmary. I mean, he was burning up. He had this blotchy red thing on his neck and he was so weak.”

 He finishes the tea, bites the tip of his tongue as he winces. “She shouted back but I just kept going. She took her back and left, said she wouldn’t be seeing anyone after how she was treated, and left. Then I realised Daeron wasn’t there anymore.”

 Your hand is over your mouth and you instinctively want to cover your ears and hide from the next bit but you can’t, you’ve already seen his hands.

 “Aemond and I found him, we knew where he was going to be but,” he puts the empty teacup on the bed next to him, like he is afraid he will shatter it if he doesn’t, “the housemaster found him first.”

 You can hear how it pains him to say it, he has a hand on his throat like he is scratching for air. 

 “Then he sent Daeron to bed, told me I ought to stop influencing him into misbehaving if I wanted him to have a chance in life. I followed Daeron up the stairs and he couldn’t even make it to the first floor, he could hardly breath he was crying so hard. I put him in my coat and started running after he fell over for the second time. Aemond didn’t even try to stop me.”

 There is an electrical impulse skirting down your wrists, it pushes your hand towards his shoulder. He moves out the way so quickly he nearly falls off of the bed. “Please, don’t- I can’t bear it.”

 It stings so hard you have to blink back the hotness at your waterline. You push it down and step back, picking up his teacup from beside him. “None of that is your fault Aegon. You cannot be blamed for cruelty and immaturity on the parts of adults who should know better when all you did was try and help.”

 He goes to talk again but you just shake your head, “I can’t do this right now, you’re not in the right state of mind and neither am I. Go and get cleaned up then go to sleep, come and talk to me tomorrow if you really need me to explain to you that you did not cause any of this.”

 He goes back to staring at his hands. You're about to turn when he speaks again, “can you-”

 “He’s okay, I’ll make sure he is.” he nods and you leave him sitting on the end of the bed like Rodin’s Thinker.

 There is little evidence of blood and pain when you get back to the kitchen. Daeron’s hands are bandaged in white like mittens and he is still sleeping in your mother’s arms. 

 “How is he?” you ask, drawing their attention to you. You try your best to ignore the looks of concern they give you. You can feel exhaustion emanating from you and the wet hems of your pyjama trousers grow more uncomfortable by the minute. 

 “As well as to be expected,” your mother says, voice calm and even. She is brushing his fine white hair from his face with her fingers, your heart hurts. There is a bottle of Fenning’s fever mixture on the table next to a small glass of the clear liquid. “I need to wake him up so he can take this but I don’t want to frighten him.”

 “Let me do it,” you say, offering no explanation as to how the little boy knows you. In truth you don’t know if he will recognise you but you would rather try than risk him panicking in the unknown environment. 

 They exchange looks but your mum hands him over to you anyway. He is warm and heavy in your hold and you are comforted by the fact that they have wiped the remnants of tears from his cheeks. He makes a low whine when he is moved and shuffles around in the quilt. You squeeze his shoulder gently and say his name gently.

 It takes him a minute to blink his eyes open, staring owlishly at your father across the room. He frowns and tries to free one of his bandaged hands to wipe at his eye, the realisation of the sensation of material where there hadn't been before only serves to confuse him further.

 When he looks at you he seems to relax a little bit but still rakes his eyes across every feature on your face. When he speaks his voice is hoarse from crying, “Miss Sunflower?”

 You are sure you have misheard him, mouth falling open before shutting again quickly. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, falling over itself and scrambling to keep up. His face falls a bit and you shake yourself. “Hello Sweetheart.”

“Where’s Aegon?” The fact that he doesn’t seem to care that he is somewhere he has never been before startles you a bit.

 “He is upstairs. You're at my house.”

 “I know,” he says, yawning into the quilt, “Aegon said he was taking us here, he said you would help like last time.”

 You can feel your parents' eyes on you but you don’t look away from Daeron’s face.

 “That’s right,” you say, tucking him up tighter. You are not going to try and complicate things with a tired and poorly five year old, “I need you to drink this so the fever goes away.”

 He nods and accepts the glass when you bring it to his lips. He scrunches his face at the taste but drinks it all anyway, sticking out his tongue when he has finished it like he doesn’t want the flavour in his mouth anymore. 

 He is so sweet it hurts. He has the same eyes as Aegon, lilac with a ring of deeper purple on the outside of the iris. He looks remarkably like his older brother apart from his nose, his more upturned ever so slightly.

 The sound of the shower turning on shudders through the pipes and your dad excuses himself to go and make up the spare bed. Your mum gets up to dig in the cupboards for a hot water bottle and Daeron watches her sleepily. 

