#v class jet class

[wellourgerdes]

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[britwayexecutivecars]

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[southernimpala]

soap n' suds

dean winchester x fem!reader

summary ↬ while helping dean wash baby, you get a little wet

notice ↬ she is smuttyyy !! (mdni !), unprotected p!v, a lot of describing dean's muscles because goddamn, wrote this in class (per my other post), and i think i should do that more often, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.5k

it must be close to a hundred degrees outside, the heat of south dakota summers burning tanlines on your back. you’re sunbathing in the tall grass of bobby’s front yard, bathing suit top and shorts melting into your skin. the scratchy towel beneath you—one that’s definitely seen better days with questionable spots and stains—absorbs most of the sun, but as the rest of the warmth suffocates you, you question whether a good tan or an ice bath would be more beneficial. 

luckily, the occasional mist from dean hosing down baby results in a little relief. 

he’s clad in his favorite jeans, specks of dirt decorating the denim, and a black t-shirt, hugging his chest and curling tightly around his biceps. his hair is slicked back with sweat and water, shades sloping down the bridge of his nose as he scrubs the steel hood. 

you squirm at the view, watching his taut muscles contract and stretch, and the occasional grunt as he reaches across the car to clean the other side sends an electric jolt down right where you need him. 

“like what you see?” he calls out against the eagles tape playing from bobby’s old radio, smirking as he notices how your eyes haven’t moved from their fixation on him. 

you pretend to be unbothered, “just trying to relax without getting splashed.” 

“you look hot,” he says casually, making your stomach drop. you sit up quickly, propping yourself on your hands just as he clarifies, “i mean, you look like you’re sweating.” 

the fog in your brain clears, and you scowl, laying back down, “asshole.” 

he laughs, a deep rumble in his chest like the roar of the impala, and you’re dizzy again, “i say it cause i think you should come help me,” he points the hose at you and spritzes, “cool you off a little bit.” 

you wipe the mist off your sunglasses and cave quickly, standing up and brushing off any grass shards sticking to the sweat on your legs; you’re almost positive the ‘tan’ you think you’re getting is, instead, a burn bordering sun poisoning. 

“alright, i scrub, you wash off, got it?” he instructs, handing you the long green hose stretching across the yard from the house. 

you nod, but as you fumble with the hose, you twist the setting on jet, drenching dean in cold water as droplets run down his face and clothes. his shades fly off his nose, and you’re quick to try to get the water turned off. 

“shit, shit!” you squeak out, aiming the hose down as it spurts water into the grass. 

“i told you to wash the car, not me,” dean teases, running a large hand through his wet hair. 

you give a lopsided smile, “guess i got my baby’s mixed up.”

“yeah, yeah,” dean brushes off, sending a smirk that gets your knees weak, trailing his hands down to the hem of his soaked shirt before lifting it off his body and over his head, “no point in wearin’ this then is there?”

you almost collapse, his jeans resting right at the edge of his waist, v-line on full display and abs staring you dead in the face, begging to have your lips run across them. 

“no,” you choke out, shaking yourself back to reality as he grabs the soapy sponge again, “not at all.” 

his back muscles flex under the sunshine as he starts lathering soap onto the top of the car, the smell of clean, sweat, freshly mown grass, and dean’s signature cologne—his own musk—practically paralyzing you. when he cues you to start washing off the soap, your movements are robotic, an incessant thought becoming truly unbearable. 

the music fades in your ears. suddenly, the only sound registered is his breaths as he pants under the heat. 

you’re sure you haven’t gotten that much water on you after helping him for close to fifteen minutes—save for a refreshing mist here and there, and a little soap in your hair. 

but, you can’t help but notice that the bathing suit bottoms you're wearing under your daisy dukes are soaked. 

the impala begins to shimmer gorgeously under the hot midwestern sun, rivulets of water dripping off the slick black paint. dean stands proud, crossing his big arms over his chest as he admires his baby, expunged of any blood or dirt from the previous hunt, now a gleaming beauty—the popular girl amongst the other dingy cars in bobby’s lot.

dean sighs contently, a smile painted across his sharp features, “isn’t my baby beautiful.”  

“yeah,” you agree, but you aren’t looking at the car, “yeah, she is.” 

“no need to dry her off since the sun will—” 

his words are harshly cut as you press your lips hard onto his, wasting no time slipping your tongue between his teeth, sucking on his mouth like a deprived leech. 

he melts into it for a moment before pushing you back gently, eyes now hooded with confusion and lust, “what was that for?” 

