#someone draw him and plushie holding hands

[sanscee]

alright im here........ and i have an emotional support drink and plushie. let's go.

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

already off to a great start. never mind the fact that our relationship with jeonghan is so so fragile………………. ‘i always have time for you’ like ok. Ow,

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

snort count: one

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

hid my face in my hands dear god please end my mortal suffering 

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

STOP is this what i think it is. lily please have mercy on me you can make me envision him in a Damp White Tee and then throw sentimental gift giving right after. lily fifth member of aespa giving people whiplash

There sits Joshua, cross-legged on the bed. Between his legs, the guitar you bought him. It must have finally shipped. He’s tied the gift ribbon it came with to the guitar strap, a woven linen with an offensively bright jacquard pattern.  A hesitant A major chord, then G major, offkey. Hm, he hums aloud. Then you notice his phone propped on a pillow, a Youtube tutorial rumbling in the background. He tries the G major again. Better, he says, pumping a fist into the tired air.

and so we cried, whatever. i want to kiss him until we both bruise sorry SORRY sorry i’ll move on SORRY

“Have you ever been in love before?”  [ … ]  And somehow, almost by magic, the fountain song and the phantom photographers, the parents and the press, the world and everything in it, finally draw quiet.

world fuckig stop. LILY. after all the bickering and heartless jabs that weren’t really heartless, just protective of their own heart in their own devastatingly human way… we finally have This. and honestly i dont know how to put into words how i had to stare at the wall for a long time after this. of course you would be guarded about your heart you’ve never felt the pull of being genuinely in love with someone. and of course he would be guarded with his heart he’s already been in love and had to break her heart because of his position in life. ‘because it would mean that it didnt end in vain’ i swear we were all just thinking about joshua in a Damp White Tee. these are not tears its the perspiration from the steamy bathroom shut up

“Hm.” He picks up the pistol again, stares down its iron sights. “Somi need anything for her birthday?” “She needs a new man,” you reply, and Jihoon laughs.  Bang. Bang. 

snort count: two

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

ohhmymjfhhyyyygioooddddddddimgonnedieeniebwekam,l[br,b;.,3420332-0p2l3;.

Stupid, stupid boy, you think. 

knees: weak. head: spinning. throat: ridiculously emptysOrrySORRy

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

head so good the prince forewent his precious pocket square…….. new aspiration in life. are you even giving good head if he doesn't sacrifice his pocket square

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

oh this is about to get so sad 

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

eberyone fucking stop oh my gof get out. bc we didnt even have a choice until the person we are doing this for presents the opportunity of choice. we were merely collateral bc we wanted to have normal experiences any other twenty-something would have had. fuck our parents btw for tossing the arranged marriage as a means of kicking us to the curb! reader is better than me and this is why this is call fanfiction instead of realstory <3

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

this is what i mean when i say u just get me like. only he would say stupid corny shit like this. the banter is always like you’ve been married for thirty six years. did i say i would give him heirs already

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

only you could make me emotional over socks god i am getting old 

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

snort count: three, but also like is this a real experience wfbeuifbejkfnj rhis is too specific i laughed out loud

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

WORLD FUCKINIFSNJ STP OMG

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

just let out a sound akin to a dying animal this is no big deal this is fine this is completely fine like its not like hes letting himself stand up for the love he grew to genuinely appreciate despite the differences like ‘i wont like you take another girl i love away from me. not again.’ SJUT THE FUCK UP GO AWAY IM AO SAD

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

everyone needs a yunjin in their life ive decided. where’s my Emotional Support Yunjin.

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

anyway.

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

totally fine and normal and sane about this. this is Fine

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

giggleskegeguejeueheueeiieehrehohmygofjrhegevw

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

alexa play falling for you from the teen beach movie soundtrack 😭🤍

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

OH MGRY GOD ITS HAPPENDINF EVERYBODY STAY CALM

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

there is something so intimate abt a man on his knees made even more hot by him taking of your shoes idk what it is but i eat it up every single time

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

bitch shut up i just shrieked GET AWAY FROM MEAND THEN THE ‘legs apart, darling’ CAN I LIVE GWT OUT OF MY HEAD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

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

i am going to be ohhsicslly ill

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

spread it open and flick the beansORRY SORRY

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

I AN GLITNG TO BE PHSGICALLY ILLLLLRKEKW

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

speaking from beyond now. i’ve died.

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

banging my head against the wall in 4K ultra HD

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

im going to crh oh my god

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

AND YOU SAY YES 😭😭😭 FOR THE BERY FORST TIME 😭😭😭😭😭 genuinely don’t even know how to even move on like. their relationship growing from seemingly despising each other to deeply understanding each other’s feelings and personalities and the content of their hearts ☹️☹️☹️

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Party?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I called, you know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink hard; you waver. ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

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

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

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

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

“Sounds lonely.” 

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

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask what happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

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

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

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

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

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

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

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

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

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

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

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

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

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

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

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

Bang. Bang. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

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

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

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

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

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that an order?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

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

“Everything ok?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t even look back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I think about it?” 

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

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

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

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

“Truce.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

For what? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

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

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.” 

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

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

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

“Are you flirting with me?” 

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

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

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

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

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

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

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

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

“I thought this was champagne.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it really that obvious?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

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

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

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

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

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

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

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

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The act?” 

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

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

“Oh nooo.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[spiritleigh]

Gildo son or papa on a pew daughter

[drluvsick]

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐬

you hand make them a replica of themselves in the form of a plushie! 📝 gn! reader. btw relationship is mutual pining. would’ve made the headers as the hashira’s plushies but… coloring would’ve been ughhh. maybe i'll post it separately!

word count : 1.6k+

𝐆𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

“for me?” he’s surprised before it melts into a smile. with the plushie in hand, he rolls it around feeling the details from his hair to outfit, getting a general view of what it could look like.

“this is very kind of you. i will cherish this for the rest of my life.” he puts a hand on your head, gently petting you as you hug him in return. he’s happy at the action, his large body engulfing yours as he hugs you back. you’re relieved that he’s blind so that he’s not able to see your blush, but with your heart beating unusually fast and loud, you’re sure he can hear it and deduct it himself.

gyomei thinks that perhaps you may hear his heart beating abnormally as well in the moment.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈

he thinks it’s perfect. would’ve added more glitter, but then he thinks that maybe it’s better off that the entire plush isn’t covered in the tiny monsters. (he held the gift for a few seconds and then BAM, glitter EVERYWHERE on his hand)

he loves how flashy the doll is. it seems to shine and sparkle even in the dark of night.

he obviously treats you to a shopping spree or restaurant “date” with him after (after both of you furiously wash your hands from all that glitter).

absolutely takes mini tengen with him when he’s with you. you both brainstorm ideas for him and his little comrade to match outfits (off to the fabric store!).

this small gift secretly makes him scream inside. when he gets home from the interaction, you BET he’s going to be humming the entire rest of the day, unable to sleep because his thoughts are all filled of you.

𝐆𝐈𝐘𝐔 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐎𝐊𝐀

so surprised that you would give him a gift. why would you want to waste so much time in giving him something? something you handmade, to be precise? he asks this, and when you reply saying that you just wanted to, he swears he fell harder than before.

he’s beyond happy, though. you get the grace of seeing him unconsciously smile at the present as he notices the attention to details. how much time did you spend looking at him to remember all these features? the thought makes him a little lightheaded.

you’re too sweet to him, he thinks. now whenever he’s feeling down and you’re gone, he holds the little plush to his heart for a small sense of comfort that helps him to live another day. and he doesn’t dare take it on missions or anywhere, really. he’s too afraid to lose or destroy something you worked so hard on to make for him.

god forbid you tell shinobu one day that you made a plushie for giyuu. she’d never let him get away without teasing him for actually getting someone to like him well enough to make something for him.

will subconsciously hide behind you when she does start with the teasing as you softly grasp his haori sleeve, making his heart flutter tenfold at the small action.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

(you’ve seen his face without the bandages)

when you hand it to him, he’s on cloud nine. you even made kaburamaru! the snake seems to appreciate it, happily leaving obanai’s shoulders to rest on yours instead.

he practically begs to take you somewhere as thanks and to spoil you, because this gift from you has his face heating up and he wants to draw your attention away from it. and when you do agree (albeit reluctantly), his snake looks at him with a “lmao dude you’re freakin’ whipped”.

while walking, he notices that the bandages on the plushie are removable, asking you if it’s intentional.