 “Is that your mama?” he asks in a tired whisper and your mum chuckles with her back turned. You tell him yes and he nods, taking it in.

 “Does she know my mama?” It is one of those bizarre questions that children ask, like all mothers must know each other somehow. It makes you smile. 

 “No sweetheart, she doesn’t.” His face falls again and you have to stop yourself from drawing another similarity between him and his brother. “Why do you ask?”

 “Because I want to talk to my mummy and tell her I want to go home,” he is red faced and you can tell he is on the brink of crying again. “I don’t like school, I want to stay home with Helaena.”

 You pull him to you to try and quell his tears but it only works a little. “I know it’s horrid but right now all you can do is sleep and tomorrow we can try and figure out a solution, okay?”

 He nods and winds a hand around the back of your neck. You mum takes the hot water bottle and disappears up the stairs. 

 “Do you want to go to bed now? You’re staying here with Aegon for the night.”

 He nods against your collar again and you struggle to your feet and walk up the stairs with him slowly. The bathroom door is still shut, mercifully and your mum has put the hot water bottle in the bed already. You lower him down next to it and tuck him in, heart panging when his arm tightens around your neck before letting go. 

 He watches you straighten the sheets through half lidded eyes but you can tell something is wrong with the way he shuffles his hands around the bed under the covers. You ask despite having a pretty good idea as to the problem, “what’s wrong?”

 “I don’t have Tessarion.” he pouts, lip quivering.

 “Is that what your teddy is called?” he nods and you think quickly. “He isn’t here but you can look after my teddy tonight if that would make you feel better?”

 He considers it for a moment before saying, in the smallest voice, “yes please.”

 You tell him you'll just be a moment and nip to fetch your worn little bear from your room. The lamp is still on where it lies on the floor and the curtains are pulled half open. You go for your bed where Rosy bear normally is before realising that she is not there.

 No, you know where she is. 

 Your turn to the stacked suitcases before making a decision, one that goes far beyond looking for a teddy, and open the largest of the three. It is a decision that feels more solid than it should. You know there is a finality in how you do not shut it again afterwards. 

 Daeron accepts Rosy, tucking the pink bear under his chin and closing his eyes. You give him a kiss on the forehead in a mirror of the last time you saw him and shut the door on the way out. 

 Your mum is waiting for you in your room when you go in, she takes one look at you and holds her arms out. You tumble into them and weep in great, hysterical sobs. She doesn’t say a word and neither do you, none need be said at all. She just holds you tighter when you hear the bathroom door open and the bedroom door shut a few seconds later. 

 When you have calmed a bit and she has replaited your hair for bed, she kisses you on the cheek. You feel so small. 

 “Follow your own advice, my girl,” she rights the light on the table and draws the curtains for you, “All of this is for tomorrow.”

 “I love you, mum.”

 She smiles and pats your cheek, there is a sad twinge at the side of her eyes. “I love you too.”

 Despite your fears, when she has gone, sleep comes easily. There is too much to think about to really think about any of it at all. 

⚘⚘⚘

 When you wake, you are not quick to rise. It is already nine but there is an anxiety that keeps you from leaving your room just yet. You brush your teeth in your bedroom sink and get back into bed, not to sleep, just to sit for a while with your thoughts. 

 It isn’t long before the silence starts to overwhelm. With the clarity of morning light and a lack of fatigue, the events of last night and the wee hours of the morning replay. Hot embarrassment runs through you as your brain catches again and again on him moving away from your touch. 

 You don’t know what to make of any of it, he was a wreck and what had happened was so awful that you cannot blame him for poor judgement but it still seems so strange to come here. It hurts to think of him almost as much as it hurts to look at him. 

 You had been doing such a good job at pushing him down, of putting the thoughts away until you left but now, looking at the opened suitcase across the room for you, it is almost frightening how far from that decision you feel. 

 A door clicks open down the hall and you sit up against your will, the footsteps approach and you watch the shadow of two feet dance in black spots under your door. When he knocks, it still makes you jump.

 “Come in,” you say. You know you have to get it over with at some point but the feeling of dread that creeps up your windpipe feels like it might kill a vital part of you. 

 He is still in your dads pyjamas and he is swimming in them, the hems fall heavily over his feet and you can hardly see his hands under the sleeves. He stares at you sitting in bed for a second before clearing his throat and stepping into the room properly. 

 The tension is so thick it feels humid on your skin. It is clear that neither of you know what to say. 

 He clears his throat again, shuffling his feet. “Daeron is still asleep. I take it that is your bear he has?”