“it’s a thank you for keeping me cool,” you respond quickly, another heat besides the sun’s pulsing through your body as your hunger refuses to be contained, and your lips are locked once more. 

immediately, he’s taken, hands gripping the back of your thighs as he lifts you easily onto the impala’s hood, your mouths never parting—too much need and want soaking into the kiss while your hands fist and tug his stringy locks. 

the hot steel scorches your skin, and the moan that slides off your tongue and into his mouth at the feeling has him pressing into you harder, responding with a grunt of his own as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, and eventually the space between your cleavage as he licks, nips, and sucks.

“god, you have me so crazy for you right now,” he groans into your collarbone, nimble fingers reaching around to untie your sultry bathing suit top and wasting no time popping the buttons of your shorts right after. 

you drag your nails between the ridges of his abs before you fumble his belt off, tugging his jeans all the way down his legs as he captures your mouth again, stepping out of his soaked pants, bulge causing you to salivate with only a single barrier left between the two of you. 

“here? outside?” he pants, eyes flickering to the house where sam and bobby are indoors, doing god knows what, hopefully not looking outside any windows. 

despite the fleeting moment of hesitancy, you both know there’s no way either of you are stopping.

“outside,” you respond breathlessly, squeaking as he lifts you to shimmy off your drenched bathing suit bottoms, wet with your primal desire for him. 

and, god, does he deliver. 

in one, slick motion, he slides effortlessly into your wetness, a mutual gasp escaping both your lips. his forehead comes to rest onto yours, sweat sticking, skin slapping. as he starts to pump into you with more effort, the impala starts to shake underneath you, moving harder and faster as he takes you right there on his precious baby. 

“shit,” he grunts as you drag your nails across his back, definitely leaving scratches but he just feels so damn good, muscles flexing under your touch, hardness filling every inch of you as you stick together under the swelter. 

your stomach begins to knot as he thrusts harder, and you whimper when he attaches his lips to your chest, sucking harshly on the pointed nub as you squirm in his firm hold. 

“dean,” you whine, gripping his hair so tightly he squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy, “f-fu-”

“feel so damn good,” he breathes into your skin, like he’s feasting off your lifeline, desperate for every inch of you, savoring your taste as it runs down your body. 

you can tell he’s starting to fall apart just as you are; thrusts getting sloppier, more breathy, whimper-y moans instead of hard-ass grunts and groans escaping his lips before he can even attempt to hold them back. your own mewls mirror his, legs crossed around his waist as you feel the knot twisting and tightening at each sound, each pump, each lick. 

then, his fingers, calloused and rough, sneak their way between your bodies. you inhale sharply at the intense sensation, rugged pads circling right there, and you’re certain it isn’t long until— 

a gush of euphoria explodes in your lower stomach. your eyes roll back, and your body naturally falls against the hot impala as you shake and whimper because dean isn’t stopping, only going harder at the view of you completely falling apart for him.

“oh, fuck,” he drawls, your warmth tightening and squeezing around him as he’s pushed over the edge. he quickly pulls out before spilling himself all down your chest and stomach, head thrown back, soft, swollen lips trapped between his teeth as he bites down a moan. 

you both pant as you try and recover from your highs, now even sweatier than before, and probably desperate for a shower and aloe gel. 

when he finally opens his eyes, they instantly skim over your figure, covered in his cum as it drips down your body. 

he lets out a breathy laugh, “guess i need to clean my other baby now.” 

you give a tired smile, letting your head fall against the hood again in exhaustion, “yeah, i guess you do.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ dean winchester masterlist !

[mggslover]

Hey I loveddddd the legging pervert!spencer fic, I’d love another one, maybe a part 2, or maybe just another with the same reader and perv!spencer. I love your fics!

SWEAT FOR ME ´-

In which Spencer has a different kind of workout in mind.

pairing perv!spence x leggings!reader genre smut (18+) cw reader is part of the bau + certified gym rat, gym semi public sex, male masturbation, fingering and oral (f receiving), p in v, fwb relationship wc 3,8k a/n we have an official reader! yippie! this is not a pt. 2 but another story in this universe. tysm for this request! feel free to send in more for them :)

Being a loyal gym member came with its set of advantages.

The tenth anniversary of your membership at Quantico’s “Fit4FBI” was coming up. When you joined the BAU, you had signed yourself up for the FBI’s designated training center. Though it was essential for your job to be in good condition, this gym also had the natural pattern of people massively joining during the first weeks of January and collectively giving up around the holidays. 

You were one of the few customers that visited regularly. To be specific, every day that you weren’t out on a case. The gym felt like a refuge to you, a place to blow off steam and clear your head from the gruesome cases that seemed to always be on your mind.

You were quick to befriend the owner, Mr. Isaac Dalton, a man in his mid-sixties (but don’t be fooled by his age; there is no trainer as encouraging and persistent as him). It all started with your suggestion to introduce a boxing lesson as a break from the usual Wednesday Pilates classes. It seemed like a small thing to you — boxing has been part of your life since childhood. But to him? It meant everything. 

