#totally not for kissing one of them reasons

[dpspcehntr]

I love all your writings on LADs!! I somehow imagine all the Lads having dick piercings (tongue piercing is even better) for some reason. It would be a great if you write it but it’s totally up to you!!

I hope you are having a great day today 🫧🌊🎧🕯️

Firstly, thank you so much 😭😭! I’m always worried my writing isn’t good so thank you so much! Secondly, your mind is a beautiful place to think of this and I’ll gladly give this a go! (Had to do a quick google search and I didn't know there were so many! I'm shocked!)

Warning: genital piercings, tongue piercing, smut, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), handjob

My ask box is open! Send me your NSFW head cannons/thoughts/confessions about the LADS main 4! I might even write some of them up!

Zayne

"I don't see what the issue is but yes I do in fact have one. It was during my more "adventurous" early 20s. Do you wish to see it?"

Zayne sat in the chair in front of you as you sat on the edge of his desk. His head resting on your thigh as you absentmindedly play with his hair. It was his down time during his night shift and he asked you to stop by to keep him company.

"I thought I knew everything about you. Of course I want to see it."

He blushes a deep shade of pink and clears his throat. He pushes his chair back and stands up. He's slow to take off his belt, hoping you'll say you're just joking but you stay silent as he finally takes himself out his boxers. You eyes instantly zone in on the pretty piercing on the head and reach out to touch it. He turns his head as you take in in your hand. Your touch is enough for him to blow his load but he tries his best to hold his composer.

"It's pretty. Does it have any sexual benefits?'

You muse as you pump him faster in your hands, his composer faltering. Without making eye contact he turns back toward you.

"I d-don't know. Maybe we can try it out."

He takes your hand away from him and pulls you into a kiss.

Xavier

Your clit throbs with over stimulation as he finally sits back up after being between your legs for what felt like hours. Edging you all night with his tongue and the piercing in it. Your legs shake slightly as he leans into you for another kiss. You swirl your tongue in his mouth, tasting yourself on him and moaning loudly into him.

"Just a little bit more, okay. I promise you'll get what you want."

He whispers into your lips as you tighten your grip on him. You feel him line himself up with your dripping entrance and slowly push in. The piercing on the head rubbing your walls deliciously as you clench down further on him. He groans into your mouth as he pushes further in.

"Just a little more, you're doing so well for me."

He bottoms out with a groan as you release onto him. The feeling overwhelming as he continues to thrust in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm. You thanked the powers at be he kept the piercing as your next orgasm begins to build up within you.

Rafayel

"Why did you get it?"

He looks over at you from his painting with a blush.

"It was a dare from a friend of mine in art school and uh well I let my ego win. Though I don't regret it, it makes things more fun."

You cross the room to stand right behind him. You wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head in the crook of his neck.

"Can I see it?"

Your hands slide lower and lower on his body as he tries his best to ignore you and finish his painting. It doesn't work, your hand is already sitting at the top of his pants waiting to slide into his underwear.

"Shit. Gimme a sec."

He sets the paintbrush down and unbuckles his pants. You slide your hand into his underwear and slowly rub him off, paying special attention to the piercing on the head. Soon enough you find yourself on the floor of his studio with him panting over you holding himself at your entrance. Feeling the ball of the piercing hitting your g spot sends a wave of unexpected pleasure over you. He lets out a satisfied grunt as you clench down on him just a bit more. You could get used to this.

Sylus

“Well I usually take them out before you get here, but I was in a bit of a rush today, kitten.”

You look down at the piercing on the head with curiosity as you finish taking him out of his boxers. Your mouth salivates at the idea of having it in your mouth and eagerly take in in your mouth. A hiss slips past his lips as he cards his fingers through your hair. The feeling of the piercing in your mouth and his own noise makes your head spin with desire. Your underwear already wet with your slick as you take him deeper into your mouth. The fingers in his hair tighten just slightly and you're seeing stars. You moan around him as you cum untouched, ruining your underwear and leaving a wet spot on your pants. You shiver as he pulls himself out of your mouth and gives you a look.

"Did you make a mess, sweetie?"

You can only nod as he places a hand under your chin to look up at him. He looked absolutely ravished and all you wanted was to make him cum.

"It's only fair that I clean it up. Turn around."

[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

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

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

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

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

"No, he's on duty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

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

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

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

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

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

"I'll be in the foyer." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Didn't know you had a choice."

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

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

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

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

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

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too far. 

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

You hate mornings. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

[10:15 am, race 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

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

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, did you find anything?” 

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

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

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

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

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

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

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

“Nine is still first, though.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

I guess. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your party?” 

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

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

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[l0v3r666]

Mc inserts x TWST characters pt.2

(non-yuu pairings that fit into the plot of twst, if you like this then you might want to look at the first part!)

Savanclaw!Mc x Cater Diamond

Enemies to lovers with your favourite diva!! The two of you compete constantly through magicam and spelldrive, getting progressively pettier until the only solution is to kiss it out.. You’re trying to keep an ear out for your junior, and it just so happens Cater’s sniffing out your plan to go for gold in this year’s tournament. You might as well take the chance to mess with him! It’s so easy to love the face he makes when you give him the slip, and you’re totally making it your wallpaper when this is all over.

“Yo, Babe! If you’re in the same dorm, then you know Ruggie, yeah? We need to have a chat”

“Ohmigod you totally think all beastmen know each other, don’t you?? cancled :)”

Shroud!Mc x Vil Schoenheit

Ids attached himself to engineering and gaming pretty early, but your passion is fully unattainable. You’d clung onto pop idols and the art of stage makeup from an early age. Your longest running interest by far is Vil Schoenheit,, He rescued you from destructive habits and encouraged you to value self improvement. You’ve probably invested millions into his career (every thaumark sent anonymously, you’d die if he started to recognize your attached messages). Supporting Ortho in his SDC audition is your official reason to talk with him, and all the teasing from Idia will be so worth it when your Schoenheit debut palette gets signed! You’ve kept it in mint condition behind glass for years admiring it- and waiting for THE day.

“Mr. Schoenheit? My younger brother performed for you today, and uh, your signature please?”

“Normally I’d send both of you home for this. I’m sure you’re well aware of my paparazzi policy, However, I haven’t seen this particular relic in years! Just what have you done to preserve the quality?”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ruggie Bucchi

You’re #1 in the business of pissing off your parents- shopping copious amounts and then going to school across the country satiated you for awhile, but they’ve done something particularly revenge worthy now. The best scandal you can think of is getting a trashy boytoy to bring home for the break, but you’re not really into idiots.. Ruggie can be a very good actor given the right motivations, and he might even fool you into a real relationship before next semester.

“C’mon it’s not like I’ll need a script, sugar. I’m a natural, scout’s honor!”

“Either way, it won’t hurt to rehearse for convenience :/ Kiss me now so we don’t look stupid later.”

Scarabia!Mc x Floyd leech

God you hate that fish faced idiot >:( It’s bad enough that the housewarden’s moodswings guaranteed your holiday plans were all shot, but now Jamil’s getting hounded by the mafia! It’s your responsibility to get them off his back, but it’s not like you’re enjoying it. Somehow it’s even worse to watch Floyd when he’s playing dumb, and his emotional roller coaster keeps you walking on eggshells. The show must go on though, and if you’ve gotta play “wrestle until the biting stops” then you’ll do it :/

“Floyd, it’s dinner time, and I will tear you a new one if it means you’ll get moving.”

“PLEASEEEE tiger sharky just one more round :( I’ll even give your pen back!!”