 You nod, feeling so vulnerable all of a sudden. You push back the duvet so you are left sitting cross legged at the head, you gesture to the other end for him to sit even through the fear of him saying no. He doesn’t but he keeps firmly on his side of the wall of sheets in the middle. You cannot see his hands but you know he is fiddling with his nail beds. It feels like knowledge you no longer have the right to possess. 

 “I’m sorry for coming here,” he says, not looking at you. “I know it’s probably the last thing you wanted.”

 He is wrong but he also isn’t. To say that you had not wanted him to come back would be a lie but to say you wanted him to come back and sit across the room from you like a stilted stranger would also not be right. 

 You don’t say it’s okay, even though your instinct to pushes at your tongue. “I’m just glad we could help Daeron.”

 It feels cold to say it in such a way, one that ignores him completely but it is probably the right thing to say. 

 You can see in his spine when he sees the suitcases, the open one packed tight with almost everything you own. “You're leaving?”

 It feels mean and unfair for him to seem upset about it. “I was going to yes.”

 He ignores the tense of that sentence just as much as you do. “When?”

 “There is a train at eleven thirty today for Manchester…” You trail off and huff a weak laugh at the damning irony that he would show up last night of all nights. 

 He sits like he is warring with himself, shoulders stiff and taught. You turn your head to look out the window, trying to find anything at all to say. The light of the morning is crisp and blue, cold in appearance and feel. The dead trees outside burn white at the edges of their spindly branches where the light catches on them on its way to the ground. 

He breathes in sharply, almost a whistle, and you turn back to find him staring at the Sonnenblume. His eyes are wide and unblinking, his fists are clenching and unclenching. You aren’t breathing for caution of disturbing him. You don’t know what to do. 

 Your voice feels too loud in the silence. “Aegon-”

 “Why didn’t you write?” he asks suddenly, finally looking at you properly. 

 The words hardly process in your brain, you think he must be joking. “What do you-”

 He cuts you off again, speaking quickly like if he doesn't get it all out in the next minute he won’t be able to again. “I waited and waited, I was so sure you would. Then you didn’t and I kept thinking you might be holding off until you had something good to say or that you were busy.”

 You try to get a word in edgeways but he just barrels on, your confusion is mounting with your indignation. “But when the new year came and I still hadn’t heard from you I gave up hoping. I knew you would eventually realise but it just felt so sudden.”

 “I don’t understand.” you whisper.

 His eyes are bright and pleading when he looks at you, “Don’t ask me to spell it out please, you know what I mean.”

 “No, I don’t,” you cannot connect up the information he is giving you with what you had been thinking, it is too much to take in. You know for one thing though that you have to correct him. “Aegon, I did write to you.”

 He shakes his head and his arms curl around himself, “please,” is all he manages to say.

 “I wrote you a letter a week, sometimes two before I realised you weren’t going to respond. I sent the first one the day your train left and I didn’t stop even after I came to terms with the fact that if you were going to write, you would have already.”

 It is his turn for confusion, he shakes his head slowly. You can tell he isn’t letting himself believe you and you don’t have the capacity to reason with him. You get up and crouch to dig under your bed, hands easily finding the wrapped parcel you had shoved to the back weeks ago. You thrust it into his hold and he takes it but only holds, nothing more. “What?”

 “It’s the present I bought you for Christmas. I got it in the first week of the holidays and I was going to give it to you when you came back.”

 He still doesn’t unwrap it, looking up and down between the parcel in his hands and you where you are standing in front of him.

 “Look, I don't know what’s happened but-”

 “Aemond,” he says, drawing a breath like a gasp, eyes flashing open again.

 “Aemond?” you echo in question. 

 He stands quickly, the present falling onto the bed next to where he had been. He has a hand over his mouth and the other in his hair. “He knew.”

 He sees the bewilderment on your face at his vagueness and stumbles to elaborate, “About you and about me coming here. He found me sneaking back in one night and he told me how little he approved of ‘my little excursions’.”

 His index and pointer fingers wag in the air as punctuation. “I told him about you and he…well, he wasn’t pleased.”

 You would be offended if you cared about the opinion of Aemond Targaryen. As it stands he is just a sixteen year old boy. One who you are gathering might be responsible for quite a bit of hurt. 

 “So, you think he did something?”

 “I think he took the letters. He was acting particularly…” Aegon waves his hands indistinctly, you don’t know what he means but you suppose it must be something he cannot convey in words.

 “Would he really do that?”

 Aegon huffs a laugh without humour, “You don’t know him. There is an awful lot my brother would do if he felt the means justified the ends.”