“see for yourself,” were your words as he reluctantly removed them. he saw the bottom of the face littered in scars almost identical to the ones underneath his own bandages, with the words on the side of the bandages covering the doll’s face reading: “you’re beautiful, scars or no scars. and from what you’ve shown me, it’s the same on the inside.”

he swears that he could just faint right there and then.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀

“tsk, what is this?”

you smile as he inspects it; watching his lips twitch, fighting the urge to curve upwards. “it’s a plushie of yourself.”

“you made this? for me?”

“yep!”

he looks anywhere but at you, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand as warmth bristles through; his ears turning red as he says, “it’s nice, i guess.”

“just ‘nice’?” you reply back, teasing his quick response. “maybe i should’ve just made a plushie for someone else, liiike… giyuu.” you grin, aware of the facade he’s pulling.

“don’t you dare. it’s amazing, i love it.” he spits out gruffly, but wholly truthful. “…thank you.” he thinly smiles, if not for you observing him you wouldn’t have noticed it.

“aww, you’re welcome!” you snicker.

he turns his head the other way, his face beginning to feel uncomfortably hot.

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎

his plushie literally radiates sunshine, just like the original himself. when he receives it, he shouts the loudest thank you you’re ever going to hear.

talks about all the details and how much it embodies him. he adores it. then he asks if you could make one of you, so that they could be a pair together (AHHHH).

hugs you so tightly that you start to sweat from his body heat. but he means well!

eats with the plushie when you’re not with him. it reminds him of who made it and it just makes his food taste 100x better.

probably keeps it in his pocket and shows it to people like, “look what (y/n) made for me! :D” so that now so many people know who you are.

and when you make that replica of yourself for him? he just can’t get enough of how adorable it is. keeps it with him in his pocket too, it makes his day so much better whenever he sees it because it just radiates you.

𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

squeals, she’s just so so so happy. her face turns this cute red and all she can do is just smother you with a hug because of her overwhelming excitement.

she dances around with it at first, screaming about how cute you made it and absolutely loving how you designed the doll to be just like her. you got her into the whole craft business, her new determination to make a doll of you to present to you! she hugs you one last time before rushing off with her new plan.

she quickly realizes that if she gives… whatever she made in her first attempt to you, it’d come across as an insult. so she spends countless days and nights (in between missions, of course) to perfect her gift to her beloved. and when she finally does…

…she gives it to you like a child showing their parent their artwork, except mitsuri’s present was better than just any children’s project.

she’s so giddy when you praise her for it, finally able to collapse from exhaustion when she gets home. but when you kiss her on the forehead, she knows that there’s no way she’s going to get a blink of sleep, especially not when that moment keeps replaying in her head throughout the rest of the day.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐔 𝐊𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐎

she’s calm and collected on the outside, having an emotional breakdown and desperately trying not to just tackle you and hug and kill you with kisses on the inside. her logical mind prevails unfortunately.

she dearly thanks you for the gift with the sweetest soft tint of pink on her face.

she takes it for walks around her estate, visiting patients, and when she needs to calm down. it just takes a few minutes with the plushie in her hands for her to think of you to become more relaxed.

she doesn’t take it in her lab, though— worried that something might happen to it. so instead, during those periods, she keeps it in her room in a secret place that only she knows about, because she’s a little paranoid that something may end up destroying it with all the people in the estate and all.

the next time you’re out on a mission? expect a parcel from her delivered by crow with your favorite (non-perishable) food, some trinkets and items you might enjoy, and a note that vaguely suggests her true feelings towards you.

she secretly prays that you’ll take the hint and ask her out.

𝐌𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐎

(reader is either same age or muichiro is aged up)

despite his flawed memory/memorizing issues, muichiro does a huge effort to not forget the plushie you gave him.

he’ll write himself notes, bring it with him everywhere, and he finds himself replaying moments with you and daydreaming in his mind more often about you with the doll around.

definitely falls asleep with it gently in his arms, held close to his chest. it helps him fall asleep faster and more comfortably knowing that something resembling your presence was so nearby.

his crow’s definitely jealous by this btw. but she respects you both so she doesn’t lay a claw on the plushie.

one day when you find him hugging the plushie close to him as he was walking around his estate, you decide to go up to him and hug him from behind. let’s just say, he got a lot more clingy after that, hugging the gift at night tighter to try to replicate that warm feeling your hugs always gave him.

overluvsick | please do not repost, translate, and/or claim my works as yours !!

[bunni-v1]

this is based off someone requesting a lighterxreader where lighter gets jealous of a plushie, since section 6 has a celeb status theyd probably have (they definitely most likely do) fanmerch of the members right? like those 10 or 20 cm plushies you can dress up that hoyo characters have? imagine reader having a wittle plushie asaba that accompanies reader when asabas not home and then he finds out and goes 🥺 eyes "do you really prefer that over the real thing🥺🥺👉👈?" JSKSDJLWBUXOWBXHSO

Asaba Harumasa is a pretty popular figure, being the only man in section 6, and just generally being pretty and flirty it’s no wonder he has tons of merch. The plushies were a new thing though! A bit… weird… if you asked him but he shrugged his shoulders and moved on. Nothing to write home about, fans were weird.

You, however, found the little thing interesting. It’s big yellow eyes and floppy fabric hair was just too cute to resist. The clothes were surprisingly well made, and you could take them off and change him into whatever you liked.

Harumasa had so many late nights at the office, and you didn’t seem him for such long stretches of the day… maybe getting one wouldn’t be so bad. So, you buy one (and some extra outfits <3) to keep yourself company throughout the day.

It weirdly helps you feel connected to him, even though it’s not him and he had no idea you had the little thing. Whenever you missed him, you pulled it out and cuddled up to it like it was the real thing. Like right now, curled up on the couch waiting for Harumasa to get home. Your eyes are heavy and your body heavy, the plush of the stuffie drawing you further into sleep until you hear the door open.

Harumasa drags his feet across the floor, not even taking his shoes off before he slumps over to the couch. You peer up at him with sleepy eyes, and his soften as he smiles. He makes his way around the couch to hug you, but pauses when he sees… himself…

Well, a little him, at least. He hadn’t even considered you might want one of those things — well, why would you? You had the real thing after all.

“What’s that?” He asks, pointing at it with disdain.

You cuddle into the thing, worsening his scowl, “‘S little you. I call him Harumasa Jr.”

You hold the plushie tight to your chest, and he feels something… unpleasant curl in his stomach. He didn’t like the idea of you finding a replacement for him, regardless of if the replacement was… literally him. It wasn’t the same. He should be the only thing you cuddle up to and coo at, not some… plushie.

He sits down next to you with a pout, pulling the plushie from your lap. He tries to ignore how you whine, then presses his head into your stomach with a defiant pout.

“What are you pouting for,” You sigh, running your fingers along his scalp.

He hums, burying his face into your thighs, “You don’t like that thing more than me, do you?”

You roll your eyes, petting his hair with all the love in the world. He was worse than a jealous cat. He was upset over a plushie of himself. Maybe it was played up, but you could tell it bothered him. So, sweetly, you lean down and press a kiss to his head.

“Of course not, there’s nothing in the world I like more than you, Haru. It’s just here for when I really miss you,” You assure in that honied tone he loves so much. His hands come around your waist, sliding under your butt for a cheeky squeeze. Another sigh falls from your lips, “Most jealous man I know.”

He chuckles against you, “Only for you, babe.”

You allow yourself to bask in the moment with him, really having missed him all day. You know he missed you too, just from how tightly his fingers are clenching each other. Like he doesn’t want to let you go.

But, of course, Harumasa cannot leave well enough alone, and he peers up at you with a smile, “Can we throw it out?”

“Absolutely not!”

[leighsartworks216]

Break The Fever

Zayne x gn!Reader

This is based on when I actually was hospitalized for three weeks with something they never figured out. Ah, back in the good ol days before covid

Warnings: hospital/hospitalization, sickfic, needles, light angst, established relationship

Word Count: 2,112 (nice)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The office phone began to ring. This was a normal occurrence.