Octavinelle!Mc x Kalim Al-Asim

You’re probably one of the most talkative of octavinelle students, and definitely a solid salesman. Kalim’s a prime target for resales and marketing practice, so naturally you join the pop music club. A year of “playing nice for the jackpot” leads you to lie awake at night, terrified that he’ll see through your facade and ditch you- it would cut off your best friendship, you’d be forced to leave the club! At some point you realize you’d stopped selling him things months ago, and your worst nightmare happened right under your nose. You fell in love.

“Hey, that solo was so inspiring! You’re really making progress!”

“It still isn’t on par with yours, though. Are you available to keep practicing after school? I’m sure Jamil would appreciate the break, and I would enjoy the company..”

Staff!Mc x Lilia Vanrouge

Of course your first job would come with some pet bat, it was too good to be true :( Full time at a bits and bobs shop near one of the best schools in the country WITH flexible hours? You must’ve been desperate to accept without reading about your babysitting in the footnote. He comes in everyday during your shift (regardless of the hours you take, it’s like he has a sixth sense), and has the audacity to exist in your space! It’s not like he even does anything to get banned!! He just stands there. Menacingly. You’re waiting for the day where he leaves convincing evidence that he’s there to traffic you or something- because if you didn’t know better you’d think he has a big, fat crush on you.

“Darling, how is the shop? I’ve taken care of those juvenile delinquents for you!”

“Taken care of? Whatever. Get back to class, kid.”

[cjlouwho]

You should just respond to all obvious bait anons with more BottomTommy smut. And the more obvious the bait is, the more detailed you get in describing what’s going on *eagerly awaits more smut*

nice asks get you smut too! can also be found on ao3, along with the first two parts.

They did, eventually, really talk. A full conversation, along with some fighting, and even more fucking. By the time the sun rose, they were exhausted for more than one reason, and slept side by side until it was time for them both to get up and head out for their shifts.

The next week included many dates, discussions, sleepovers, and lots and lots of fucking.

Buck wasn't surprised when he got a text from Tommy, asking him to come over to his place after work.

Door's unlocked, just come in.

What did surprise him was finding Tommy lying in bed, completely naked with legs spread wide, working one of Buck's favorite toys in and out of his ass.

Buck sucked in a breath, muttering out a "fuck" as he watched Tommy's red, puffy hole clench around the toy.

Tommy, with his mouth half open and gaze directly at Buck, managed a smile before the toy hit right against his prostate. He groaned, his head dropping back against the pillow.

Buck swallowed hard as he moved toward the bed. He pulled off his shirt in one quick motion and had had his pants undone and tossed aside before he reached Tommy.

"How long have you been here, Tommy?" Buck asked, his fingertips lightly circling Tommy's hole.

"Mmm," Tommy moaned. "Bout- bout an hour. W- waiting on you."

"Shit." Buck took off his boxer briefs and climbed up on the bed, kneeling down between Tommy's legs. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Tommy's hand, then gently took hold of his wrist and moved his hand to the bed. He took control of the toy, working it in and out of Tommy slowly, twisting it at the spot that always drove him crazy.

Tommy grabbed at the sheets, lifting his hips and moving to meet each thrust.

Even though it hadn't been long, Buck felt like Tommy was a totally different person now- in the best way. It wasn't that Buck felt like he'd been lying before, but he definitely had kept his wants and needs and desires to himself.

He'd been restrained. And in one of their late night conversations, he'd promised Buck that he wouldn't do that anymore. He would give himself over to Buck without fear or worry, and Buck promised the same.

What Buck didn't realize is just how much of that restraint had been in the bedroom. It wasn't that Tommy was holding back on wild kinks that he had, or that he hated a certain position that Buck loved. It was the fact that he had been so much quieter before. Not silent, just quieter.

Not anymore though.

And it drove Buck wild.

"Evan, I- oh, shit- I'm not gonna last much longer. Please, please g- get in me."

Buck didn't have to be told twice. He moved up Tommy's body and pressed a searing kiss against his lips as he pulled out the toy. Tommy whined at the loss, and Buck couldn't help but smile.

"Give me a second," he said, reaching out for the lube on the nightstand.

"One," Tommy counted impatiently, lazily jerking himself off while Buck got himself ready.

Buck laughed. "I thought I was the impatient one."

He lined himself up and slowly worked his way inside, mostly to hear the long, drawn out moan that came out of Tommy's mouth until he bottomed out.

Buck laid over him, kissing along his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until he reached his lips. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this before," he said, moving his hips in little circles. "So... So desperate."

"Mm," Tommy clenched his eyes shut, letting himself feel every centimeter of Buck inside him. "Just... just want you in me," he admitted, "all the time. S'all I think about now."

Buck pushed himself up to gain better leverage. Every thrust pulling little uh, uh, uh's out of Tommy's mouth.

"Wanna feel you when you're not here," Tommy continued. "When I'm, ohfuckyeah, when I'm at work. When you're at work. When I'm in the sky. When we're out somewhere. Doesn't matter. Wanna feel you in me."

"Fucking shit." Buck sat up, grabbing underneath Tommy's knees and pulling him toward him. He began fucking him harder, the bed squeaking with each movement.

Tommy growled, loud and deep, his back arching, "Evan, Evan, yes, fuck me!" he yelled. "I- I'm gonna-" he couldn't even get the words out before he was coming, untouched, all over himself. Shooting all the way up to his chin.

The sight of it had Buck following right after him, shaking as he came inside him.

After a few seconds, he pulled out and dropped down beside Tommy, wrapping an arm around him.

Tommy's body felt tense, causing Buck to sit up on his elbow. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?"

Tommy shook his head, lips pursed to try and hide a grin. "Just, um, trying to keep you inside," he told him. "I meant it when I said I always wanna feel you in me."

God, Buck could already feel himself getting hard again just at the thought. He moved closer to Tommy, scratching his nails down his chest. "What if I lick it out of you?" he asked. "Would that be okay?"

Tommy pulled him in for a messy kiss. "Yes. Yes, please."

Buck wasted no time in straddling Tommy, kissing his way down his body until he reached his hole. He pressed his lips against the tender skin, told Tommy to relax, and got to work.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[11:14 pm]

(cw: f!reader, alcohol consumption, smoking, sexual conversations, reformed fuckboy Jae)

a/n: this is set BEFORE Jae and Sweetheart are an official couple. Think a couple weeks after wtfbf/very early days of them being together like still official but no titles… also I’m really proud of the recent angst! Go me!!

You were still getting used to these frat parties. Now that you and fratboy!Jaehyun were together, you tried to make it a point to be here to… support him? No, he didn’t need support. You just wanted to be around him… even if he constantly smelled like beer and there were too many people around you. You weren’t the biggest fan of these parties, but you were still so lost in the sweet, lovey-dovey haze that you would do anything for Jaehyun at this point.

He had his arm around your shoulders while you both made conversation with the group of guys around you. Yuta was telling you about how he’d dyed his hair red and made a mess in the bathroom while Johnny and Jaehyun laughed about something stupid. The can in his hand was empty and the cup in your hand was half empty, the jungle juice was too strong this time and you didn’t like it. You wouldn’t say that of course, not wanting to offend these guys that had, so far, welcomed you to the group with open arms.

“I’ll go get you another one,” you told Jaehyun after Yuta had wandered off to smoke outside. He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your temple before you wandered to the kitchen.