 That attests to something you won’t ask about now but, someday. 

 He is looking at you, face bare and expressionless in a way that screams of vulnerability. “You really sent me letters?”

 You nod, relief so palpable it burns rolls off of you. “Of course I did.”

 He smiles and it feels precious to look at. However, there is one last thing you need to know.

 “Why didn’t you write though?”

 His smile turns self deprecating and something in you promises that this will be one of the last times you see that look on his face. “I was waiting for you, I was…scared. Then when I didn’t hear from you I-”

 He coughs and looks away. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

 You realise then, that for every misery you suffered he has suffered just the same. Aemond joins his mother and Otto in the shadow prison of faceless names. 

 “Aegon, I waited for the postman every single day. Even when I knew he had nothing for me.” his eyes haven’t left yours. Gravity feels stronger in your little room. 

 “Fuck, he nearly ruined everything. I never should have said anything this is all my-”

 You cut him off, knowing exactly where he is going, “I won’t hear it, don’t say that, don’t lie. You must know it isn’t true.”

 For the first time, you notice the distance between him and yourself now you are both standing. Only a metre or so, just a few steps. It feels much further than it looks. 

 He blinks and a single tear drops heavily from his eye, catching on his cheek and leaving a glossy, shining strip on his pale skin. His cheekbones are lit in pink and the cold morning light is catching on his white lashes and hair. He looks so beautiful. 

 “Please,” he says and you nod. Whatever he is asking for you are willing to give, it is already his anyway. 

 He surges forward, all space forgotten, and takes your face in his hands. It is so quick yet you feel it echoing in slow motion, the feel of his warmth against you again, his fingertips brushing into the hair behind your ears, the way he kisses you. 

 Bright technicolour bursts behind your eyes and you gasp at the power of it. 

 He hums like he knows what you mean without you needing to say it. You think there is a good chance he might know exactly. 

 When he pulls back to look at you, he is beaming and you can feel it in your blood. You did not think you would ever see such a sight again. It's downright rapturous. 

 “Fuck, sunflower. My sunflower,” he kisses you again, “I missed you so much I thought it might kill me.”

 He wraps you in himself, arms tight around your back, one hand burying in your hair where it has come loose from its plait and the other pressing its fingers between the gaps in your ribs. Every sense of yours is consumed by him.  

 “Would you think me an awful person if I said I wanted many horrible things to happen to your brother?” Your voice is thick against his chest, you're sure you must feel how his shirt is soaking through against his hot skin from where it pressed against your eyes. 

 His laughter drips like molten silver down your spine. “It would make me a hypocrite if I did.”

 The pair of you remain like that for some time, relishing in the unbound feeling of each other’s hold. Reality drips back into focus slowly and it lacks the commanding power of clarity that it usually holds, made frail and unreal by giddiness and relief. 

 It is the call of your mother from downstairs that draws you reluctantly away from him, not before spinning you in a circle by the hands. 

 He pulls you out your bedroom door, only relinquishing your hand to let you put your dressing gown over your yellow striped pyjamas. When you have tightened the belt you look at him, find him already watching you. “You are the loveliest thing I have ever known.”

 You would disagree, in your old nightclothes and rough and messy hair you must look a right state, but the sight of him in the same position lights your nerves with affection. 

 As if overcome, he kisses you on the forehead before laughing so brightly that you think the sound may play in your mind until the end of days. He pulls you from the door just as your mother shouts again. 

 “Wait, wait,” you say quickly, he turns to you expectantly. “Let me go and explain this to my parents, they don’t know exactly but they have been here with me for the last month and a half.”

 He winces and nods, squeezing your hand. “I’ll go and check on Daeron, I’ll come down in five?”

 “Five is good,” and because you can, you kiss him once more. 

 Your arms stretch like a bridge between you and him, pulling taut before you let go and dip down the stairs. 

 The twin looks of concern on your parents' faces morph into shocked bewilderment when you walk in. Despite your effort, you can still feel a grin pulling at your lips. 

 Hesitance mars your mothers tone, “Are you alright?”

 “I was wrong mum, I was so wrong.”

 She tilts her head forward and puts down her teacup on the table. Your dad speaks, “We might need a little more than that to understand why you’ve gone from the picture of misery to about as happy as we have ever seen you.”

 “I was not the picture of misery!” you object, voice shrill with affront. Two sets of brows raise and you narrow your eyes between them. 

 “I feel that may be slightly beside the point,” your mum says, voice leading.

 “He didn’t get my letters, not one of them. His brother took them away and he had no idea. He thought I didn’t want to talk to him!”