Zayne set down his pen and brought the receiver to his ear. He expected a call about one of his patients - Mr. Jefferson refusing to take his medicine, one of the kids asking for permission to go outside and play. Something equally as normal that isn’t a full blown emergency.

This is an emergency.

“Dr. Zayne, you’re listed as the emergency contact for a patient that was just admitted.

His heart froze in his chest. His eyes immediately went to the snowman plushie on his windowsill. Who else would have him listed as an emergency contact?

“What were they admitted for?”

“They came to the ER with a 102 fever.”

“What room are they in?”

-

Everything was so, so cold.

Your teeth chatter uncontrollably. Your entire body convulses with shivers. Despite the sweater, hoodie, and three blankets keeping you warm, nothing brings warmth back into you.

They are trying to place a cannula in your arm. All you see is the needle they want to stick in you. You can’t think at all. Can’t calm yourself down enough to let them do their jobs. In your lucid, fever-driven haze, all you know is you’re terrified of needles. And you need to get away.

The nurse is about to try again, two other nurses holding you down to avoid hurting yourself or them, when a cool voice stops her. You recognize it, but you can’t quite place it. It’s like hearing three notes of a song.

Someone in a white coat takes over. He takes the needle, but keeps it out of your direct line of sight. Your hand is hot, clammy, and weak as he holds it. The other nurses let go. The sharp visage of Zayne hovering over you projects into your mind like a reflection on rippling water.

He says your name. Soft, but firm. Caring, but with an all-too-familiar edge of concern. “I need to put the cannula in your arm so we can start you on an intravenous drip,” he explains. “We’ll be able to draw blood and give you medicine this way. You won’t have to see another needle again after this.”

Your jaw hurts. Your teeth hurt. You grind them together to keep them from chattering, but they won’t stop. Tears prick your eyes. “‘M c-cold,” you whimper.

“I know. I promise to warm you up, but I need to do this first. Will you let me?”

You nod pathetically. He quietly thanks you, fighting the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. The cold of the cleaning wipe makes you hiss. Your exposed arm is covered in goosebumps. You don’t fight him anymore. As much as you can help it, anyway. You flinch and clench your hand, but you turn your head away as he inserts the cannula into your vein and tapes it in place. They draw a couple vials of blood, and hook you up to an IV that drips its solution down into your bloodstream.

Zayne carefully covers your arm again so the tube runs under your sleeve, and tucks it under your blankets. “Try not to move this arm too much,” he warns tenderly. “If it comes out, we have to do this again.”

You nod again, but you’re barely listening. You curl up onto your side facing the IV, trying to conserve any amount of heat.

For as much as he wishes he could comfort you in your suffering, he needs to figure out what the problem is. He needs to find a way to treat you. Surely, that would help more than watching you cry.

He tells a nurse to monitor your condition. If your fever rises any higher, they’ll have to take drastic measures to cool you back down before it causes irreparable damage.

He doesn’t let himself think about that.

Before he leaves, he holds your hand again. His thumb brushes your knuckles. You cling to him, shaking uncontrollably. A permanent ache latches onto his heart as he pulls away. Back to work. Back to saving your life. Like always.

-

The next time his phone goes off, it’s a notice from the nurse that your fever broke. It’s nearly 10pm, far past his work hours.

He leans away from the microscope and removes his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. If you could see him now, he’s sure you would be getting onto him for not getting enough rest.

He sighs heavily. The lab is dark. It’s just him and a desk light, and the light of the microscope on the slides of your blood. A machine in the corner whirs in a quiet hum, working to break down the components of your blood into numbers he can reference against his knowledge of medical ailments and the textbooks the hospital keeps on hand. It won’t be done for a while. He’s testing for everything he can think of, and more.

Resigned to taking a break, Zayne stands, cleans up the workspace, and turns the light off as he leaves.

His first stop is to his office. He calls a nearby restaurant on his way up, placing a familiar order for takeout. There were times when you’d stubbornly stay in his office until he finished a long surgery or paperwork. You were so excited when you discovered the little mom-and-pop place, and even happier when the food was good. He got all your favorites.

His office felt colder, somehow. Lingering there made his skin crawl with discomfort. He hung his coat up in its designated place. The plush snowman smiled at him from the window sill. He only hesitates for a second before grabbing it and heading straight for your room.

The hospital’s lights were dimmed. If it weren’t for the few nurses walking around, he could have tricked himself into thinking he was in his nightmares. Maybe this was a nightmare. A new one. But he remembers the way you held him. How real that felt. There was no way this was just a dream.

He cracks open the door slowly. The large window displays the beautiful sight of Linkon City lit up at night. The stars are vivid, blurring into the cacophony of neon lights and the bustle of humanity.

Your body is turned to face it, away from the door. All but one blanket has been shucked off, kicked to the foot of the bed or dropped carelessly onto the floor. Your sweatshirt and sweater are mostly off, save for the arm your IV fed into. At least you remembered to be careful.

He steps inside quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You curl up into yourself with a sigh.

“I don’t need anything right now. You can go.”

He chuckles. You turn your head quickly at the sound, wincing when the world misaligns. “I just got here, and you’re already trying to get rid of me,” he teases. Your world slowly coalesces onto his face, leaning over you once more. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead.

“I didn’t know it was you.” His hand is blessedly cool against your flushed skin. You’re still warm, but the chills have subsided for the time being. “You can stay.”

He settles the snowman into the crook of your arm. You’re holding onto it before you even know what it is. He’s glad to see your smile at a time like this. “How are you feeling?” He moves around to the other side of the bed.

“Like I have no control over my body. Or my mind,” you admit. “It’s… hard to think straight. It’s all slow and muddled. And when I couldn’t stop shivering? Ugh, I hate it.”

Nimble fingers detach the IV from the cannula temporarily. Long enough to gently remove your layers. You sigh in relief at having your arm back. You were so cold earlier, but now you feel like the bed is on fire. Like every inch of your body is burning in an inferno.

“Your body was trying very hard to kill off whatever’s making you sick. By shivering, your body contracts and relaxes your muscles to generate heat and raise your core temperature. So while you feel cold,” he replaces the IV tube, “your actual temperature is extremely warm.” He rounds the bed again and sits down on the edge, busying himself with your chart. “On top of that, your high fevers are going to make staying lucid difficult.” He flips it over to the next page.

Guilt tugs at you as you watch him. He doesn’t have his lab coat, but he’s still got his doctor face on. Even now, so late at night, when he should be allowed to leave work behind, you’ve invaded his workplace, bringing his personal life with you. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at you. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Making you work even more, just to take care of me.”

“You don’t have control over being sick,” he says. He sets the chart aside.

“No, but…” You let go of the snowman to grab his hand. You frown. “I don’t know how to word it right now.”

He smiles imploringly, stroking your hand with his thumb. “Just do your best. I’ll work it out from there.”

You mull over how to phrase what you want to say, brain sluggish and twisting up thoughts until you could pull together the words enough. “I feel bad about it because I know you won’t go home now.” You watch your fingers pull from his hold enough to trace over the faint scars that litter his hand. He lets you, resting his hand against the bed. “Because… even though I want you to go home and sleep… I also don’t want to be alone here.”

“I think you worded that pretty well.” You meet his eyes, but you continue to feel along his hand. He catches your hand, trapping it against the bed and squeezing affectionately. “How about we come up with a compromise? I’ll stay with you at night and on my breaks, but I’ll go home in the morning to clean up, and come in at my regular hours. How does that sound?”

You nod slightly. “Deal, as long as I won’t get you sick.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t seem to be contagious. You don’t have to be worried about getting anybody else sick.”

“Good. I don’t want anybody else to feel like this.”

A light knock on the door disturbs the conversation. Zayne gets up and answers it, speaking softly with someone outside. You wonder if it’s a nurse, wanting to take your vitals again or looking for Dr. Zayne. But then there’s a crinkling sound and he’s coming back over to the bed with a large bag of takeout. You can’t help laughing a little.

“What’s so funny?” he asks as he begins pulling containers from the bag. He separates them into yours and his.

“I just wasn’t expecting it.” You slowly sit up, trying hard not to jostle the IV. It doesn’t escape your notice how Zayne watches from the corner of his eye. “Thank you.”