From that day on, you were his favorite customer. Hell, his favorite person even. You gained access to the staff dressing rooms, even to the staff showers — which were a huge upgrade from the shared customer spaces that made even a high school gym look good. Yes, it was that bad. You now knew where they were cutting on the budget to be able to afford the tablets and private jet.

But the best benefit that came with being a star customer was getting the title of rightful owner to a spare set of shiny keys. 

Going to the gym after closing hours was the best thing that could happen to you. You were sure that the handover of the keys was a moment that not even your future wedding or the birth of your first child could ever beat. No more eyeing the Smith machine while walking the treadmill, waiting for the right opportunity to take a sprint and claim it before someone else did. No more cleaning of seats because the people before you were too lazy to wipe their sweat away. And thank God, no more annoying people complaining in your ear about how exhausting working out is. Well… besides Spencer. 

“I- I can’t,” he panted, letting the dumbbells fall to the ground beside him. In moments like this, you couldn’t help but regret offering him personal training when the gym was supposed to be closed.

You placed your hands on your hips, not hiding the look of judgment as he lay on the training bench, chest heaving like he had just climbed Mount Everest. On heels. 

“I truly wonder what you did to pass the physical exam.”

“I was in a remedial training program,” he put his hand on his pounding heart, taking a deep breath before continuing. “They needed new agents in the field, so they made me an exception.”

Well, that explains it. 

You shook away your thoughts, extending your hand to help him up. With a groan he stood, legs wobbly as he held onto your shoulders. Your skin felt soft and cool, in contrast to his clammy hands. 

Naturally, he started massaging your shoulders, causing a small groan to leave your lips. Spencer was about to slide his fingers under the band of your sports bra, but you stopped him. 

“We should do a leg exercise next. Maybe your legs are stronger than your arms.”

Now it was his turn to groan. “Have you seen me? I’m not even standing straight right now.”

“I know, Bambi,” you chuckled jokingly. “People usually find leg extensions one of the easier exercises. You’ll be fine.” 

“That makes sense. Your legs are part of your body’s largest muscle groups. Studies have shown that your creatine kinase and myoglobin levels increase significantly after an arm exercise compared to a leg exercise.” He explained as you walked to the equipment at the back of the gym. 

You raised an eyebrow. “And that means?”

“It means that your arms are easier to get sore than your legs. They’re also easier to get damaged and heal after an extensive workout.”

You hummed, saving the information to the back of your mind. There must be a day when these random facts will come in handy.

Spencer continued his info dumping as you changed the amount of weights on the machine, putting the pin into 80 lb — a standard beginner’s weight. 

You clapped your hands when you were finished. “Okay, you’re all set up.” 

“What do I do?” He asked cluelessly.

“Take a seat.”

He did as you said, waiting for further instruction.

“And now you place your feet under the lever and lift it up. You can hold onto the handles for support.”

Spencer followed your instructions, holding onto the levers before he lifted his legs. He paused them at the top for a moment before slowly lowering them back down.

“That’s it. Good job.” 

Spencer didn’t respond to your compliment. Concentration was etched onto his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth slightly agape as he repeated the motion. His tongue poked out to the side as he counted the reps in his head, occasionally wetting his lips.

You looked at him. First to make sure he was executing the exercise correctly, but you quickly got distracted. Sweat dripped down his neck, the droplets falling into the white tank top that he wore. At this point it wouldn’t have made a difference if he wore a shirt or not, the fabric being so translucent that you could see the color of his skin. 

Your eyes traced him until they landed on his arms. He had a tight grip on the handles, making the veins that decorated his arms and hands look prominent. 

Your gaze fell even lower — and it really shouldn’t have — because now you noticed how his shorts have ridden all the way up to his thighs. It wouldn’t surprise you if they dated back to high school. The material clung tightly to him, and every time he tilted his legs, the shorts bulged around his crotch. 

To put it simply, he looked hot. Extremely hot. 

Get your head out of the gutter. He’s here to train, to gain more confidence in the field. Not to be your personal eye candy. 

You were supposed to stay with him the entire time, as a personal trainer does. But you don’t think you can stand here for a second longer trying to fight the urge to jump him.

“I’m going to do some sets on the Smith machine,” you pointed toward the device that stood a couple of feet away, still in clear sight. 

Again, no response from the still focused Spencer. 

You made your way over to the machine, picking out the weights that you wanted to add to the bar. In routine, you positioned yourself under the bar, placing your feet at shoulder-width, before bending your knees.

In the meantime, Spencer had completed his set of reps. He grabbed his water bottle from the ground next to him, feeling like a real gym jock as he gulped the contents down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his fist.