It was a mess as it usually was during parties, bottles covered every surface, the floor was sticky, crushed chips littered the floor and the counters, and the fridge was stocked with various cans of alcohol. You grabbed one of Jaehyun’s go to beers and cracked it open, wiping the excess that splashed onto your hand on your jeans.

You made your way back to Jaehyun who you could see was throwing his head back with a laugh. He’s so handsome when he laughed. Well, all the time actually.

“God, he’s hot.” Your brows furrowed, did you say that out loud?

“You should totally try to get him back!” You heard. Right… so you hadn’t been the one to call him hot.

“I mean he’s been kind of taken by some girl, and I’m a total girl’s girl, but sometimes I just miss him, you know?” The first girl sighs dreamily.

“You miss him in your pants more like!” Her friend snorts.

“Well if you knew the things that man was capable of you’d miss him too. Ugh! He used to do this thing with his tongue! It made me come like right away!”

You felt sick, like you had to take a very hot shower and scrub your skin until this disgusting feeling was gone. You knew his reputation- of course you did. It was one of the first things Kira had told you about him, that he was known for sleeping around.

Since you’d been together, he’d never given you reason to believe he was still seeing other people. He’d never even so much as looked at other girls. The guy he was with you made you just kind of… forget that he was a playboy before he was with you. And what a reminder this was. It was like a slap in the face.

You trudged back to Jaehyun, forcing the beer into his hand with a faraway look in your eye. How many girls here could say they slept with him? How many of them were as recent as the day you met him? How many of them were staring at you with envy? How many of them knew things about him that you hadn’t even thought of? Well, not seriously.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of, sweet girl,” Jaehyun told you, his hot breath fanning over your ear.

The next words poured out of your lips before you could stop them, “how many girls have you slept with here?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth in shock from your own words. Johnny’s eyes widened while he motioned to the other guys to back away slowly. Jaehyun’s eyes didn’t leave your face, studying you with his brow furrowed.

He stayed silent, as he gripped your wrist and dragged you upstairs. The same girl as before nudged her friend with her elbow and you could hear, “lucky girl. We know what’s going to happen.”

You wanted to gag. You wanted to scream. Disgusting! It was gross! You felt dirty.

The door to Jaehyun’s dorm clicks shut and he turns to you with a serious look in his eye, “what are you trying to get at with that question, sweets? What do either of us gain from me answering that? Do you think I’m cheating on you? Is that what you’re really trying to ask me here? Because I’m not! You’re the only girl I’ve even looked at since we started hanging out. I only like you!”

You feel your breathing speed up and your throat tighten, “and I believe you! I know you like me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t always like this. You haven’t been in a committed relationship—or situationship— for a long time!”

“Just because we don’t have titles doesn’t mean this is a fucking situationship. You mean more to me than some cheap fuck and you know that!” Jaehyun exclaims angrily.

“So the other girls here were cheap fucks!? The girl I just heard talking about you doing something with your tongue that made her come instantly? The girl I heard last week that described your dick with entirely too much detail? Or the other girl that was telling her friend about how she licked that birthmark on your neck and bit it until you came? How do you think all these stories make me think of you? The way you talk about them?”

“What do you want me to say?! I can’t control what they say! I’m not going to apologize for what I did before I even knew who you were! If you’re calling me a slut just say that!” Jaehyun yells with exasperation, throwing his arms out.

“I didn’t say that! I’m not asking you to apologize! Ugh! You’re not listening to me!” You argue, tears beginning to stream down your face with frustration and helplessness, you just can’t put your thoughts and feelings into the right words the way you want. “I just— Jaehyun I like you. I really like you. I come to these parties because you want me here, I come to the frat house whenever you want me to, I force myself to be in situations I don’t particularly like because I like being around you. When I’m in these situations I end up hear things about you that I don’t like.”

Jaehyun sighs tiredly, dragging a hand down his face, “I’m sorry you hear these things, sweets, I really am, but I can’t control what people say about me. If I could, then I’d make sure you never heard about any of these encounters ever. I’m not that guy anymore.” He cups your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb, “I promise you, you’re the only girl for me and I mean that shit. I’m serious about you, sweet girl, you make me want to be better. You bring out a side to me that I haven’t seen in a while, a side that I missed. Only you bring it out of me.”

You can feel yourself melting into his warmth, leaning into his touch, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I wasn’t trying to slut shame you or call you out or anything like that.”

“Well, I’m sorry I got so heated in the first place. Look, I know about my reputation, alright? Hell, I lived it and I can tell you it’s true. Those girls don’t know me like you, I never wanted them to. But I really am trying for you, sweetheart. I’m trying really hard to be the guy you deserve and I’m really sorry you had to hear that nasty shit. Next time, just tell me and I’ll have them kicked out alright?” Jaehyun tells you, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, “in a couple weeks we’ll be old news and everyone will forget.”

You sigh tiredly, your rush of heightened emotions come crashing down to leave you feeling exhausted. Somehow you find it in yourself to flash him a smile and jokingly push his shoulder, “you better pull some new tricks out of your sleeve when we finally sleep together, and I want to see that tongue thing!”

Jaehyun laughs deeply, pulling you onto his bed while tugging you into his tight embrace, “whatever you want, sweetheart, whatever you want.” And he means it. Just like you find yourself doing things that are out of your comfort zone, he finds himself doing the same. He would have never gotten through this argument with anyone else, but with you he did. And if making things work with you means that he has to forget ever even glancing at anyone he’s slept with, then he’d do it. He’d do it happily. He thinks, rather happily, that he’d do anything for you.

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 007 ; long legs, short shorts.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (596)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (when i was writing this i was lowkey cringing so um yeah, short, car crashes, angst AGAIN, running away, miscommunication but thats not revealed yet LMAO)

You don’t know why you showed up here. When you first came with Runa, you felt out of place. You were embarrassed for no reason and you were scared. And that was with Runa.

Now, though, you walk past the cars, alone. There are less people looking at you because now they know you’re part of Rin’s crowd, but some of them whisper as you walk past. You swallow hard and put your head down.

You’re not even sure if Rin is racing tonight, but there’s no doubt he’ll be here. You make sure to steer clear of where he’s usually parked. Runa had left before you this evening, so she doesn’t know you’re here either. This is a bad idea and you know it.

You walk past the start line and a familiar laugh catches your attention. Without even meaning to— or wanting to— your head turns in the direction. The sight before you makes you want to throw up.

Long legs, short shorts, exposed midriff, leaning against a car, giggling. Leaning out the window is Rin, smiling and laughing along. you blink a couple times, just to make sure you're seeing things correctly. It’s been two days and Rin is already moving on from the kiss you shared.

Hot tears sting at the back of your eyes. You look away just as fast as you had looked at them. You should leave. You don’t want to be here anymore. But.

Rin revs his engine and you peek back over at him. The girl he was talking to is gone, now standing in front of the cars, holding a piece of fabric. You stop walking and wait.

The girl brings her hand down and both of the cars are off. You don’t recognize the other car— lime green with yellow stripes on the side of it. You think it’s tacky, but as it takes off, you can’t help but be impressed at its speed. 

And then, seemingly, the world begins to move in slow motion. You can almost hear the way Rin shifts the gear stick. He turns a corner too fast and—

His car hits the wall. Full speed. 

The gasp you let out is loud, but muffled in your own ears. Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. The damn that was holding your tears back burst. One hot tear slides down your cheek. 

There’s a group of people rushing towards the car and you think you see Runa, but you can’t move. The car door opens and Rin stumbles out, cradling his arm to his chest. He turns and looks back at his car— his beloved car. The side of it is totaled, smoke coming from the side of it.