He smiles. “Of course.” He gestures for you to scoot over, so you do. Once there’s enough space, he sits down beside you, handing you utensils and your food. You’ve still got enough fine motor control to feed yourself. Though, even if you didn’t, he would have been more than happy to feed you.

After you’ve finished eating, Zayne clears the bed, tucking everything back into the bag. He takes his shoes off and sets them to the side before laying down next to you. Your head rests on his arm, hands holding the snowman plushie to your chest, with his other arm wrapped around you. His hand rubs comforting shapes into your lower back.

“Goodnight, Zaynie,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, my love.”

Through everything you face next, you aren’t alone. When you wake up at 3am to chills wracking your body, he’s helping you put your sweatshirt back on and layer you in blankets. When the fever recedes and you’re desperately trying to get all the layers off, he’s speaking to you softly, pressing chilled hands to your neck and forehead to calm you down while he helps you. Even when he goes home in the morning, and when he has to leave to take care of his other patients, he’s only a call away, directing your care behind the scenes. Three weeks later, he’s the one filling out your discharge forms. He never figures out what caused it.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

[astayinwonderland]

We can stay like this forever | lee taeyong

pairing: taeyong x f.reader

genre: smut | romance | exes to lovers

wc: 1.4k

summary: you and taeyong broke up two months ago so you call him with one purpose in mind.

warnings: unprotected sex (don't), pet names (sweet, baby), pussy slapping, cumming inside... lmk if I forgot anything.

“You don’t have to give this back, you know?” 

“Yeah… but I want to. I need to,” you reply calmly. 

Taeyong looks at the box filled with tangible memorabilia of your time together. The time that surely was a highlight in his life. He was blissful and felt invincible with you. He was so in love–no, he is still in love. He just can’t put together how a silly argument ended up in you two breaking up. 

When you texted him to come over, he was hopeful. Were you willing to give him a second chance and get back together? All thoughts of his wish coming true evaporate when you greet him with that stupid box. He doesn’t want the box. He doesn’t need the box. His hoodies, letters, plushies… everything is yours. He is yours, even though you seem not to see it. 

“It’s good to see you, my sweet,” he smiles, his eyes seeking something in yours. Some type of sign that you are still you. Some type of sign that you might still maybe love him. 

You immediately close your eyes as soon as you hear my sweet leave his lips. It is indescribable what those two words do to you. You missed him so much, but he never called or showed up once you broke up. How could he want you back? You know you are not perfect, but the love you have for him makes you better. It makes you feel real and seen. Of course, that was when you were together. This is why you have to give everything back. It is just too much to have things reminding you of Taeyong. 

“Good to see you too,” your voice is soft, barely audible. You can’t look at him, you’re afraid you’d break and cry. 

Before Taeyong can break the awkward silence that followed, the rumble of thunder makes you jump. 

“Is it raining?” you ask, making your way to the window. 

Outside you can see how the weather’s changed. Grey-to-black clouds pour rain so heavily you can’t see much outside. You sigh and as you turn Taeyong is right there. His beautiful eyes stare right back at yours. 

“You scared me,” you laugh, attempting to clear the awkwardness. 

“I guess I should go… It was– a real pleasure seeing you, my sweet.” 

“You really like calling me that, don’t you?” 

Taeyong laughs, making you swoon. He has the loveliest laugh, you’ve always said so. 

“Of course,” he comes a bit closer. “You always will be my sweet.” 

“You can’t say that,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?” 

“What happens when you are dating someone else?” 

Silence. 

The truth is, you regret the words that came out of your mouth. Just thinking about it hurts so bad. 

“I don’t want to date anyone else,” he softly holds your hand, drawing circles with his thumb. 

Suddenly you can’t move, you can’t think, you can’t breathe. 

“Uh– I should probably go…” he continues. 

“No, wait! You can’t leave it’s pouring out there.” 

“You sure you want me to stay?” 

You nod. He shamelessly looks at your lips, making a silent prayer you would let him kiss him. Even if it is the last time he gets to kiss you. 

“Fuck, baby,” and you just throw your arms around his neck, hugging him so tight. 

“I miss you,” he whispers. 

So you kiss him. Your body goes against the voice inside your head that asks you to stop, you broke up. But the way he melts into you tells you to keep going. Taeyong’s arms hold you firmly against him, almost as if he is scared that you will change your mind and run away from him. 

He sucks on your bottom lip and you lose all sense of time. You should have never broken up, he is the light in your path of darkness. Removing your clothing you guide him to your bedroom, where you’ve shared countless nights of passion, long talks, and binge-watching TV. You gently push him onto the bed, his eyes spark as he can’t hide his excitement. 

“Is– is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” your voice is almost a breathy moan. 

So Taeyong thanks the heavens and immediately latches his mouth to your right nipple sucking as his hands caress your body, worshipping it. You close your eyes, lost in his touch, his breathing, his praises. 

“I missed you so much, my sweet. You’re perfect. All I want is to make you feel good, make you never forget me.” 

“How could I ever?” 

You pull his hair and a low groan leaves his mouth. Smiling, he stops to kiss your thighs, all the way to your clothed core. He can smell your arousal and feel how wet you are for him, you haven’t changed a bit and he is glad. Two months without having you was being in hell. Your moans get louder as he licks your entrance on top of the soaking fabric of your panties. 

Done with the teasing, you pull them down. 

“Please, baby– fuck me. I need you so bad,” you cry. 

Taeyong wants to take his time with you, but he can leave that for round two if you let him. Right now he will give you whatever you want like it’s his life mission because it is. The way your lips kiss him makes his heart beat so fast he feels it will burst out of his chest. You help him get rid of his clothes and kiss his chest, making a stop on his chest tattoo that drives you so insane. 

“Show me how much you’ve missed me, baby.” 

“You have no idea, my sweet.” 

He positions you to face down on the mattress, ass up, granting him perfect access to your cunt. Slender fingers tease your hole as his other hand pumps his erection. As Taeyong enters you, pleasure course your entire body. This is the man of your dreams, your perfect pair, fucking you till your eyes roll back. His cock, wet in your arousal abuses your hole, again and again, his hands firm on your hips as he thrust into you, fast. He missed this feeling. You are so warm, so sweet, so perfect. 

“We were made for each other. Shit… you feel so good, so– incredible.” 

You moan in response your face weighing on the mattress. Taeyong put one of his hands down your clit and slapped hard he earns a muffled cry. 

“I wanted this so much… faster.” 

And he obeys. He obeys because anything that comes out of your mouth automatically is an order for him. He is doomed and he knows it, he is in love. And to be honest, he wouldn’t like it any other way. 

Beads of sweat drip off his forehead as he rams into you, eager to make you cum. When his fingers pinch your clit and start moving in circles, adding pressure to it, you lose all composure. You are crying, pleading, moaning his name. 

“Taeyong, Taeyong, Taeyong…” 

How pretty his name sounds coming from your mouth. His other hand moves to your shoulder and he pulls you upwards, your back colliding with his chest as he keeps fucking you, now hitting that spot inside you. You see stars, you are so close. 

Taeyong kisses your neck, sucking your sensitive spot he knows so damn well. 

“Baby, I’m so close… f-fuck–ah!” 

“Me too. Cum for me! I wanna hear you…”

With a few more thrusts his warm cums fills you as he cries in your ear after his release, triggering your orgasm. It’s so intense your head feels lighter than a feather and your legs tremble. Taeyong holds you near him or else you will fall. He kisses your temple and shoulders again and again. 

“My sweet, sweet girl…” he breathes in your ear as you both come down from your high. 

You find yourself between Taeyong’s arms, cuddling, eyes closed. The box you once planned to return is already forgotten in your living room. Not a word is spoken, is like time didn’t pass and you want to stay here until the end of time. 

“I never stopped loving you,” you confess, eyes still closed. 

Now he hugs you even tighter. 

“Me neither.” 

“Can we stay like this for a while? you ask. 

“We can stay like this forever…” he kisses your cheek.

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

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

but my love for this man ain't... ˜ masterlist

[bleedingoptimism]

Eddie is pacing, going to Tarja’s room and back to the kitchen where she’s sitting with a smile puffing her cute freckled cheeks and kicking her little feet back and forth.

He checks she has everything she needs, clothes, pajamas, scrunchies, and her drawing book. He makes sure he packed her Toothless toothbrush and her plushie. She’s been on a ‘How To Train Your Dragon’ phase for a while now.