He looked up to find you. And he was so grateful that he had swallowed, or there’d be a fountain of water bursting from his lips right now.

He didn’t know what a Smith machine entailed, but he definitely didn’t expect to find you in a squatting position yet again. His eyes went to your ass first, obviously. Seeing how perfectly you filled out your leggings, the fabric clinging to every curve, giving the illusion that it could rip at any given moment. 

But then his eyes snapped to your upper back. How the muscles in your shoulders flexed as you lifted the bar of weights. There was something so enticing about how strong you were. He thought back on all the times he had pinned you down underneath him, not having realized that you could easily spin him around. Dominate him.

A shiver soared through his body, straight to his pulsing cock. He looked down, embarrassed to find himself twitching, the tip of his cock begging to escape from under his shorts. He placed a hand on his bulge — meant to stop himself — but with the way you kept bending down, he had no choice but to rub his hand over his length. 

A breathy moan escaped his throat as he watched you. He imagined lying down on the ground beneath you — germs and safety hazards be damned — holding you by your hips as you’d press your bare cunt into his face. He’d make sure to make the most out of every squat, licking your folds and kissing your clit, before you stood back up.

Spencer didn’t know during which set his hand had found its way into his shorts, only that he struggled to keep quiet as he tugged on his length. His eyes rolled back as he circled his tip with his thumb, collecting precum and using it as lube to stroke the rest of his cock. 

He fantasized about you walking up to him, holding onto his shoulders as you’d climb on top of his lap. How you would free his cock from the restraints of his boxers. The way your mouth would open in a gasp at the sight of his throbbing length springing free. You would grab him by the shaft, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips before sinking down onto him. His hands would clasp onto your ass, massaging the flesh like his cock would massage your inner walls as he pumped his length into you. 

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, flicking his wrist faster as his gaze remained burnt on you. 

He had his eyes closed shut, nearing the brink of an orgasm, when he heard the loud clang of the bar attaching to the machine. At record speed, he adjusted his length, tugging his tank top over his shorts in an effort to hide how hard he was. He then wiped his hands on his shorts, just in time before you walked up to him.

“Hey,” you said, out of breath. “How did it go?”

“Good! Good. I completed all the sets, actually.”

A beautiful, bright smile tilted at the corner of your lips. It almost distracted him from the way your breasts pushed up in your sports bra, shining in a light coat of sweat. Almost. 

“I thought of another exercise we could do,” Spencer suggested.

Curiosity filled your mind. “Okay, gym rat. Let’s hear it.”

Spencer walked you to the hip abductor, a machine that trains the muscles of your inner thighs and glutes by sitting down and spreading your legs against the resistance of the padded weights. 

You waited for him to sit down, but he remained standing behind you. Your neck flushed with goosebumps as he leaned in, breath tickling the skin. “I want you to use it.” 

“Okay,” you chirped, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked as you stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. And that’s when you felt it. His erection poking at your lower back. 

“You can’t possibly work out in an outfit like this,” he said, fingers playing with the waistband of your leggings.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower into the fabric, fingers grazing your hip bones. “I think you should take these off. Don’t want it to be ruined with sweat, or you know, something else.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Reid?” 

“You never seemed to back down from one before,” he dared.

A glint of mischief flickered in your eyes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your leggings, and you swore you could hear him take in a sharp breath. 

You bent over. In an agonizing slowness, you pulled your leggings down, revealing the plumpness of your bare skin. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Spencer praised, eyes scanning the curves of your nude ass and legs.

You slipped away from his grasp, grinning as you took your place at the seat of the machine. As the manual explained, you spread your legs, grateful that you kept the weights at beginner’s level. 

You threw your head back laughing as Spencer kneeled in front of you, finally making the connection on what he was about to do. “You are absolutely insane. Do you know that I could crush your head with these weights?”

He hummed, not really caring about the possible consequences as he was face to face with your spread-open pussy. “It’ll be worth it.”

He reached out with his finger, drawing a line up your slick folds. “Also — considering your expertise in exercises like this, and the fact that the weights are way less heavy than the ones you’d usually choose — I estimate that my chances of not dying are pretty high tonight.” 

Before you could give a clever response back, he pressed his finger down on your clit. A shudder coursed through your body, accompanied by a flutter of butterflies.

“You’re so wet already,” Spencer mused. “What have you been thinking of?”

“Same thing as you,” you responded, thinking back on how hard his cock was when he pressed it against you. 

He continued trailing his fingers up and down your slit, warming you up, before halting them at your entrance. “Ready?”

You nodded hastily, anticipation pulling at your core. 