 “Daeron? Why would he do that, he’s only little.” your mum asks and you can tell you are only confusing them further with how little you have actually explained of Aegon’s life. It just hadn’t felt like your place to divulge and then speaking about him had become rather difficult altogether. 

 “No, he has another brother, Aemond. He’s sixteen, goes to the school as well. I think he might be altogether quite unpleasant.” 

 Your father’s fingers are working at his temples, “I see.” but you think he might not until he has had some digestion time. “So, Aegon is no longer persona non grata?”

 “Not at all,” you say, jolly and warm.

“And you’re okay?” your mum asks, that same tone of voice she had used last night when asking if you were sure if you wanted to go. How long ago that feels now. 

 “I’m okay,” and it is, for the first time in quite a while, the truth. 

⚘⚘⚘

 Aegon does now come down alone, he has a still sleepy Daeron on his back who is clutching your Rosy Bear against his brother’s neck. He looks better than he did yesterday, no longer flushed with fever but still clearly not a hundred percent. That will take time. 

 He swings his brother round himself gently in what looks to be a practised move, depositing the bleary eyed boy on a free chair. Daeron waves at you with a heavy arm and a bandaged hand . You wave back and smile.

 Your mum gets up to fuss around him, sticking a thermometer under his tongue and fixing him another little glass of the clear fever medicine which he looks at with narrowed eyes. The effect is diminished by the funny way his lips pull around the glass stick in his mouth. 

He drinks the glass, pulling just as much of a face as he did the first time while your mum appraises the thermometer. “Much better, still high but not worryingly so.”

 Aegon breathes a sigh, “I can’t thank you enough for helping him.”

 Your father waves a hand like it is nothing and keeps eating his breakfast. 

 “What will happen with the school now?” Your mum asks.

 “Oh, I will be suspended I expect,” he is so flippant but you can tell that he really could not care less this time. “I haven’t exactly been on my best behaviour since the hols.”

 Daeron giggles, it startles you all to see him so perky. You raise an eyebrow at the little boy and he just laughs harder, Aegon looks a little sheepish when you turn your gaze to him. 

 “Well, I may have gotten up to some…unwise things here or there.”

 “He put pants on St. Oswald’s head!” Daeron burst out, kicking his feet where they dangle from his chair. 

 “What?” you ask a very red faced Aegon. 

 “He’s the school’s saint, we have a statue of him in the small courtyard which most of the lesson buildings overlook.” He has a hand on the back of his neck, “I got told off for not paying attention in chapel, Father Harrison said I was disrespecting him and gave me a week of written detentions. So I went out during morning lessons and…well,” he gestures to Daeron who is still laughing.

 To both yours and Aegon’s surprise, you hear your father chuckling low across the table. Daeron thinks it’s brilliant and claps happily. Your mum holds a hand over her mouth and is looking pointedly out the window. 

 It is such a bizarre atmosphere, time feels unreal and you have a lightness under your skin like you might lift right off the ground.

 Aegon huffs a slightly embarrassed laugh and you smile at him, head shaking in disbelief. “Anyway, that was the last incident and I have been on final warning since then.”

 “And what of Daeron? I cannot say I want him going back until those hands are better. I have little faith in your matron after last night.” you mother has a stern concern in her voice, you know she has been infected with the same irrevocable care for the two brothers as you have.

 “I am not sure, I expect Aemond will telephone our mother and have her tidy it up for him somehow. I am a lost cause but he isn’t.” 

 “Well,” your father says, “you’re welcome here in the meantime as long as it won’t get you into worse trouble.”

 Aegon shrugs, “call it starting my suspension early. Thank you for your hospitality.”

 “You’ll have to pull your weight,” comes the humoured reply of your dad.

 “Can I pour drinks?” He says, sitting forward in his seat, seemingly greatly excited by the idea. You smile at him warmly. Fear and uncertainty of the consequences of his actions pushed aside in the face of the contentment that washes over you. 

 You father gives him a relenting look and Aegon drums his fingers on the back of your hand with glee. It all feels too easy, too good, but you cannot be bothered to sit and wait for another shoe to drop when you are so happy.

 Maybe the universe won’t agree with you but, you think, perhaps selfishly, that you have earned just a bit of happiness. 

⚘⚘⚘

Hello again my lovely readers!

I hope this chapter makes up for the misery caused by the last. Sorry again for doing that to you all, thank you for sticking with me despite the angst. This one was both hard and easy to write, I am sure you can understand why. Do let me know what you think! All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

@neithriddle

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

December 15 - Desk | Jegulus | word count: 852 | @taylorswiftmicrofic

Across from Sirius’ bedroom, there is another door. One that Sirius had forbidden anybody from entering when he had inhabited the house. Then, with the stress of war and Voldemort bearing down on his shoulders, Harry hadn’t been too concerned. But now, with only ghosts of what could have been haunting this dreaded house, he finds his curiosity piqued.