He’s not usually that nervous about her leaving to stay at her father’s for the week.

But she’s not usually this excited either.

See, her asshole of a father, has a new boyfriend, and apparently, he’s amazing and Tarja loves him. And she can't wait to spend more time with him. 

And Eddie, he’s kind of curious and not jealous. At all. Really. He’s just curious about him, he just can’t understand how his asshole of an ex can be dating someone that’s supposedly nice, funny, and caring. Someone who talks to his kid when she’s upset, picks her up from school on time, and spends time playing around with her outside when she gets the jitters.

Tommy, his ex, is an awful person. He was the worst thing that happened to him and Eddie would’ve loved to never see him again, he just happens to also be attached to be best thing that ever happened to him, his daughter.

A one-night stand that asked him for marriage after he knocked him up, (because his father forced him to, but Eddie found that out on the divorce) that Eddie had only agreed to marry because he was scared he wouldn't be able to afford to take care of a kid alone.

He filed for a divorce so quickly after, that it was almost an annulment. Thankfully, Tommy wasn’t as bad of a parent as he was a husband, determined to be better than his own old man. So Eddie had no problem sharing custody with him. They agreed on a visitation schedule without issues and they have been civil for the last six years.

And then Tommy got a new boyfriend. And Tarja loves him. And Eddie is not jealous. He’s not.

He’s just nervous because he’s coming to pick her up and he’s going to meet him for the first time and finally see what all the fuzz is about.

The doorbell rings and Eddie checks the time and grumbles when he sees he’s pleasantly on time. Tarja jumps off the stool and runs to the entrance, “Steve!” she screams excitedly as she opens the front door.

And Eddie stands there with a little backpack that is also shaped like Toothless as the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen in his life kneels in front of his daughter and hugs her close.

“Hello, little dragon! I missed you!” he greets her and Eddie does not notice how beautiful and melodic his voice is while Steve holds Tarja’s shoulders as she jumps up and down excitedly telling him everything she’s got planned for them to do with a soft smile on his face.

And then Steve looks up and Eddie sees the warmth in his pretty brown-green eyes and he feels like he just missed a step going down the stairs. He smiles dumbly back at him as Steve gets up with Tarja sitting on his waist and extends a hand to him,

“Hi! You must be Eddie! I’ve heard so much about you!” Eddie shakes his hand and gets stuck thinking about how soft they are instead of answering so Steve keeps talking, “Only good things!” he says nervously and Eddie shakes his head and stops thinking about the two moles on Steve’s left cheek and smiles back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you! Tarja won't stop talking about you” He says and hopes it doesn't come out a little bitter.

Steve smiles bashfully and pokes Tarja’s tummy, “Yeah, she’s a little chatterbox isn’t she? I heard she got that from you” he quips.

Eddie frowns about to jokingly act offended but Steve’s eyes go huge and he blushes, “Oh! No I meant that as a good thing! I love it, I love her, I mean-” he stammers and Tarja giggles at his nervousness and Eddie melts a little.

After they exchange information, just in case, Eddie needs to remind himself, and Eddie gives Steve Tarja’s backpack there’s not much more to say so he hugs her kid and kisses her goodbye.

Steve picks her up again, “C'mon let's go,” he tells her and then purses his lips a little, “Tommy is probably waiting” he sighs warily, and oh, that’s interesting.

He waves Eddie goodbye wiggling his fingers cutely and Eddie waves back and closes the door and frowns at it,

“Man… why couldn’t I have Tarja with Steve?” 

👉 next part

☕🥐💕?

[nonranghaes]

"baby?"

vernon's voice is soft and quiet and laced with sleep as he calls to you, which is only made more obvious by the term of endearment (always saved for sleepy moments or the more intimate ones). he reaches over to you, fingers curling around the wrist of the hand holding your phone. he can see your watery eyes in the low light.

"are you looking at the otters again?"

with a whimper, you pout at him. "they're holding hands... and stacking things... it's cute."

his chuckle sounds a second later as he puts your phone aside, drawing you in to cuddle with him. his hand slips into your own like its home, and you feel the chaste kiss he leaves against your neck. "how about," he says in a whisper, as though someone else could overhear, "we go look at some real otters tomorrow?"

something about that makes you tear up a little more. you think it's because you're exhausted. "really...?"

"really," he buries his face into your neck. "i'll buy you whatever plushie you want."

"i'm--" you stifle a yawn, relaxing against him. "i'm gonna hold you to it."

(he'll end up buying two anyway, pressing their faces together with a "look, they're us!" just to hear you laugh at how goofy he is.)

[thomatri]

Haikyuu males as love languages

Synopsis- Haikyuu boys as love languages featuring aoba josai

Paring- Iwaizume Hajime, Hanamaki Takahiro, Oikawa Tōru, Matsukawa Issei, Kyōtani Kentarō

——————————————————————

Iwaizume Hajime as acts of service

———

Iwaizume just a helpful guy what can I say. He does just about every kind of act of service you can think of that’s pg. though he loves helping you with your physical and mental health the most. For physical he’ll help you work out. Whether it be helping you find the motivation to work out of helping you on a exercise that’s particularly hard for you. And for mental health honestly he’ll do just about anything. For you giving him acts of service you help him with mental more than physical since he seems to have that down pact. You do give him massages from time to time which he adores and always looks forward to

———————————————————————

Oikawa Tōru as physical touch

———

Of course he’s physical touch. Bro loves all types of physical touch his fav is probably hugs though. Iwaizume will yell at him for too much pda. When you guys go anywhere he’ll always keep your hand in his. Physical touch also calms him down. Mostly kisses on the cheek.

———————————————————————

Matsukawa Issei as words of affirmation

———

Lokey He grew up a lil insecure because of his eyebrows. So I’m general he loves compliments. He knew as soon as you genuinely laughed and complimented his joke he fell inlove with you. Maki made sure to tell y’all the joke was never that funny but he could had cared less. You make sure you sprinkle compliments here and there. You know how much it means to him and he appreciates it greatly. Surprisingly he’s not big on physical touch at all except kisses.

———————————————————————

Kyōtani Kentarō as quality time

———

Oikawa and Iwaizume are your childhood friends. They and by they I mean Oikawa asked if you could tutor Kyōtani so I guess you guys met through quality time. You were patient and tried your best to work with him which surprisingly worked. One study session he asked if you ever talk about anything other than school work, which your job is to tutor him not be his friend but you expressed your interest in music and you guys bonded over similar music taste. It brought out a side you both haven’t experience from each other drawing you both closer. He’s never really connected with someone like this before and soon platonic feelings became romantic. All Kyōtani wants to do is listen to music with you. Sadly stuff like studying exists but you guys make it work

—————————————————————-

Hanamaki Takahiro as gift giving/ gift receiving

———

Hanamaki gift to you is by far the most useful and amazing gift. And that’s memes. This guy seriously thinks memes are gifts and who are you to disagree. They make you happy and him happy so who’s to say otherwise. He’s not big on the other love languages though if it wasn’t gift giving I’d be physical touch he enjoys holding your hand. He’ll kiss you in public but god forbid you guys hold hands in public. He argues holding hands is way more romantic and personal and you just laugh and agree. Where he gets his logic who knows. He’ll also get you gifts in reference to memes as well. Like the minion plushie from the pupina meme. Needless to say your room looks a bit crazy with random meme references scattered around but you adore and love everyone single one. Actually you guys became friends because Matsukawa brought up getting a job at Burger King. And Maki started doing the Burger King fnaf dance and you bust out laughing. They both looked at you in shock but complimented your taste. Originally Matsukawa had a crush on you realized you and him were just friends but you and Maki on the other hand had another type of chemistry that was romantical.

—————————————————————-

Idk what to say

[montimer]

Present

Deadpool x reader

Hc's for xmas

Gn!reader

He'll make you help him decorate the whole place. He even got a xmas tree (he didn't stole it nooo)

Will definitely place a mistletoe somewhere and will eagerly wait for you to walk under it. Once ya do he'll smugly go up to you saying "Ohh whats thatt?" He points up "You know what that meanss~" mwah mwah, you cannot escape it

He has a silly santa hat on and some pullover with the worst punch lines on it. He will get you matching ones, you have to wear em, he'll give you puppy eyes.