The crowd of people surround him, a ways away from the car. Your feet are like cement blocks. There’s a feeling coursing through your body, making you tingle. You can’t quite place it. Fear? Worry? Horror? All of the above, you think.

You glance around you, noticing you’re basically alone, and your chest aches. You wipe your hands off on the pants of your legs, letting out a shaky breath.

You need to leave. You have to leave. You look back at the car crash one last time before you turn. Staring right into your soul, is Rin. A shiver shoots down your spine.

You turn and run. Your chest heaves, your legs burn, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Runa was right. Rin’s lifestyle is dangerous. He’s a street racer. Everytime he gets in that car, he may never come back out.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@sahrii , @cherrysurf , @heartmaddie , @jpegarchives , @vertejay

@tiramizuloz , @gumims , @mybelovedvi , @chaotic-neutral-ig , @usbrous

@iheartamora , @iluv-ace , @xavlyzn , @reocidal , @mysticstrawberryballoon

@h0n3y-l3m0n05 , @aethersluvrr , @smiithys , @rriwyu , @twiishaa

@kissunday , @ilovejeansosomuch , @anqelkoz, @massacremars

[mimikoolover]

i’m a kookmin truther but how is the heart km photo more sus than possibly jk back hugging a woman? appearing to be teasing her where it doesn’t look totally platonic at all?

my belief is whether kookmin is STILL dating right now, at the very least kookmin fooled around more than once and their dynamic and relationship deserve some eyebrow raising if they’re seeing other people while doing the things they are doing.

however, it really boggles my mind when kookminers totally act like there’s nothing sus about those videos. it’s one thing to think that man wasn’t jk but to acknowledge it MIGHT be him, then you should also be more honest.

I genuinely think it was him. I cope by thinking that we had a vague timeline, although we have an idea given the hairstyle that man had. I cope by believing JK and Jimin tried to date, broke up, see other people and whatever they are doing months before enlisting.

I always held onto the belief that they have such a peculiar relationship. That if something is truly going on, good for them and for me, as i can say I’m not surprised. However, if in this universe they never truly “officially” dated, i would have so many questions and i definitely feel bad about their significant others.

i think in your mind him being in a straight relationship is automatically more realistic. imo you can't infer anything sus from the video because they're not kissing or even sitting on the couch cuddling. jungkook is quite a playful person i assume with everyone so back hugging isn't that sus. if you remember (you may not) the picture of him with the tattoo artist, he was back hugging her too so...you could argue that was sus? if he took a pic like the heart arch pic with a woman, would you think that was more sus than the video or not? i think for all of us thinking objectively is hard because what we feel will be influenced by our internal biases and how we think about jikook too. but it's not like i /want/ jikook to date each other. i'm fine with whatever they are. i'm not fighting you on your opinion for that reason. if i'm honest one of the reasons why i think the video wasn't sus is because he went on to deny having a gf right after the leak which i'm pretty sure was the truth, given his don't give a fuck attitude in 2023, i doubt he would have denied it if it were true, especially as that has not happened before (with the tattoo artist). so maybe he dated her earlier and not by the time he denied it but idk.

peculiar is the right word but tbh i don't think either of them had a significant other you'd have to feel sorry for, as in even if they were casually seeing other ppl i don't think it ever got very far (so far). if it did i think jikook may have 'cooled off' from each other especially jungkook cause he seems (again just my perception of him) very dedicated to the person he loves given how he's followed jimin around like a puppy, complained about not spending time with him etc. he would quite happily be with jimin 24/7 so if that were his S/O i bet they'd get at least this level of sole dedication.

funnily i think about the content of your ask quite a lot...i also think it's interesting that this topic only comes up concerning jungkook and not 'sus' things about jimin that tbh i don't even bother looking into but saw a bit about back in the day (that actress posting from his place or whatever?).

there are a lot of things (gossip) about jikook and all members of bts, like any other celebs but tbh i made peace with not ever really knowing for sure. when liam payne died and it came out he lied about having kidney issues to cover up going to rehab, for some reason that really stuck with me (in addition to him hiring 2 sex workers before he died...) like we don't know celebs lol i will say with bts, i don't think they do stuff in secret that will disappoint us or be scandalous. but i can see jikook dating each other and them also not dating each other, i guess when we get confirmation of either we still won't know any details. so to me it doesn't make that much of a difference what i think about this all lol.

[pokemenlovingmen]

Hiiii, can I request some headcanons with Arven and a touchstarved reader?

I’m on an Arven kick rn so all the Arven requests being my most recent ones are doing good for me!!

Arven X Touch Starved!Male Reader

TW: mentions of child neglect and all the things that come with Arven’s past

🥪 - Joke’s on you, he’s touch starved too actually.

🥪 - Needless to say, whenever you need touch, Arven is always eagerly matching your energy. He got such minimal affection—let alone via touch—growing up, having a boyfriend who is always seeking touch is like a match made in heaven situation for him.

🥪 - You can just call for him to cuddle and even if he’s in the middle of something or across the house, he’ll come a-running.

🥪 - Arven actually has a lot of little physically affectionate things I think he does to all of his loved ones, but he can be reserved in actually letting himself do them. The instinct is constantly there and he’s always fighting it though, good thing he has you and he doesn’t have to!

🥪 - In terms of his little physically affectionate gestures, he likes to clap people he likes on the back or shoulder. If the other person is distinctly shorter than him, he’ll ruffle their hair or give them a noogie. He also does friendly punching or elbowing, and while doing any of the above he always has a big grin on his face.

🥪 - You have to actually explain touch starvation to him, but when you do, it clicks right away and he immediately latches onto the concept because you just put a term to something he’s felt all his life and a lot of things make sense now.

🥪 - So it’s fair to say that there isn’t a single man out there who could be more attentive to your needs than him, because he has the same feelings. And by Arceus, Arven is dedicated to making sure your needs are always met.

🥪 - Arven’s favorite thing in the world is cuddling. He loves to cuddle; he can be big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter as long as he’s doing it with you. Bed cuddles are nice, but he really likes couch cuddles even more. After he cooks a nice meal for the two of you and you’re both full, warm and calm, nothing beats moving to the couch and curling up in each other’s arms. It’s a pretty sacred tradition that makes him feel safe—hopefully it would make you feel the same way, too.

🥪 - While cuddling, if he’s holding you, he is STRONG. Arven’s strength is actually pretty average, but he can white-knuckle hold you tight all night long, so if you like a strong pair of arms, this is a place you’ll want to be. He’ll usually rest his head on your shoulder, sometimes kissing your neck and shoulder blades if he’s really feeling the love.

🥪 - If you’re holding him, Arven kind of rolls and squirms a bit. He’s not a fan of being a little spoon in the traditional way—if you’re holding him, he likes to be facing you. Sometimes he buries his head in your chest, other times he rests your foreheads together. Once he’s gotten comfortable, though, he’ll just melt in your arms. It feels so special and safe. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before.

🥪 - When you cuddle, Arven is quiet… for a total of maybe ten minutes. He becomes a bit of a chatterer when you two snuggle, but he usually talks in a whisper during those times. While cuddling is often when you two will have your “big” conversations, usually regarding feelings and the swapping of your issues. Arven will listen the entire time you talk about whatever’s on your mind, including the reasons behind your touch starvation, all the while rubbing your arms with his thumbs and nodding. In turn, he’ll talk about being worried about losing you or scaring you off, and how happy he’s become since he’s found you. The conversations only get truly heavy when either of you are in a particularly distressed headspace, though.