Distantly, he wonders if he should firecall Ron and Hermione over to investigate with him—Regulus was a Death Eater, even if he did end up defecting. This room could contain any number of dark curses or objects, probably why Sirius had forbidden anybody from entering his brother’s room. However, there is a nagging feeling in his gut that makes him open the door alone.

The room is coated in layers of dust, even with the cleaning charms the house once had, making it clear the room had fallen into disuse years ago. There are footsteps leading a couple of feet into the room before they stop and turn back for the door again. Other than that, there are no signs the room has been touched since the younger Black died. If Sirius hated his brother even half as much as he spouted, then why preserve his room like he is waiting for him to return to it?

Slowly, Harry shuffles into the room, only standing where the old footsteps had. Everything is neat and orderly. The bed is made and free of wrinkles; there is a dusty stack of classics on the bedside table; the doors of the armoire are closed fully, no clothes sticking out the edges; there is a quill standing in an ink pot on the desk, a sheet of parchment beside it, waiting for its author to return and finish.

Two strides take him from where the footsteps stopped to the desk. Brushing away the dust, Harry reads the looping script on the page. It’s a poem. A dark and morbid poem—something about an ocean in the lungs and a porcelain mask fused to one’s skin—but hauntingly beautiful all the same.

He’s about to turn away, when something else catches his eye. The top of the desk has an inlay, which appears to have been removed at some point, with a piece of parchment now sticking out the edge. Carefully, Harry lifts the edge of the inlay, revealing there is indeed a hidden inner compartment. Stacked inside, there are dozens upon dozens of letters, all addressed to Regulus. A Black.

They all appear to be personal letters—and they must be such if they are hidden away from prying eyes—so Harry goes to place the top of the desk back, when something else catches his eye. A name signed at the top of one of these papers. James F. Potter.

As far as Sirius and Remus made it seem, his father hadn’t talked with Regulus much, so why does Regulus have a hidden compartment full of letters from him?

Mi corazón,

I know you said it was too risky to send letters, but I can’t wait until September to talk to you again. And I know you are probably screaming at me in your head right now, but risk taking is half my charm, don’t you think?

Anyway, my parents and I went to a muggle museum yesterday, and I saw this painting I’m sure you would love. You might have heard of him already, Ivan Kostantovich or something like that. Either way, he has all these paintings of the ocean, though this one I think you would enjoy the most. I enclosed a picture I took of it, but you have to go see it yourself.

You would probably have something profound to say about it. Like the beauty of water and how he managed to capture it. All I can say, is that it reminds me of your eyes. Most of the time, they are dark like a storm. But sometimes, you can see a glimmer of blue in there, like hope is on the horizon. I think that’s what the painting means, at least, to me. This painting is you.

I’ve missed your poems—I’ve been rereading the ones I have, but it isn’t the same. If you feel comfortable, maybe send some back with Owliver?

I’ll be eagerly patiently waiting for your response. Love, Jamie.

Harry is surprised he gets to the end of the letter before his arms give out under him and the letter falls back to join the rest. Dozens upon dozens of letters, all of them in the same half cursive half script handwriting he now knows belongs to his father. Who apparently was conversing with Sirius’ little brother in secret?

While it might be an invasion of Regulus’ privacy, these letters were sent by his father. He hardly has anything from his father, and knows even less. These letters could be a glimpse into the kind of person his father had been before Voldemort so carelessly killed him. So, Harry takes the letters with a mental promise to return them in the same condition he found them.

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 14

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Jazz dismissed herself from the rest of the group, fingers tightening on the strap of the bag on her shoulder. Jason's eyes trailed after her as she made her escape from the group, concerned.

"So, how about we get to that shooting competition that we shelved earlier this week?" Danny asks Jason and Ellie.

"Hell yeah, that sounds awesome, I've been practicing with Dante's help!" Ellie exclaimed. "We should probably change first though, last one to the training grounds has to give Cujo a bath in his huge form!" With that she sped down the halls towards the family residence halls.

"Well you heard her, you can navigate the castle enough to get there yourself right?"

"Yeah I can figure it out, you got some guns I can use though?" Jason asked.

Danny grinned, though there was something sad in his eyes. "Yeah, our parents were inventors and until they realized that ghosts aren't inherently evil they made weapons. I'll show you when we get there, see ya in a bit." He vanished from sight, presumably to go change.