Spencer slipped a finger inside of you with ease, groaning at the sweet sound that escaped your lips. Being fingered never felt special before; that was until you met Spencer. Though it wasn’t fair to compare him to any of the other people you’ve been with. His fingers were heavenly: long, slender, soft. He pumped it in and out of your pussy before leaning in and capturing your clit with his tongue. Surprise washed over you, but you didn’t have time to adjust to the feeling. He clouded your mind by switching between flicking his tongue and sucking on the bundle, while his finger matched the steady rhythm. 

“Need more,” you whimpered, rolling your hips into his face. He hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending tingles through every part of your body. 

When he pulled back, his lips were glistening with your juices. “Can you handle another finger?” He asked as he swiped his tongue over his lips.

You quickly nodded, not even needing him to ask for permission. He stretched you out by inserting another finger, not stopping until he was knuckle-deep inside of you.

“I like this machine,” he stated, curling his digits up to your g-spot. “I don’t need to hold your thighs open to keep you from squirming.” 

You softly cried as the tips of his fingers hit your pleasure point, increasing his pace in a way that made you see stars. 

“You look so pretty. All spread out for me, letting me use you how I want.” He muttered, more to himself than to you, before he attached his lips back onto your pussy. 

The pleasure felt overwhelming. Spencer stimulated you with his hands and mouth in all the spots that he could. He was good at this. Too good at this. You felt almost sad when you felt the familiar heat building up, not wanting it to be over yet. 

Still, you gasped, “Just like that!” Your hands were gripping the handles of the machine for dear life as the tip of his tongue drew figure eights against your clit. 

Everything cut to white noise, your abdomen tightened, and your hips started spasming until you finally cried out his name.

Your body trembled in aftershocks as Spencer made sure to lap up your juices, not wanting a single drop to go to waste.

He stood up, taking his time as he lovingly grazed your cheek with his clean hand. “Felt good?”

You hummed in response. Your eyes fluttered to the obvious tent in his shorts, not able to ignore it. “That looks painful,” you observed.

“I really want to be inside of you.” He confessed. 

His words made you chuckle. Spencer always made sure to satisfy you first, before thinking of his own needs. Even when his achingly red tip had been leaking precum ever since he saw you in that gym outfit earlier today. 

“Where do you want me?” You purred, making a groan escape his throat. He loved the way you let him take direction, how you made it seem like he was the one in charge — when you were both completely aware of the fact that you could have him on his knees at any given time and at any place that you’d like. 

His eyes scanned the gym, landing on an empty bench. 

“That one.” He decided, like he chose some Sour Patch Kids in a candy shop. 

You got up — used to having shaky legs due to working out every day — and took Spencer’s hand in yours, guiding him to the sole bench next to the colored kettlebells. 

Spencer was glad you were holding his hand, or otherwise he’d have stumbled against every surrounding object, too entranced by the way your hips moved from side to side with every step that you took. If he wasn’t so hypnotized by the sight, he would’ve given your ass a slap — more like a tap — not enough to cause you pain, but enough for you to squeal. Enough for you to move to your tiptoes in reflex. Enough to see your ass shake. 

As if born ready, you laid down on the bench, spreading your legs that bent perfectly due to the position you’d just held for minutes. 

Spencer didn’t waste any time, pulling his shorts and boxers down in a single, swift movement, his cock jumping free from its confinements. You grinned when he also got rid of his tank top. You bit your lip as you looked at him, wet curls of hair sticking to his forehead and his chest glistening in a light layer of sweat.

His large hands wrapped around your ankles, holding you in place. He then tilted his hips until his length lined up with your needy pussy. A drip of precum spilled from his tip, cock aching as he took in how perfect you looked: your clit still swollen from his tongue, and your soft thighs glittering from the wetness that was still leaking out of you. 

In a single motion, he pushed himself in. His cock disappearing all the way in between your folds.

Your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open as he started moving his hips, not giving you the time to recover.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “You just feel too good. So warm. Couldn’t wait.”

Your hands gripped around the air, needing something to hold onto as he fucked you deeply.

You settled on your tits. Cupping them through your sports bra, pinching your nipples that were so hard they poked right through the layer of fabric.

“Oh fuck, baby, you look so hot like that.” Spencer moaned. “I’m so lucky,” he said in awe. 

He opened your legs further — surprising you with your flexibility — as he hovered above you. His cock slipped in even deeper, your pussy swallowing him to the hilt. You could feel every vein as he massaged your inner walls, relieving you of your aching. He was close enough for you to dig your nails into his shoulder blades. He didn’t attempt to muffle his whimpers when you pressed little half-moon indents into his back. Your in-sync moans and the colliding of bare skin were the only sounds that echoed off the bare gym walls.  

Spencer anchored you in place with his length while his hand reached out to pull the cup of your bra down, freeing your breast. In a second his mouth was latched onto your nipple, sucking on it like he was a man starving. 