🥪 - However you manage your touch starvation, Arven is happy to be on the receiving end. Tiny pecks as you pass him by in the kitchen, tight hugs before you separate for the day, a grab for his hand when you really need it… he’ll always be delighted to accept it all.

[astriddestelle]

In light of discovering I’ve been a friends to lover girlie this whole time. Here’s are my top ten friends to lovers of all time canon and non canon.

1. The ship that started it all admittedly I liked Raven more so I shipped her with Robin, but my god Robin and Starfire were cute a whole ass ship I didn’t even realize I was shipping until they kissed in the movie and I was squealing like well I was a kid lol. My favorite episode aside from the Raven ones were always the ones focused on their relationship. Stranded was chefs kiss. I’m not a girl I’m not your friend. Date with Destiny had me gagged. Sisters the arm reach as she’s kidnapped beautiful. No other couple will compare.

2. God when this was airing what a time to be fucking alive. I was so obsessed with this ship. My first fanfic ideas were about this ship. I used to roleplay this show at school. They were so fucking messy with their just friends bullshit. Just friends my ass. I used to watch episode 22 routine on repeat and yes I have it memorized they almost kissed then spent the rest of series pretending they weren’t down bad for each other. They never actually made it official either which will forever haunt me to this day.

3. This one crept on me. I didn’t realize I shipped it until I shipped it and there was no going back. I mean come on. The look of love is literally their theme song. What do you mean Langa only likes skateboarding when Reki is there to watch and cheer him on. What do you mean Reki is afraid of Langa getting hurt not himself but Langa. Cindereki need I say more. The most casual friends to lovers cause they don’t even realize till the end. I went to skate infinitely with you who says stuff like that to someone they’re just friends with. How they adopt each others love languages through your the show. Ugh.

4. Alright imma be honest. This one started as me just wanting to read more Itadori fics but my god. If gege wasn’t a coward they would’ve been official (jk mostly) but Megumi only wanting to live a domestic life with Yuji, regaining the will to live after Yuji says he misses him, not having a reason for saving him not wanting him to die, start by saving me itadori…yeah. And itadori never giving up saving fushiguro, first words out of his mouth are always fushiguro, tells Sukuna to give fushiguro back. I mean how could I not.

5. Might be too early for me to be adding them to this list but so far Momo and Okarun have all the makings of being just as great as Robin and Starfire if not better. Two idiots sharing one brain cell the way they actually communicate with each other, Okarun getting salty when people insult his wifey, Momo getting jealous when people flirt with her husband. Okarun straight up telling Momo he can’t read her mind but he cares about her and values her friendship. Momo straight up saying she wants to talk to Okarun and loves hanging out with him. I’m into deep and it’s only been nine episodes. First time I’ve been this invested in a straight ship in years.

6. Back to the classics with this one. And I’m lowkey starting to sense a pattern. Cause why do they all involve redheads in some way and do I have a type? (yes) Kim and Ron are the original boss wife/fail husband. They’re so cute cause if you rewatch the series there’s all these little hints that they always liked each other (it took you 12 stinking years to kiss me) (I mean me and Kim sure everyone expects it but) but like didn’t wanna ruin their friendship fucking cute as hell idk if it was intentional on the writers part but yeah

7. Gwen and Geoff from Total Drama Island. They had one episode together and I was a goner. Idk I just love my sun and moon motifs as yall can clearly see. Something about the black cat golden retriever dynamic just tickles me I guess. I know yall see the potential. I rewrote total drama island just to get them to together it was bad

8. Harry and Luna from HP. Idc he shoulda been with her and not Ginny. No shade to Ginny but I just feel like they would’ve been such a great couple. Harry with someone who understands him and will never make him feel like he needs to live up to the savior role and Luna with someone who will never judge her for being different or odd. Sigh. So much wasted potential. So stinking cute oddly doesn’t exist as much anymore sigh.

9. Birdflash. I will not deny a huge part of this stems from really liking Wally West and that’s pretty much it. And I wanted more fics about him. I did not like Artemis at all, no one else shipped him with Zatanna or Rocket or Batgirl or Megan so Robin it was lol. But I mean I’ve been eating since so I can’t complain.

10. Ok while I don’t like this ship anymore I can’t deny I was obsessed with it for a hot minute. Danny/Sam from Danny phantom so much freaking potential and actually really cute from 10 year old me’s pov too bad they don’t hold up as an adult. I was very much obsessed with goths as a kid huh.

Honorary mentions

Adrien/Marinette: I haven’t seen enough of this show to put em in my top ten but my god is it cute af sometimes I just need to cute sunshine’s falling in love that is all. I’ve seen enough to know I’m rooting for both of em. A

Jade/Andre: I was obsessed with the episode he had a crush on her. Also in canon he’s the only one she calls a friend, they have lunch dates, she isn’t ever mean to him not as mean as she is to everyone else. I think it’s be cute af alright. Plus Andre wouldn’t flirt with other girls and make her jealous

Tododeku idk yall I just think they’d be cute af together not much else say. Same goes for Mina and Bakugo. Idk I just like em.

Sheen/Libby very refreshing to see a black girl get a love interest and not be discarded later. Sigh too bad that hasn’t happened since like 2006

can also throw on numbuh one and numbuh five from kids next door for similar reasons above. As well as numbuh two and numbuh five

[604to647]

Holidays in the 604

Hope everyone has been having a good holidays so far, however that looks for you or best suits your sensibilities 🥹🥰🫂🎄🎄

I started to write write some HCs for what the holidays might look like for the couples in a few of my series (Safest with You, The Rockford Portfolio, etc.) but for reasons below the cut, haven't had much energy or motivation to write (no need to read, it's a bit of a downer and kind of rambly!) - I'm hoping that I can find a little bit of both in the next few days and maybe get some thoughts down to still post.

For those same reasons, I haven't been on here much, to my detriment if I'm being honest - this place is a source of escapism for me and not being able to come on here for more than a few minutes a day has felt a bit offputting. I feel like I've missed a lot of amazing holiday stories that would have likely boosted my spirits a bit - I'll try to go back and find them but if you have or read any that you wish to recommend/share, please do let me know!

Similarly, thank you to everyone for your tags/mentions/asks - I want to get to them and maybe still participate in a few tag games if it's not too late when I muster up some energy. Thank you for thinking of me!! I truly wish that you all continue to have a lovely holiday season and look forward to ringing in the new year! You're all such a welcomed presence in my life and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for being here! Hope to see you soon 🥹 KISS KISS 😘😘

Ok, now as to why Emily has a bit of the holiday blues this year:

I didn't grow up with a lot of hard set Christmas traditions, celebrations around the end of the year didn't go much beyond the commercial and the holiday season was mainly appreciated for being time off (from school, work), a time to rest and relax. There was cheer and joy, but as the kids say these days, it wasn't that deep. I've since married into a family that puts A LOT of pressure on Christmas - with an emphasis on physical togetherness and adhering to traditions/customs, that (to me anyways) can feel at times more performative than enjoyable; I totally understand the comfort in doing things the way they've always been done, but a lot of times it feels like people are just checking things off a list rather than genuinely enjoying (for example) baking the Christmas cookies, you know what I mean? Couple that with my priorities for my kiddos' Christmas, the way we spend Christmas now can feel a lot like a season of obligation. Depending on what the particular plan is for that year, it can also be incredibly hard, draining, and not all that jolly for me.

This was one of those years.