Jason jogged through the castle, resigning himself to losing the race considering the two he was racing could fly at high speeds. He changed into his Hood gear and jogged his way to the training ground where it looked like Ellie and Danny were in a snark-off with each other by the targets.

Danny noticed his first and flagged him down. He led him to a building next to the targets and stepping inside Jason had to tuck in the back of his mind that the parents of the Royal family were mad scientists who saw the aesthetics of 1950's sci-fi and stuck with it. Gleaming chrome with green accents shone from the displays on the walls and from the display cases throughout the room. There were bazookas, sniper rifles, hand guns, a cat-o-nine-tails, and a vacuum all along the walls. In the display cases were tubes of lipstick, bracelets, small rods, grenades etc.

"What's with the lipstick?" he asked Danny.

"Oh, they're lasers. Same with the bracelets. This rod extends into a quarterstaff, this rod has a taser at either end. These grenades form a small portal to a random point in the Realms, these ones stun most ecto-entities." As Danny kept going on about what everything in here does, he would add in little anecdotes about how strong each weapon hits a ghost and it was starting to set Jason on edge.

"How often have you gotten hit with these?" Jason asks levelly.

Danny just shrugged. "Honestly not all that often outside of training, my dad was a bad shot and I mostly managed to dodge my mom. Honestly Jazz is the one who hit me the most when she was still learning combat. She also caught me in the Thermos many, many times." He shivered at the memory.

"Excuse me, thermos?" His previous rage was knocked away at the ridiculousness of the statement.

"Oh yeah, when we were still on Earth I had to capture the ghosts and put them back into the Realms. My parents would build things out of whatever we had when their grants started to run out and so they made the thermos as a capturing device. It didn't work at first, I think it needed more ectoplasm than they had access to because it worked after I charged it with energy. When I found out Jazz knew about me being part-ghost, she ended up trying to join us in taking out the ghosts. It...did not go too well." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "There was a lot of miscommunication, she wasn't listening to us even though we had experience, and we weren't listening to her thoughts on what a specific ghost was up to. She caught me six times that first night I think." He laughed a little. "Eventually we got on the same page and she started training and actually listening to us and we all became stronger for it."

Jason nodded along to the story, glad for more information on the dynamics of the family he's technically at the mercy of right now. He gestured to a pair of pistols on the wall. "Let's get this competition underway, huh?"

Danny smiled at him. "Yeah, let's get to that."

"About time you guys came out here. Let's do this!" Ellie exclaimed when they exited the building. Now that Jason had time to look, he noticed that Ellie was dressed like you would imagine a nomad during the apocalypse would look. She had jeans covered in band patches and other patches and embroidery. She wore battle vest covered in more patches and pins with spikes on the shoulders and a breastplate with the same D-shaped logo Danny had etched into the front of it messily. She had fabric scraps wrapped around her arms under armguards and steel capped boots. Her fingerless gloves also had metal spikes on the knuckles. She also had a pair of aviation goggles over her eyes.

"Well now I definitely need to introduce you to Kon. He's also a superpowered clone who appreciates the Punk culture."

"Really? Hell yeah, that sounds awesome. Hopefully we find your dimension soon then!" They all lined up at the targets. "Now let's see what you can do Lover Boy." She smirked at him.

Jason did his best to not blush. "I'm not gonna push my feelings at your sister. Plus, we barely know each other." He readied himself to shoot, and the competition was off. They all shot true for the short range targets and moved to larger ranges. Ellie misjudged the power on her blast and blew the target apart and Danny sneezed when he fired. Jason was getting used to the fact there was no recoil on these guns as they were energy pistols, but quickly adapted. Once they got bored of stationary targets they moved to skeet shooting and they ended up playing around for a few hours at that before the guns ran out of charge and the two ghosts were starting to get tired.

They all went and changed for dinner where they met Jazz again. She was faintly glowing yellow, her eyes had more flecks of golden light swirling in them and the tips of her hair seemed to be blowing in an unseen breeze. Danny didn't seem to be bothered by the change and took his seat at her right, Ellie next to him, though she looked a bit concerned. Jason took his seat at Jazz's left and Danny began chattering away at Jazz about their afternoon.

"Jason's a pro with the pistols, we'll have to test him against you sometime and see who's better." Danny grinned, all teeth and a spark in his eye. "You're training tomorrow right? You two should spar!"

Jazz and Jason looked at each other and caught each other's eye. After a moment they both turned appraising the other, sizing up their opponent. Jazz grinned. "I think that can be arranged. I do have a meeting with some of the yeti scholars looking into the binding in the afternoon, but my morning will be training yes." She held out her hand to shake Jason's. "Do we have an accord?"