“Kiss me,” you whimpered, hands tugging at his hair. You needed to feel those soft, pink lips on yours. 

As much as he loved your tits, he obeyed in an instant. Hungrily locking his mouth with yours. He placed his bent arms on either side of your head, large hands cupping your face as he kissed you intensely. His tongue swiped against yours in the same exquisite way as the tip of his cock swiped the place inside of you where you needed him most. 

“Legs hurt,” he whined against your mouth. 

“Count it- fuck,” you moaned as he thrust deep into you. “Count it as an exercise.”

He chuckled breathlessly. “This might be the hardest one yet.”

Literally, you thought. But the word couldn’t make it past your lips, transforming into a high-pitched moan as he upped his speed.

“Just like that, please, Spencer,” you cried out.

There was no bigger motivation than your sweet pleas filling his ears. With all his might, he slammed into you, your pussy pulsing around him, making his vision hazy. All that was on his mind was you. How you felt. How you tasted. How he needed to spill inside of you. 

A string of yes’s repeatedly left your lips, signaling to him that you were close. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he announced, swallowing your moans by pressing his lips back to yours. 

You clawed at his back, bucking your hips up into him until a jolt of electricity shot through your body. Your back arched off the bench as you gave yourself over to the all-consuming feeling. It was not even a second later when Spencer’s legs gave out. His cock twitching as spurts of white filled your insides. 

He collapsed on top of you, feeling your racing heartbeat against him. For a moment you lay down like that, on the way too narrow bench. Enjoying each other’s presence as a comfortable silence filled the air.

Once his breathing had calmed down, Spencer seemed to notice a small, red flickering light that was attached to the ceiling. A security camera. 

“Hey,” he started, asking for your attention.

You made a small sound, too exhausted to speak. 

“You have the keys to the office, right?”

“No, just to the entrance. Why?”

[slightly-knot-insane]

Centaur Riding Class (part 2)

Monstertober 2024 - day 28 [ Greek Mythology ] by @/ozzgin

[ part 1 ]

[ m!centaur (+ fem!centaur) x fem!reader ]

a/n: the second part! the male centaur won, but because there were a couple of fem thirsty comments (and i really like the girl centaur) she will make a little cameo here too :3 content: nsfw, wlw, fingering, squirting, p in v, belly bulge, creampie

You scratch the back of your head. "You both seem amazing... I can't..."

Luckily your friend recognizes the signs of your anxiety edging you. "Oh, I know her taste, she would love to be with the handsome gentleman over there."

You stutter incoherently, not actually disagreeing, but mostly feeling utterly embarrassed. Your friend almost tosses you toward the black-haired centaur and he gracefully catches you by your arm bowing down all the way to the line where his human torso stops and horse body starts. "She has good taste," he winks and you can hear the red-haired centaur chuckle. "I think you and I need to get somewhere more private."

With a teasing wave your friend sees you off.

As soon as you walk around the corner, the centaur stops you by gently pulling you by the shoulder. As soon as you turn towards him, he tilts your head up. "Are you disappointed? Trust me, you won't regret my company one bit, sweet human."

You look into his beautiful eyes and let him brush your lower lip with his thumb. "No, of course not." You barely stop yourself from taking his finger into your mouth.

"Good." His expression dims into a more serious one. "Also, just to make sure, you do know this is actually a brothel?"

"Oh thank god!" Your sigh of relief makes your companion flinch. "I was scared I was actually going to ride you. That sounded terrifying."

With an intense but amused shock, the man in front of you laughs. "Well, that wasn't reaction I expected. But I'm glad. Would you like to take a shower together or would you prefer to clean privately?"

You look at his massive body and imagine his shiny hair glistening from water. Soaping his back and stomach, muscles and shoulders and neck. And then his hands... You shake your head quickly - it was too much to even daydream about it right now. "I would rather bathe alone."

He nods, with a sly smirk, and you could swear he looked at your crotch as if he sensed your wetness. He leads you in front of a door to a huge bathroom and bends down. He lifts you with his arms, more massive than any that ever held you, and whispers into your ear: "I know humans prefer to bathe more frequently than us. Centaurs enjoy the natural smells, the musk, all the juices. Your aroma is delicious and I would love to mount you immediately, but your comfort is important to me." His husky voice makes you shiver. Is it too late to change your mind?

You enter the large bathroom and find an empty stall to remove your clothes. You take a towel and pull the curtain - only to meet an equally naked red-haired centaur. She bites her lip. "Well isn't this my lucky day. Let's shower together, beautiful."