I hosted the big Christmas dinner at my house and also had those from out of town staying with us for a week. I'm a Virgo who thinks of her home as her sanctuary, am a bit fastidious about her things, and sees value in being forthright. It's a lot for me to have people taking over my house, making messes, and pushing/crossing boundaries that I've tried to set due to previous visits, all while maintaining a certain level of holiday cheer and slapping on a facade of "it's fine" when I definitely don't feel that way. I'll admit I wasn't always successful this past week.

Mr. 604 is very supportive and knows his family can be a lot, but at the end of the day a) he's just a man 😂 (and not a miracle worker) and b) they are his family and he himself has had to "grin and bear" a great many things over the course of his life, so he has more practice at it but doesn't necessarily have any advice to impart on how to better cope with the chaos.

It makes me feel like a curmudgeon for not being able to suck it up more and pretend for the sake of the kids, or even to help maintain this performance of "family togetherness" that seems to be the whole point of whatever the heck everyone was doing. So this holiday season has thus far been exhausting, filled with guilt, and left me feeling a bit empty.

I am okay and recovering now, it will just take a few days I think. If you read this far - thank you! I just needed to rant a little bit - I don't feel much like myself these days and that in itself can be depressing, especially at a time when I'm supposed to be experiencing the opposite. Here's to some rest, some quiet, some peace in the last few days of 2024 for myself, Mr. 604, and anyone else who needs it! 🤞🏻🥰

[callivich]

Gallavich 5 (+ 1) prompts - Part 6

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Open to all writers to use for fics or headcanons or meta or just discussion in general! (Some of these don’t have the + 1 so feel free to add that if you like or not use it if it has one, and also play around with the wording too if you feel like it and interpret them how you want.)

This prompt set is dedicated to @mmmichyyy and her post about Ian and Mickey sharing an umbrella which inspired me to create a whole set.

5 times they share an umbrella + 1 time they don’t

5 times get caught in the rain + 1 time they don’t

5 times they get sunburnt + 1 time they don’t

5 times they almost adopt a pet (either together or separately) + 1 time they actually do

5 times they share a cigarette

5 times they think about moving from the West Side

5 times they secretly imagine a future together + 1 time they share this with each other

5 ways they readjust to life after prison + 1 way they readjust to life with each other [based on this discussion with @mybrainismelted]

5 mattresses they ruin + 1 they don’t

5 grocery store trips together + 1 where one goes alone

5 pictures they have as their phone backgrounds + 1 they absolutely do not save

5 awkward moments they have in prison

5 reasons that say “that’s disgusting” fondly

5 meals they cook for each other + 1 they cook together

5 times their size difference made them go feral + 1 time they managed to keep it together

5 moments of non-sexual intimacy + 1 that turns sexy

5 times they steal food off each other + 1 time they share

5 weird but the other one is into it compliments they give + 1 really random one

5 times they make the other one laugh to stop them from crying

5 times they are called co-dependent by other people

5 kisses in unusual places + 1 totally normal one

5 love messages they never write/text + 1 they almost do

5 ways they imagined their lives turning out + 1 time they predicted the future pretty accurately

5 times they encountered each other before s1 + 1 time they almost did

5 texts that make the other one come running

5 times they can’t believe they made it

5 times they wreck a piece of clothing + 1 time they try and mend something

5 one off nicknames they never reuse + 1 sort of weird one they do

5 apartments they never rent + 1 house they buy

5 times they secretly think ‘I love you’ before they can say it outloud

5 times their siblings hang out with each other and talk about them

5 discoveries they make about each other over the years + 1 that comes a real surprise

5 arguments they have about stupid shit that are easily resolved

5 things they steal/buy/borrow for their apartment that makes it feel like home

5 moments they apologise for + 1 they don’t have to

5 naps they take together + 1 they take apart

5 insults neither of them mean + 1 that is so ridiculous neither of them can take it seriously

5 subtle ‘I love you’s

5 ‘I love you’s without saying it

5 supportive gestures + 1 really, really supportive one

5 goodbyes that are not for long

5 moments from their teenage years they reminisce about

5 jobs they could have had together

5 times they cuddle for warmth

5 secret glances they take + 1 not so secret glance

[chronotopes]

I love you public history people I love you museum people I love you archivists and I LOVE YOU architectural historians!!!

[perpetualexistence]

Through a Funhouse Mirror

Alenoah Week 2024 Day 6: Amusement Park / Laser Tag

Noah and Alejandro are on an end of year class field trip to the local amusement park. Normally, Alejandro only hangs out with his girlfriend Heather in the popular clique. However, recently Alejandro has integrated himself into Noah's friend group. He's even taken charge as their leader.

He acts the gentleman, but by now Noah knows better. He doesn't have any concrete proof, but he can tell Alejandro despises most of the group. There has to be some reason he's sticking around, but he doesn't quite know what.

He would confront Alejandro, but the eel is always too preoccupied with schmoozing the rest of his friends, and people outside of his immediate friend group. Now is a good of a chance as any.

Alejandro's the one who convinces the group to split off. He insists that it's so everyone can do what they prefer, but Noah can tell it's because he wants to get away from the others. Noah volunteers himself to go with Alejandro since nobody is allowed to be by themselves, and Alejandro obliges. There are benefits to being the only other sane one in the group.

Noah looks for somewhere private to confront Alejandro, and lucks out with the house of mirrors. He tells Alejandro he wants to go in and Alejandro, ever the 'gentleman' agrees.

Noah waits until they're deeper into the maze before he starts being direct with Alejandro about his nature. Alejandro tries denying it. Noah provides rebuttal after rebuttal. The argument keeps getting more and more heated.

Noah's back is to one of the mirrors. He's trying to keep his ground, but he takes another step backward as Alejandro takes one forward. His back is pressed against one of the mirrors.

Without warning, the solid surface begins to shudder. He feels something like a liquid on his back. Nothing seems to be supporting his weight anymore, and he begins to fall backwards. In his desperate attempt to stop his descent, he grabs onto the closest thing in sight: Alejandro.

In his own shock at seeing the mirror ripple, Alejandro is unable to react in time to stop their fall. He passes through the mirror with Noah, and falls on top of the smaller boy.

Noah groans in pain at the fall and at being crushed.

Alejandro quickly stood up to recover from this temporary set back. He's the first to notice that the tacky mirrors from before now loom over the both of them like imposing walls. The floor is much, much too close.

They both hear a chuckle coming from behind him, and turn to see a man the size of an eight-story building looking down at both of them.

After a quick screaming session, they learn that this is a trickster spirit who calls himself Chris. He likes to mess around with mortals from time to time for his own amusement. And man, they just handed themselves on a silver platter.

He offers them a deal. He'll tell them how to return them to their normal size if they can find him again. He'll give them a riddle, then once they figure out where he's talking about, they have to race towards it at their new size to get to him.

Alejandro shows no fear as he does his best to assuage Chris and assure him they can absolutely finish this task for Chris. Noah, however, is pretty peeved about this situation. And oh, does he let Chris know it.

Alejandro tries to get him to stop talking, but one doesn't stop Noah from going off on someone once he's started. Noah has successfully angered Chris, though Alejandro's able to convince Chris NOT to kill them. Chris still wants some punishment though, so he magics their phones away so they can't call or text for help. And he's going to give them the hardest riddle he knows.

Alejandro covers Noah's mouth and agrees to the new terms. Chris gives them the riddle, and leaves in a puff of smoke. It takes everything in Alejandro not to strangle Noah as they get to solving the riddle.