Jason grinned back and clasped her hand, giving it a firm shake. "I can't wait."

[silversodas]

What Happened Between Crimson and Moxxie’s Mom?

The flash back Moxxie had paints an interesting story, and it also gives Crimson a more interesting motive then “because he’s an asshole” the first thing I noticed is that he is definitely jealous of Moxxie

Moxxie can’t cut his stake on his own so Mama cuts it for him

Crimson has this odd tension about him, which could be read as him being annoyed that Moxxie couldn’t cut his own food, but this tension is held inward it’s not projected out to Moxxie, which is why Moxxie doesn’t even notice.

He is glaring at Moxxie’s mom but the tension is still held inward, showing he is conflicted about something.

People have mentioned that him getting angry at her pulling away from this is a sign of aggression and it is, but it’s also interesting that the initiation of the touch was not, it’s almost timid, it’s careful. All this together gives the impression that Crimson is jealous of the affection she shows Moxxie and he wants her to want to give that to him and she turns him down flat.

It’s possible that when dating the relationship was not working out, but then she gets pregnant. It’s often herd that women use pregnancy to tie down a guy, but men can do that too. Did he threaten to take Moxxie? I mean it’s possible, but maybe he didn’t have to. When guys try to keep a girl through pregnancy he doesn’t have to threaten with responsibility, it’s actually easier just to make it more appealing that she won’t have to do it alone and that he’s gonna be there for her and the baby. And if he was already rich that probably made it a much more attractive option then being a single mother in literal Hell.

But unsurprisingly, trying to keep someone who might not even be that into you makes for a vary unhappy marriage.

This is possibility #1 possibility #2 is “I love you, but I never should have had a kid with you”

It’s possible that Moxxie’s Mom is a morally gray person that was perfectly fine with her husband’s work, her being a woman, in crimsons eyes, ment she didn’t have to get her hands dirty. I also think it’s a possibility because she was never afraid of Crimson, hinting at a trust that he wouldn’t hurt her even though he has the power to do so with a snap of his fingers, but that could be because she was trying to stay brave for Moxxie both are plausible. What I am getting at is that having children can change you and your relationship drastically, so it’s possible that they were on the same page and she was still in love with him, until they became parents. Like the shooting range for example

She was fine with Moxxie learning to use a fire arm, what she wasn’t ok with was Crimson teaching Moxxie to kill people.

If you look closely you see Moxxie’s moms silhouette in the background, Crimson is looking to her first before teaching Moxxie. Almost like he is making sure she is watching. And she never felt powerless to do anything, she didn’t hesitate to shove the gun back into crimson’s hands and walk off without a word. So it gives me the impression he is looking for her approval, that he is contributing to Moxxie’s shooting lesson. And him being angry at her taking Moxxie and leaving the shoot range tells me one of two things

1) His Mom has been rebuffing Crimsons attempts to teach Moxxie the family business for years and it’s frustrating him that she wont see it his way already

2) Crimson doesn’t see where being a better person gets you, so it makes perfect sense to make Moxxie like them. And it pisses him off because before Moxxie was born, to her, this was the good life, before she got pregnant she would happily sit in his lap while he talked to her about his day as long as he didn’t bring work home and get blood on her carpet. But NOW she has a moral compass? NOW that life isn’t good enough for our son?

I admit I like possibility #2 because it would be relatable, my brother used to run with people who liked drugs and a little after high school too, and it’s heartbreaking to learn who is actually your friend and who was only your friend in a certain circumstance, like he was just part of the indulgence. I work at a bar and that’s happened to a couple of regulars too. They had more drinking friends then actual friends.

It would also be interesting if she was ok with her life with Crimson, but wanted her son to be better then them, not be like them. And this difference in priority caused her to fall out of love with Crimson, but there is one more thing that makes me think of possibility #2

It’s when his mother is gone and it’s just them now. Crimson is full on hate glaring at Moxxie, I think it’s to show he blames Moxxie for their relationship going bad, to me this glare says “everything was fine until YOU showed up”.

But then again He could just be blaming Moxxie for his relationship issues simply because he can and her loving Moxxie more is also Moxxie’s fault, the alternative is blaming himself and he isn’t about to do that.

And as for Moxxie being born in the Wrath Ring, his parents either 1) didn’t get married till after he was born or 2) she already tried leaving Crimson once because she wanted her baby away from that life style, straight up Kill Bill style but he found her and either threatened her or convinced her to come back by convincing her he was a better financial option for the baby

But it’s just a theory