He makes you coffee and bakes gingerbread together with you.

He'll watch xmas movies with you, tho he might get bored. Show him something mixed with horror. He'll say how stupid it is, but it has his attention at least. He'll be peeking at your reaction cuz whats more entertaining than lookin at his cupcake?

On Christmas night he'll wake you up in the middle of the night to drag you to the tree that now has presents under it.

He got whatever the heck ya asked for, cuz ya know. If ya want it he'll get it for ya. He'll find his way how... And he'll add some silly letter too ofc with a drawing that has the both of ya holdin hands

But of course ya gotta give him his presents too. He watches you full of excitement as you make your way to get his gifts.

He got a lil unicorn plushy and a handmade mini version of the two of you.

He got what he really wanted for a long time. Someone, someone who loves him. You.

He'll be all over the place tho, hugging you and spinnin ya around.

When the two of you finally go back to bed, he'll snuggle up close. He feels so comfortable that he takes off his mask too. You just give him the sweetest smile he's ever seen. How did he get so luck?

He just wants to hold you forever like this.

[brights-place]

A/N: Sooo I’m in lots of Fandoms and I’ve recently joined a fandom called welcome home! And I LOVE ITTT SOOOO MUCHHHHHH so I’m making some Head cannons for if you are dating Wally. This is for you simps out there! I hope you all enjoy it and I am also done with my Marble Hornets and Tokyo Revengers Headcannons so check those out too if your intrested.

You Dating Wally Darling

He is a golden retriever boyfriend

He is so high up the ranks on PDA but if your uncomfortable about it he will just hold your hand and help you get more comfortable around him.

When you argue he paints or draws you and him with hearts with the words “I’m sorry” on it. You bursted into tears

He loves when you two paint together he just gets so happy and giddy.

When he wants attention he goes up behind you and hops on your back or cuddles you out of nowhere.

You guys have matching outfits, socks,jewellery and plushies!

He gets angry if you're going to spend a day without kissing him or showing affection so give this boy some love.

When you go in small dates he likes showing you little art doodles in his sketchbook.

When you guys were baking with poppy he made such a mess you had to buy some more baking things for poppy oh the bird was horrified seeing you and Wally covered in flour and the cookie dough.

When it rains he offers to go dance in the rain and you go out in the rain with him to dance while music was playing from inside home.

Whenever your sick he would run straight to your side and will never let go he would protect and take care of you the whole time.

When he can’t take care of you he asks Barnaby or Julie. The whole time he was gone and left you with those two or one of them he was worried about you the whole time.

He sneaks into your arms when your sleeping so he can cuddle.

-He has a crush on you-

Sometimes NO all the time he talks to home about you and tells home everything that happened today about you. (Does the same with Barnaby when they hangout)

He loves listening to you talk about your interested he just sits there are listend with a Goofy smile on his face while you tell him everything you love.

He always looks at you and when you catch him, he says "oh! Sorry I zoned out.." and looks away with a giant smile on his face.

If someone was sitting next to you, he is fighting for that seat. He will just stare someone down so he could sit beside you.

He buys you flowers and chocolates and asks Eddie to deliver them for him.

He loves drawing you in his sketchbook sometimes he Put your initials in a Heart.

When he asked you out on a date he was fidgeting abit but when you agreed he was jumping with joy and hugged you.

On your 4th date he asked you if you wanted to be his S/O. You cried with tears nodding your head while wally pecked your face with a goofy smile you couldn’t help but giggle and hug him.

[tranquilo-antique-apothecary]

You’re Tranquilo’s lucky customer for the winter holidays, @midday-clouds! I hope you enjoy the little gift we’ve especially wrapped for you!

(OOC: I decided to make a short drabble too because he’s an OC. Writing isn’t my strong suit but I hope he’s to your liking! Please let me know if you'd like me to submit this to you on private and if I have your permission to post the drawings!)

-You would think that someone like your Rich Boyfriend is the type to have meticulously thought out and grand dates, then pompously brag on social media about how much he spoils you

-He even dressed up as your type, you like the light academia aesthetic, right? His just so happen to be from famous brands, but he'd happily gift you that $2000 scarf from Dior if you want it so bad (you'd have to give him a kiss on the cheek as payment)

-But of course, out of all the things he could overlook, he’d fumble with such a simple detail

-To be fair, he usually relies on other people to do his bidding. Arcade dates? He has the machines rigged to win every time and impress you with his “skills”. Cafe dates? He’d ensure the staff make the most scrumptious meal and drink you’ve ever had. Concert dates? You’re sitting right at the SVIP, baby

-But this time though, he genuinely wants to try with you, and so he concocts a plan to make the best date ever

“All people like aquarium dates, don’t they? What could go wrong” He says with a smile as he books a private tour at the city’s best aquarium.

-Yes, well, he didn’t really think this through, how was he supposed to know that you don’t enjoy fish or most aquatic creatures?

-He spends a minute contemplating if he should just buy a clown costume and juggle to appease you, until he notices the uncomfortable look on your face

-And so, he reaches out, holding your hand and stroking your knuckles in an unusual vulnerable display of gentleness

“Hey, I’m sorry. I really am.” He tries to smile, squeezing your hand and fumbling through his words, “I can just book another place, you know? This isn’t a bother. We could go skydiving instead!... Or, uh, anywhere else but here, if you want.”

-Whether you decide to switch date locations or stay for the meantime, he already has a thousand other plans to make it up to you (courtesy of a quick Google Search)

-He even buys you an overpriced plushie from the gift shop so that’s something, at least

-As you both go out for a quick bite, he’s eerily silent and contemplative

-It just got a lot more complicated now, how else is he going to introduce you to his family now? But don’t you worry because he’ll fight tooth and nail to have you by his side.

-Why? Because plot twist... your Rich Boyfriend is actually a siren… so... have fun with that!

[randomrory69]

LORE ABOUT MY DANDYS WORLD AU!!1 BE PREPARED IF U WANT TO READ A LOTTA TEXT CUZ IT'S ABOUT A LOST UNAIRED EPISODE!!1! I made a small fanfic thingy idk and forgive me if it's cringe english isn't even my first language BTW :3 I also wanted to practice on drawing lighting. Also, in this AU Rodger is Teagan's husband, and toodles is their adopted child. Glisten is their biological child though- aND THEY'RE ALLLL HUMANS!!1!1 Rodger is the main character in this AU!

Chapter - 1

BLACKOUT PANIC.

*Rodger was inside his apartment with his family, while Glisten had went out to party at a random club as usual. He was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper while Teagan was in the bedroom with Toodles. Rodger flipped through the articles. Looking for anything interesting.*

*he continued reading various headlines, most of them were about the more popular toons and the next shows that would be airing soon.. and some drama about them too. One specific headline caught his eyes though..*

"The dissapearance of the popular main toon Astro Novalite...?"

However, out of nowhere, the lights suddenly went out-

"What the.."

*He muttered under his breath before folding the newspaper and putting it onto the table. He had filled the electricity bills and it had been years since the generators in their complex had went off-*

*This wasn't supposed to happen.. But as a detective, he had to cure his own curiousity and find out what was going on.*

*He slowly went to his own bedroom, and put on his usual outside blazer, brochure and pants. changing out of his pajamas. He then went ahead to Teagan's room, knocking on it gently.*

"Sweetie? Can you open the door?..."

*He asked, before Teagan opened it slowly. Toodles was right behind her.*

"Come in Rodger, I was just about to ask you about this...thing..-"

*She mumbled her voice holding a bit of... Panic?.. Either was, Rodger stepped in, looking around the room- good thing they had purchased candles earlier, toodles was quite afraid of the dark.*

"Rodger Rodger!! Do you think someone is messing with the generators of our building?? Maybe- maybe a ghost?!! We gotta go investigate it!!...-"

*she interrupted excitedly, holding her dog plushie in one hand as she tugged down onto rodgers sleeve and grinned.*

*Rodger sighed quietly and ruffled her hair.*

"No toodles, there's no such things as ghosts... calm down. Maybe it's just because of the weather or equipment failure.."

"Although it is a bit strange. It's been... Years. Since a blackout. And the weather isn't even that bad lately, I mean it's just snowing.."