Between their IQ, and Chris not being as smart as he thinks he is, they solve it pretty quickly. It’s the Ferris wheel. They can remember seeing it on the way in. It's in the middle of the park. Full of crowded people. Who can step on them without even trying.

They start making their way over, doing their best to be as stealthy and quick as possible. They'd rather not let anyone else know about this because who knows how any stranger would take it?

Fortunately, they do come across someone that isn't a complete stranger! It's hard to miss Owen in a crowd with how his voice carries. He's getting an absolutely obscene amount of cotton candy.

Noah immediately starts making his way towards his chubby buddy, only for Alejandro to stop him. Noah wants to know what Alejandro's doing, and Alejandro points out that Owen might not be the best person to help them out in their current predicament. He doesn't know how to keep secrets, and isn't aware of his own strength. That is a VERY dangerous combination with both of them being this small.

Noah turns on Alejandro in an instant. Owen's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's not a complete idiot. He can stop when you ask him to stop something. And not spreading gossip is a different type of secret than one that'd put their lives at risk.

There's no way of knowing if they'd find any of their other classmates who is more 'responsible' and who might, might be willing to help. Owen could be their one chance.

Also. It's Owen. Of course he's going to help them! Plus, the big guy can charge through a crowd if he's highly motivated. Noah's pretty sure saving the lives of two of his friends is high enough motivation. They'd get to that ferris wheel in an instant!

Noah's not going to have Alejandro ruin their best chance of getting back to normal because of some stupid one-sided rivalry with Owen!

"He may squeeze me within an inch of my life, but you know what I'll be? Alive!"

Alejandro still fights to keep Noah from going out to get Owen's attention. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this, especially not that oafish buffoon no matter what Noah says.

Noah tries to wriggle out of Alejandro's grasp, but he loses. Alejandro only lets go after Owen has passed them by. He sighs in relief when he can no longer see Owen, and finally lets Noah go.

Noah starts going off on another tirade against Alejandro when the wind starts to pick up. Nobody else seems to notice, but for them the wind is threatening to buffet them away.

Alejandro crouches down to cling to the boardwalk underneath him for something to hold on. Noah is blown away a couple of feet (relative to his new size) before he's stopped.

Because a stray bit of cotton candy has been blown his way and is now trapping him against the ground.

Alejandro rushes for Noah once the wind has died down. He might be annoyed at Noah for making this more difficult that it needs to be, but that doesn't mean he wishes Noah dead.

He tries digging some of the cotton candy around Noah's face free so Noah can breathe better. Which does work, but it also leads Alejandro to getting cotton candy on him. He's lucky he's strong enough to have pulled his own arms out rather than get stuck himself.

He knows any type of liquid should dissolve this, but how to get some? He looks around to spot a large cup of soda littered on the ground. He runs for it and sighs in relief as he notices that it has a bit remaining. It won't be the most elegant solution, but it will do.

He drags the soda to Noah and jumps onto the cup. Soda sprays out of the straw to douse Noah, freeing him. Noah is coughing and snorting out cotton candy and soda, but he's breathing.

Noah reluctantly thanks Alejandro for the whole, you know, saving his life thing. Alejandro was going to tease Noah about it to get some semblance of familiarity back when he hears an extremely loud bark coming from behind.

He turns to see a large dog behind him.

This is fine. Animals love Alejandro! He has a commanding presence that they admire. They fawn over him. He can tame this beast and convince it they're not chew toys.

Turns out his commanding presence doesn't work when he's smaller than the thing he's trying to command.

The dog reaches down and bites onto the back of Alejandro's shirt. He's shaken about, grasping for anything to free himself, when he hears a familiar voice in a strange tone.

"Here boy!" coos Noah in a cutesty tone Alejandro didn't think was possible. "Drop the disgusting eel and come to me! I've got treats!"

To Alejandro's shock, the dog immediately drops him. He falls to the ground in a heap. The dog eagerly bounds towards Noah and begins to sniff him. The dog licks Noah, mostly for the soda and cotton candy he's drenched in.

"¿Quién eres y qué has hecho con Noah?" Alejandro asks himself as he hears Noah giggle at being licked.

Noah digs into one of the many pockets in his khakis that Alejandro had assumed were just to show off his poor taste in fashion. He digs his hand out with a small plastic bag filled with dog treats.

"Come on boy, let's get you a treat that won't kill you in the long run."

He gets the dog to sit, then lay down. Then begins to climb on top of the dog.

"...You tell no one what just happened, and I'll let you get on Shadow. I don't know if I can get him to go fast, but I can at least get him going in the right direction."

Alejandro knows better to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he puts all thoughts about how cute that was away as he gets atop of the newly dubbed Shadow.

It turns out that Shadow has two speeds: none and all. They both have to cling onto the dog as he bolts through the crowd towards the ferris wheel. They can only hope everyone is so focused on the dog that no one notices the two small humans desperately clinging to its fur.

Shadow takes them a good distance towards the wheel. However, he is a dog. He notices a seagull within his line of sight and begins to chase after it in a different direction. The two of them let go before Shadow can steer them too far off course, and land behind one of the prize booths.

With them being in the back of the booths, they can see a path of relatively safety so long as none of the workers make their way back here. The ferris wheel isn't much farther off. So they begin walking. And talking.

"May I at least ask how you made a dog much larger than us eat out of the palm of your hand?"

"I trained my dog when he was a puppy. I figured it might be the same with another dog no matter the size difference."

"Still, I will admit. That was impressive."

"Huh, so you can give a genuine compliment. Didn't think you had it in you."

"I absolutely do give genuine compliments!"

"If you want to prove you're genuine, tell me the real reason you started befriending Team E-scope."

Alejandro sighs. Because at this point, he's tired, and he already has a piece of blackmail over Noah. If they don't survive this, he might as well get this off his chest.

Alejandro admits that the real reason he wants Noah and his friends at his side is because he needs them to get revenge on Heather for him. He's done his best to keep this out of the gossip circle, but she actually dumped him rather recently. He didn't quite listen to the reason why because she did the dumping instead of him. He can't just let that stand.

He knows 'Team E-scope' and Owen is because he knows they're the most chaotic group among them. He planned to trick them into pranking Heather for him so that he didn't have to get his own hands dirty, and no one would find out the reason he wanted revenge on the first place.

Noah can't help but laugh at Alejandro.

"You seriously went through all of that trouble so we could get back at your ex for you?"

"It's a very elaborate plan!"

"That's why I'm laughing! You did all of that for nothing!"

"Getting back at Heather is not nothing."

"No. That's not what I mean. We would have done it if you just asked."

"...What?"

"Eva hates Heather's guts, Owen's always down for a good prank, Izzy's Izzy, and I love to watch shitty people get their just desserts. You didn't even need to give us a reason. All you had to do was ask us to help you pull a prank on Heather. We'd do it because it'd be funny."

Alejandro has to re-evaluate a lot of assumptions and life decisions that he's made recently.

As they get close to the ferris wheel, they spot Chris walking into one of the carts. They immediately make a run for the cart before the attendant can close the door. They both land on the sticky, popcorn riddled floor at the same time.

Despite this, they each find themselves alone with Chris.

He spends the first few minutes laughing at them, confessing to having watched them the entire time. Then he says to each that he can tell them how to get back to normal, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work and they’re almost out of time. He can un shrink one of them right now, guaranteed. …But in return, they have to give up the other to Chris as an entertainment piece. The other will be fine! Mostly. They’ll be big again at least.

Once he gets the consent he can take the other away to do whatever. It’s an exclusive offer, so they better act fast.