She leads you into a huge shower stall, big enough to fit both of you. The broad showerhead sprays you with light droplets and you can enjoy watching them slide down her muscles. She flexes with almost a childish expression. "I can carry you with one arm, human! Wanna see?" And she swoops you onto her massive bicep. You always forget that centaurs are significantly larger than people. And a lot stronger. You blush feeling your naked ass rubbing against her firm muscle.

"If you kiss me, I'll make you squirt around my fingers until you count to 100."

You blink in surprise, but she doesn't let you answer. She bites your lower lip and easily slides into your cunt. You start counting. Somewhere around 53, you lose track, your arms desperately clutching around her neck while she curls her fingers against your g-spot. "Fuck... Fuck... Fuuuuuck...." you moan without breath right into her mouth.

She pulls her fingers out and a jet of your squirt splashes against her tits. "Good girl. Let's get you ready for your date."

You mutually soap and rinse each other, and she helps you into a silky robe. "Next time, you're mine," she winks at you, and escorts you down the hall. "Your stallion awaits you."

And he truly is - naked - looking through the window while rubbing his plump lips. His dark brown skin is covered in tiny black curls all over his chest down to his navel. Below navel there is a horse chest, of course, and you can't help but look for his exposed sheath between his hind legs. You swallow imagining what is hiding behind it.

His smile is radiant as he walks toward you. "I'm glad you had fun showering." He circles around you, the sound of his hooves echoing through the bedroom. "Quite a bit of fun it would seem. Which really pleases me since you do smell divine now."

He stops behind you and pushes his hands underneath your robe. His fingers are so gentle, feather-light, until he finds you breasts and squeezes them. His palms are hot against your nipples. He kneels behind you before his lips end up on your neck, igniting all the nerves under your skin. The hair on your body stands up, almost vibrating. "What a delicate creatures you humans are." He takes a bite just underneath your jaw. "I can't wait to mount you."

Completely dazed from his caresses, with eyes closed, you fly and float until he takes your arm and kisses your wrist again. "Hold this for me, beautiful."

You are on the contraption you saw centaur-human couples use for intercourses. You are on your back, legs spread and laying on something soft with your hips wedged. You need to hold two handles which actually help you adjust your body. Centaur's front hooves are on both sides of your arms, but he's kneeling, his stomach slightly pushing against your chest. "Have you ever been with a stallion?"

The way he asked you that, above you, low and hungry, stimulated a throb into your bundle of nerves. "No."

"Perfect..." he purrs, and a slippery mass slides against your thighs. "I love being the first. I love setting the bar high for all the lovers that will take your hole after me. You will never be the same, beautiful. I will stretch you so much that only centaur cocks will be able to satisfy you."

You whimper, slightly intimidated and look down at his phallus emerging between your legs. It is so long, and leaking all over your stomach. "Fuck. It's huge."

"Don't worry. I'll go easy. I'm a professional after all."

And he truly is. He only grinds at first, rubbing his preputial ring against your folds. He listens to your pants, feeling your heartbeat and slows down or speeds up until you're a shivering and drooling mess. He doesn't let you orgasm. "Yes, beautiful. You need to be lubricated for me and my cock. I want to push it inside you all the way."

He is breathing heavily, rocking his body until slowly - very slowly - he pushes his tip inside you. You've never been stretched that much, it's so intense and you grab the handles to readjust your body on the contraption. "That's right," he pants. "Aaah... Make yourself comfortable... You will stay there until I'm finished, human."

Again, he listens to your moans and whimpers as signals when to push harder or pull out. You hardly feel any pain and you truly are surprised to see your stomach moving. His cock is so deep inside you can feel it through your navel. "Oh fuck! It's so... so deep..."

"That's right. I'm almost completely in... And you are so perfectly tight! And now I'll fuck you until you burn from pleasure."

Everything after that is a blur. You remember coming once, shaking as if a fever overpowered you, screaming. You think you orgasmed at least once more? And you remember how your stomach inflated when he ejaculated and filled you with his hot seed. You do not remember how he carefully untied your from the contraption and carried you into the bed, blissfully happy, your pussy overflowing from his semen. Maybe he kissed your clammy forehead, maybe not. But you remember having the sweetest dreams about riding centaurs that night.