*She stepped closer to Rodger, now whispering silently to make sure toodles doesn't hear it-*

"you might want to check this out, honey- I'll keep toodles here, and make sure glisten is alright too... I called him a few minutes ago but he didn't answer."

*Rodger's eyes immedietally widened into slight panic and concern- oh right. Glisten. He almost forgot he was outside partying with those dumb stoner teenage friends of his- crap...-*

"Right- I uhh.. I was just gonna say that, I'll be leaving th-"

"RODGER I SAW SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE WINDOW!!!-"

*Rodger immedietally snapped his head towards the window, his heart beating a bit faster, toodles saw.. What-?*

"what is it toodles?.."

"I dunno!! It was.. tall-.. I don't even know if ot was a person it was VOID black-.. It left a trail too! Look!!"

"Toodles, maybe you're just overthinking. let's continue playing tea party, don't worry. Daddy is gonna go see who it was."

*Rodger immedietally looked outside at the direction toodles was pointing at-*

*Tonight.. Even the moon wasn't visible. It was pitch black in the sky. it felt eery and dark, and it was awfully quiet. He looked over at the fences and saw... Something.. Black- it was a slimy ink like trail of... something. He had to investigate this, ASAP. And also message and call Glisten.*

*though first he decided to call glisten, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed the number, pressing it against his ear..*

*he impatiently tapped his foot against the floor, waiting for a reply-..*

"He- he isn't answering. Teagan, do you know where he went?"

*Teagan shook her head, her expression a bit ashamed and dissapointed in herself- she was just as worried..*

"N-No... He only mentioned going out to a party with his friends... I'll try calling him, you go outside-"

*toodles looked back and forth between them in confusion and fear..*

"I saw that he went out with boxten.. We can try calling him as well!!"

*she paused before looking out the window again. She really wanted to go out with Rodger on his mission, but she was more afraid and worried about her older brother... She had to choose-*

"I'm gonna stay here with Toodles and try contacting Glisten. If we don't find him, then we will go outside to do something.."

*she paused, looking outside at the trail of the black substance outside their backyard..- speaking of looking outside, their home wasn't the only one with no electricity.. They could see that other toons rooms were dark too now, no light source whatever- except brightney and rudie's room...- then speaking of the devil, there was a knock on their door-*

"Helloooo??? Mr. Rodger??.. Are you there?? Open the door."

"you gotta help us Rodger you're a detective!! Also, merry Christmas!!!!!"

"Rudie how many times have I told you that it's n-"

":'(..."

"Okay, whatever. Just because you're obsessed with it doesn't mean others are as well rudie-"

*And by the time they had finished their bickering, Rodger quickly went outside and opened the door..*

"ah, brightney and .. Rudie. I thought i'd see you two here, perfect."

*he crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the two. Toodles and teagan peeking over his shoulder-*

"And I was just going out to investigate what happened. I was leaving."

*Brightney looked at rudie with an annoyed glare then spoke again, her voice relieved.*

"Thank goodness!! We were here to ask you that. In the meantime, your family can come with us in the community hall next to the lobby- it seems there is still some electricity there, the elevators are working- and most toons are waiting there. Flutter, Poppy, Tisha, Gigi, Shrimpo and Cosmo are already waiting there while we- Ginger, Connie, Looey and Goob are looking for the others and the main toons..."

"AND ALSO, uhh- quick question. Have you seen Astro??.. I know that guy barely ever socializes or tells about himself to others- except sprout, dandy and cosmo- the point is-..."

*he took a deep breath, his voice sounding a bit shaky and guilty..*

"Hes-.. He's gone. Me and brightney tried to search for him in his apartment or dandys place- the kitchen, EVERYWHERE... it's been 2 days.. We need your help, Rodger.."

*Rodger looked a bit stunned and even more concerned by the sudden info dump, but he took a deep breath and nodded, taking a small glance at toodles and glisten-...*

"Alright alright-... I was going to investigate the blackout source anyways. I'll look for him on my way. Don't expect much because this isn't a paid mission alri-"

"ACTUALLYYY, it is a paid mission. Dandy said he'll be providing you with a handsome amount of 6K Ichor if you find Astro. And about the blackout... Dandy is going out to investigate that too. He's already at the generator's warehouse building."

*Teagan almost choked on her own spit, toodles eyes lightning up with excitement and Rodger being too stunned to even speak properly-*

"wait, wait. 6K ICHOR?!? That's.. Isn't that a bit-"

"Less?..."

*Rudie cut her off with a devilish smirk.*

"Dandy said he was willing to extend the pay up to 12 K ichor. Only if Rodger is able to find him within 3 days though."

"........"

"DAD YOU SHOULD DO THE MISSION!!! YOU CAN BUY ME MORE VBUCKS AND ROBUX IF YOU SAY YESSS!!!!"

"What the hell are vbu-"

"Deal."

*The room fell silent. Teagan had a uncanny feeling about this, since she never trusted dandy a lot but... 12 K ichor.. They could use that. Plus it was just a simple detective mission, nothing could go wrong-*

"Perfect. Teagan and toodles can head with us over to the community hall, oh- and also bring your pillows, blankets- food and candles there."

*Rudie smirked, crossing his hands behind his head and looking down at brightney with a "see? I told you hed agree" Looking grin.*

"Alright.. Well start getting our things... Rodger. Are you gonna leave already?..."

"Yes. Don't worry about me, just try to find glisten, honey. I'm gonna be gone and would be coming home late, perhaps."

*he added.*

"bye bye rodger... I wish I could come with you too.."

*toodles said in a sulky and sad tone.*

*Rodger leaned down and patted her head with a small smile.*

"It's okay Toodles, next time. You'll come with me next time. This mission is seemingly a pretty difficult one, but I'm sure you need to focus on your very own mission right now.."

*he smiled, but toodles looked a bit shocked-*

"M-my own mission??..."

"Yes sweetie, your own mission. For now your mission is to keep your mumma safe and find Glisten."

*Teagan smiled warmly at that and looked back at Rodger before he went out the door.*

"Don't come too late, darling."

*She said softly, before stepping closer to him- grabbing him by his collar gently and giving him a small smooch on the cheek.*

*Rodger's face immedietally burned a crimson red and he smiled back- before-*

"Ahem ahem."

*oh... Right.*

"Goodbye, dear. Take care, sweetie-"

*he said, his voice shaking a bit as he went outside into the cold, dark night in a rather quick and embarrassed pace-*

"Now that hes gone...-"

"I'll help you get your stuff, Teagan."

*she cut in between before stepping in. Teagan nodded in response and gratitude and lead them towards the insides. Toodles followed them both.*

Now it was time for Rodger to investigate that black sludge.. And also... Astro's dissapearance.

End of Chapter 1.

IF THIS POST REACHES 20+ NOTES I'M GONNA MAKE A PART 2.. MAN I'M TIRED-! THANK YOU FOR READING! THIS WAS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN THIS APP! :3

[leighsartworks216]

But they cradled me, yes?

Sylus x gn!Reader

Based on this post

Warnings: blood, super vague refs to Sylus's route (what we can guess at, anyway), slight angst, bittersweet

Word Count: 707 (nice)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You think of all the things Sylus has done before you met him, sometimes. It’s unfathomable, at best, but you can’t help it.

When he texts you, asking if you’re alright when you send a distraught crow emoji, you wonder if he’s said those words to someone else before.

When he uses his Evol to snag a rare plushie from the claw machine and hands it over, telling you that you just need to say the word and he’d do anything for you, you have to wonder if you’re the only one that is true for.

When he drapes his jacket over your shoulders at a formal event - to keep you warm or hide you from prying eyes, you’re not sure - and he tucks it around your front to ensure it won’t slip off, you have to wonder if you’re the first person to wear his clothes like this.

And you’ll never know.

On some levels, that’s a wonderful thing. When you first met Sylus, when he used his Evol to hold and manipulate you into trying to Resonate with him, when he tried to alter you to reach his goals, you’re more than certain you only got a brief glimpse into who he was before then.

You still see the aftershocks of that carefully instilled terror. In the world around him, it manifests as stares and frightened whispers, devotions of followers terrified to incur his wrath. In you, it made you flinch when he tried holding your hand.