Neither believes this is exclusive. They’re both pretty sure the other is being offered the same deal. It’s the classic prisoner’s dilemma. If they give each other up, they’ll probably both be subject to Chris’s whims for the rest of their lives.

Logically speaking, the right thing to do is to try to betray each other. But it requires a considerable amount of trust in the other. Noah would have to trust Alejandro not to be a selfish bastard. Alejandro would have to trust Noah not to be paranoid. 

...Noah doesn't think he can trust Alejandro. He has seen Alejandro put himself first time and again. He refused to get help that they clearly needed because of his stupid pride. He's been more honest with Noah, but now Alejandro is by himself, being offered a deal almost impossible to resist. If he's going to take Noah down, then Noah might as well take Alejandro with him.

And yet. Alejandro's first instinct had been to save Noah when he was trapped, despite proving that he'd be difficult to work with. There was something good there in that shriveled, dark heart. Taking Alejandro down would give him a sense of vindication, but he doubted that would last long with whatever punishment Chris had in store. At least with Alejandro free, someone would know what had happened to Noah.

Besides, there is a part of Noah that does want to believe that Alejandro has some standards. It's a small part. It's a stupid part.

But Noah would rather be a fool than be cruel senselessly.

So he denies Chris's deal.

…To his surprise, Alejandro thinks he can trust Noah. With how loyal Noah is to Owen, he doubts Noah would choose to subject someone else to Chris. Alejandro could easily take advantage of this. It won’t be his problem afterwards. People would ask questions about Noah, but he could lie his way around them. Alejandro could finally rid himself of an annoyance set on ruining his good name.

And yet. Noah's not just an annoyance. He can be useful when he wants to be. He saved Alejandro from his own overconfidence. Noah has potential to be more. Not just to Alejandro, but to others as well. He's a fool not to see it in himself, but Alejandro could guide him along the right way. With their minds combined, they could conquer any challenge. Including Chris'.

Besides, the world would be a worse place without Noah in it.

So he denies Chris's deal.

The two are suddenly besides each other in the cart staring up at a petulant Chris. He whines that he's disappointed in the both of them. Where's the drama in neither of them taking the deal?!

Unfortunately, he's bound by his own rules, so he does tell them that the only way to get back to their normal size is to go through the same mirror that shrunk them in the first place. (All of Chris's game was pretty much a distraction to trick them into giving themselves up to him or else be small forever, either way being entertaining for Chris.)

They have until sunset, which if he had to guess is about thirty minutes. With a huff, he vanishes.

The two just look at each other for a moment as they comprehend what just happened.

"...You didn't give me up." Noah spoke aloud.

"No. I didn't."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Alejandro admitted. Which was the truth. He knew he told himself it was to keep Noah around as a benefit, but there was a part of him that also just liked having Noah around. And he wasn't sure which was more true. "I can't believe you trusted me."

"I didn't."

"Why wouldn't you give me up when you thought I would?"

"I don't know," Noah confessed. His heart and his brain were too battle-torn to give a more truthful answer. His heart was winning when he spoke again, "I'm sorry. For doubting you."

"No. No, you were absolutely right to. I didn't refuse to betray you out of the goodness of my heart."

"But you did."

"...Sí. I did.

"So take the apology. You're not getting another one."

"No."

"Are you seriously arguing this right now? Why?!"

"Because you still chose to spare me anyways!" Alejandro snapped. "You know me better than anyone else. You know I'm not 'a good person deep down'! There was no reward in this for you! I would punish your loyalty for myself. And you'd still show me mercy! I can't-No entiendo-"

Alejandro pinched at the bridge of his nose as he desperately attempted to calm his thoughts before he spoke again. "...Thank you."

After a pause of his own, Noah replied. "You're welcome."

The sun got in their eyes as they both remembered Chris's new thirty minute deadline. The ferris wheel is currently stopped at the top. Even if they could scale down it quickly, it would take far longer than 30 minutes to get back to the house of mirrors by themselves.

Fortunately for them, they're crafty, and they're high enough to where they're at the height of seagulls flying about. They manage to get a seagull's attention by throwing popcorn out of the cart. When it comes to investigate, Alejandro remains pressed against the wall of the cart while Noah is in the middle, egging the bird closer.

The bird goes in to attack Noah, and Alejandro leaps onto the bird from behind. The bird attempts to fly away and shake Alejandro off. Alejandro holds it in place long enough for Noah to get on.

The two wrangle the bird into a dive bomb for the house of mirrors. All three of them are screaming as they crash land. The two quickly scamper inside before the bird is aware enough to get revenge on them.

They split off to cover more ground since neither one quite remembers where the mirror that shrank them is. Alejandro is the one who manages to find it first as he goes through it to become his regular size. He went in one mirror, though out another, and can only guess he's on the side of the maze that Noah went down.

He immediately speedwalks to find Noah. He can't run or he'd risk stepping on him. When he hears Noah shout his name, he immediately runs, grabs Noah, and races back towards where he believes the entrance to be.

Noah guides him back to the entrance, and he races towards the mirror once he recognizes where he is. He shoves Noah through the mirror, though his own hand meets a solid surface.

He runs back towards the other side, only to meet a regular sized Noah in the middle, panting. The two immediately hug and laugh in pure shock and disbelief that they're finally back to normal.

Chris is nowhere to be found or heard, though they do wish they'd be able to get some form of revenge on him.

For now, they're both content with leaving the park and never setting foot in it again.

They finally catch up with the rest of their friend group who ask where they've been the whole time.

Neither of them has a response prepared, so Izzy provides them with one: They were clearly making out the whole time.

The two try to beat back the allegations, but to no avail. It's still better than having to explain what ACTUALLY happened.

It does mean they'd have to be together more if they're going to lean into this lie.

Neither one minds it as much as they pretend to.

[starryluminary]

Gwen is my girl forever. FOREVER. I’m on her side always and forever no matter what. I don’t care about her wrongdoing she can homewreck a little as a treat

Ran into the tag limit so here’s the rest of the rant:

DUNCAN HIT ON GWEN WHILE HE WAS HOLDING COURTNEY. OOOHHHHH MY GOD

HE NEVER SEEMED SORRY EITHER. THE SAD LITTLE SORRY HE GAVE COURTNEY WHILE COVERED IN SPAGHETTI WAS A PLATITUDE

Not to MENTION Gwen was the one to carry the relationship once it started

Gwen fought so hard to deny her feelings for Duncan but Duncan ultimately decided to reciprocate so she opened herself up to the relationship

Gwen was the one to start the talk about it being ok if he wanted to stop the situationship and lead them into taking it slow

Throughout that conversation all Duncan did and say by the way was kiss her and say “that’s why I like you” not adding anything of substance

And then what does he do. Pretend to still have feelings for Courtney in front of Gwen without telling her his plan so she gets her feelings hurt

Side note Duncan is a bastard and I hate him so much

Anyway my point is Duncan was so so so much worse than Gwen when it came to them getting together

But everyone dogpiled on gwen

Except Cody. Cody was sensible and knocked out Duncan thank you Cody

And DUNCAN MADE IT TO THE FINAL DAMN FIVE DESPITE BEING A BASTARD

WHYYYYY DID GWEN SUFFER MOST OF THE CONSEQUENCES WHYYYYYYYY

I think instead of throwing challenges so Gwen got eliminated Courtney should of kicked ass at challenges and watched as Duncan got kicked out of the plane

God. Gwen is my girl forever and ever and I’m on her side always

[anonyanonymouse]

🙈

[spheroz]

I think firefly and mothman (the dc villains) should kiss