The first time he tried, it was a lovely night. He’d taken you shopping, encouraging you to get anything that caught your eye, carrying bags from different stores effortlessly while he followed along. Then, he took you to dinner. He treated you to the finest cuisine possible, tempting you into trying nearly every item on the menu. Afterwards, he led you up to the rooftop to see the stars twinkling down on the N109 Zone. You think they shine brighter in the harsh territory he calls home.

His fingers had brushed your hand, and you’d startled away, wide eyed and frightened. He’d retracted his touch immediately, apologizing with a slight smile. Once the initial fear ebbed, you’d tried apologizing for reacting that way. But he’d silenced you sharply, saying you did not have to be sorry for a hurt he caused.

He didn’t try to hold your hand again after that. When you felt safe enough, you’d slipped your hand in his, palms pressed close and fingers intertwined. He’d looked down at you with a tenderness you’d never seen before.

You wonder just how much further that hurt runs, for him to be where he is today.

But what does it matter? Where he is today is with you, watching a cheesy romance film in his home, curled together on the couch. He holds your hand, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. When you look over, he’s not watching the screen anymore.

You tease him about missing the movie, but he says he’ll have time to watch it again. But this time, he wants to savor your reactions, while they’re their most genuine.

The characters in the background are forgotten as he lets your hand go, shifting to cup your face in both his hands. His eyes flit across your face, before settling on your eyes.

He uses his hold to tilt your head where he can reach, before leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead.

There are times with him when you feel sticky, warm liquids on your hands. The lines between hallucination and reality blur when you look down and see blood staining your palms, your fingers.

Sometimes they’re so drenched, you can’t see any exposed skin past your wrist.

You don’t know what these glimpses mean yet. What they’re trying to tell you. But you can’t shake the feeling deep in your gut that they’re real, fragments of a past life you’ve forgotten.

You reach up to hold his own face in your hands, smiling at him as you draw him down to return the favor.

There is blood on both of your hands.

What does it matter? So long as you cradle each other so softly, the blood can be washed away.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

hi Kat, huge congrats on reaching 2K 💕 for the event, could I request a post-war Dadvi drabble where the happy family is living somewhere in Marley & celebrating Levi's birthday?

hi flo! :3 i rly want to commission someone to draw levi holding a baby in his lap now kjdskfj

Making a Fuss | 2K Follower Event | Post-War Dadvi Drabble

✧ word count ➼ < 800 ✧ notes ➼ post-war, fluff

The farmer's market was a bit more crowded today in terms of both vendors and buyers. Although most of the produce was sold earlier in the fall, there were still fruits and vegetables that had been harvested from the gardening that had occurred the year prior. A few years after the end of the Rumbling, the world was slowly getting pieced back together.

Walking from your house to the market and then through the market to the bakery was going to be a bit of a longer journey, so you were pushing Levi through the lineup of vendors as he sat in his wheelchair. It was ultimately for the best. Since he was seated, he was able to sit with your 7-month old in his lap, although your child was beginning to get restless from the amount of people around you. He wanted nothing more than to escape Levi's lap and crawl around, but Levi had a firm grip on him.

You had originally said that you were only wanting to pick up some vegetables and hang out at the bakery for the afternoon, but Levi wasn't dumb. It was too much of a coincidence that you had been this insistent on going out on his birthday. You had something planned.

His eyes went from staring at the bakery off in the distance down to your child that was busy babbling and tugging on his shirt. He had been fine as Levi occasionally distracted him by chatting with him or poking him, but it was clear that he was getting restless.

Levi heard you shuffling around behind him and you reached over his shoulder while holding a small plush shaped like a cat, handing it to your child to play with.

You ruffled your baby's jet black hair, which matched the hue of his father's. It hadn't thickened up enough for you to be able to style it yet, but you knew that your heart was going to melt as soon as you saw your baby wearing the same undercut as Levi.

Levi's nose immediately scrunched up as he gave his child a wary look the minute the teething toddler began gnawing at the plushie, very quickly covering part of the stuffed animal in his own slobber.

"Would you rather him be gnawing on his hands that have been touching every surface we've seen since leaving the house?"

The only response you heard from Levi was a gentle grunt as he acknowledged your comment.

You wheeled Levi and your baby over to a corner table on the outside porch of the bakery as soon as you arrived before walking inside to pick up the order that you had placed ahead of time.

You knew that Levi was not one to enjoy gifts, but you wanted to at least do something to celebrate. Plus, the three of you needed to get out of the house and go somewhere other than the teashop.

"No way," you uttered affectionately as you redirected your child's grabby hands away from the pastry cake you held in your hands. "I didn't even set this thing down yet."

While your child looked overly excited for the sugary treat that he technically wasn't even supposed to have yet, Levi held a skeptical expression, with one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

"Oh c'mon, it's like your first day off in what...two weeks?" you asked in an exasperated tone as you sat down. "I know you're very adamant about keeping the teashop together, but you should at least be allowed to celebrate your birthday."

"I've had days off."

You scoffed, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah, and you choose to spend them at the shop despite the fact that Gabi and Falco have been helping out."

"And leave the fate of the shop to those brats? Fuck no."

A scowl quickly appeared on your face as you visually berated him for cursing in front of your child, although you already knew that he didn't really care too much about that concept of not cursing in front of him.

He tightened his grip on his child that was getting increasingly fussy and turned him around to look into his eyes that matched yours in color.

"You have never made a fuss about your birthday, have you?" he asked with a serious expression. "Maybe you should have a chat with your mother."

You gently smacked Levi's shoulder with an annoyed, but also subtly amused look.

"He hasn't had a birthday yet, you dumbass."

You vaguely heard him scoff at your comment, amused at the fact that you cursed almost immediately after judging him for cursing within earshot of your baby.

"Just accept the 'happy birthday', you asshole."

[hyperhanniee]

A long 4ggravate highschool au headcanons thingy because I am a multi fandom bastard and I'm hyperfixated on them

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

Tighnari and Alhaitham are the two smartest, but they aren't academic rivals. Haitham is better at literature and social studies, while Tighnari is better at math and science. They tutor each other on their bad subjects.

Kaveh is the art kid, ofc. He loves drawing and painting. He once made a whole sturdy structure out of marshmallows and toothpicks. He draws Haitham the most, but claims he draws Cyno more.

Last is Cyno, he's sporty and a huge teachers pet. He has office duty and has a huge ego about it. He lets Kaveh get away with skipping, but annoys Haitham and Tighnari about being a second late.

Now dating time!

The first crush that ever happened in the group was Alhaitham getting a crush on Cyno in elementary school. He just thought Cyno was the prettiest in a cute elementary schooler way.

Og highschool couples were cynonari and kavetham. The couples would often go on double dates, one time Cyno and Kaveh ran off at a fair leaving Haitham and Tighnari behind. The two walked around holding hands and Haitham won Tighnari a huge fox plushie, but it was tOtAlLy PlAtOnIc

After a while communication happened and they all realized they liked each other.

Haitham and Tighnari constantly hold hands in the hallways. Tighnari is always nervous that someone's gonna just touch his tail, so Haitham is his shield.

Kaveh does Cyno's hair everyday before classes start. High pony with bangs, low pony, a messy bun. Kaveh is in love with Cyno's hair. But the one time it backfired was with pigtails. Cyno almost beat the shit outta Kaveh

Cyno drags Haitham everywhere because scary dog privilege. Haitham also just picks Cyno up at random times to annoy him. Cyno just wiggles like a feral cat, but after a while goes limp.

Kaveh loves to nap on Tighnari's tail. The blonde is absolutely obsessed with it. He'll put cute clips on it, he'll braid the longer parts, and it's just his comfort spot. He brushes Tighnari's tail to help calm himself.

Kaveh and Haitham go to the library all the time. Kaveh loves reading about ancient architecture, while Haitham grabs almost every book he can find on authors to quench his hyperfixation.

Cynonari go on ice cream dates. Cyno loves mint choco while Tighnari despises it with a passion. Tighnari always gets some "tropical fruit" like lychee or dragon fruit. Cyno is basic as hell, vanilla or mint choco.

Lastly they all always attend Cyno's games. For whatever sport he does, they're always the loudest fans. One time Kaveh almost physically fought a girl because she claimed to be Cyno's #1 fan (dramatic bitch)