[jedisupernova]

falling for a prince — choi seunghyun

notes minors dni contains fem reader (begins with reader being 23, seunghyun 25; progressively age and goes into their late 40s later in the fic), non idol au, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, reader has a middle class background, takes place in the 80s, made up details about a fictional royal family and seunghyun's role in it to build dynamic (he is the eldest—the heir to the throne), this is very much slice of life, seunghyun and reader are intellectuals, chronicles courtship; progression of relationship; engagement; married life, very gentle and poetic love that comes around once in a generation, angst (insecurity, dealing with fame, contradictory expectations, invasions of privacy, jealousy, difficulties navigating pregnancy and parenthood, classist and snobbish remarks, body shaming, reader navigating the demanding and nuanced life of a public figure, mentions of sickness and anxiety,) vignettes of smut (p in v, oral f receiving, keeping quiet,) and invitable typos though some are intentional.

requested? this is an original idea! i saw the photo in the header whilst scrolling through pinterest, and this just blossomed in my head. this is very detailed and long. enjoy!

from a young age, seunghyun knew he was important. it was drilled into him since sentience. grown men and women either bowing or curtsying to a toddler as he ran with the dogs in the garden, his nanny scolding the people in the kitchen (before he learned the word chef) when his oatmeal wasn't prepared properly, his mother and father sitting across from him in one of his family's many rolls royces and range rovers; a physical dynamic that would certifiably establish his role and purpose, being taught to scrub the words mom and dad from his vocabulary at age five for the queen and his royal highness when secretaries and other subordinates were around—most of which were not as fiercely practiced with his four siblings (two brothers and two sisters, coincidentally enough.) all except that last rule, however. mother and papa were fine on lax occasions. such as family easter brunch, christmas day, or when one has returned home from a long engagement to fulfill your duties for the boss—a term his eldest sister coined for their mother—herself. the eldest and heir apparent to his nation's throne, seunghyun isn't allotted much wiggle room. but he'll be damned to let antiquity trump autonomy.

he's kept a diary (yes, he calls it as such because words are just words, no matter how hard your youngest brother may laugh at you) since he was a boy. the practice has stayed with him well into his adult life, bemusing himself intermittently reading old entries. no matter his state of mind, he finds himself turning the yellowed pages that were once crisp white, ink still jet black as he read the thoughts of a precocious adolescent whisked away to boarding school as per longstanding royal tradition. putting on a strong face, horrendously underprepared for sudden isolating independence, and thirteen years old, he was surprisingly if not humorously so with hindsight, inquisitive. I have a mom, dad, brothers and sisters. So I have a family. But it feels like a system. We all have a part. I don't know if that makes sense. "it does." he would say to himself in his bedroom in the royal residence he inherited at age eighteen—one of over 150 owned and overseen by the royal family—equipped with seven bedrooms and drawing rooms, despite him being the sole resident apart from his staff. excess was no stranger to the uber wealthy, let alone the royals, but he made due with the space bestowed upon him: writing here . . . reading there . . . painting outside . . . testing a film camera in this garden . . . returning the queen's calls here . . .

for many monarchies around the world—including the one seunghyun was born into—it is historically believed the monarch's right to rule comes directly from the divine. between himself and only himself, he doesn't know if he believes it all that much. he's felt more spiritual than religious all his life from the moment either concept grasped his mere periphery. that's not to say, however, he will suddenly be a no-show to the christmas day church service in which hundreds of civilians camp outside for hours to catch a fleeting glimpse of the family their taxpayer dollars go towards, or reject the holy oil on his coronation day. some traditions have room to be questioned whereas others seem an untouchable force. no matter how deeply seunghyun exhaustively pondered, an alternative felt both irrationally childish and obscenely necessary. he felt his existence was a continuous contradiction: the blood of his ancestors of monarchs past flowing through his veins, but also serving as reminder he just so happened to win the greatest genetic lottery known to humankind. it could have been anyone else, he's thought to himself since he was a teenager, looking at his siblings sat with him at a polo match; all two or three years apart in age, but for some reason, it was me.

in pursuit of modernization, seunghyun has fallen privy to expectation. finishing preparatory story was akin to re-debuting to the world as he was now of age and ready to tread headfirst into the transition of working as a royal full-time. he enrolled at oxford for his undergraduate endeavors—a choice of institution purely by the power of the boss (seunghyun much preferred the programs at harvard.) his english was more proficient than he'd give himself credit for. add it to his arsenal tipped off by his mother tongue, functional japanese, elementary-level french and "just a spot" of italian—he was an intellectual force to be reckoned with. he's remained precocious all his life. surely, a product of being the eldest and therefore the designated thesaurus of all things whatever-my-mind-comes-up-with, but also the one was born to be dependable, reliable, and have all the answers both metaphorically and literally.

It could be an imbalance of pressure, he wrote in his diary a couple weeks after his freshman term began. he was clad in a white ribbed tank top and briefs in bed, cigarette hanging from his lips, fanning himself with his other hand to deal with the faulty air conditioning unit in his dorm room. seunghyun was caught in the memories of helping his younger sisters with their coursework upon his return home from boarding school for the holidays; accosted by the accusatory secretaries of the boss and her husband claiming he wasn't letting his siblings be independent, yet receiving vitriolic blame when their marks weren't high enough. But I am a master at exhausting each working part of my brain, seunghyun scribbled onto the page with his fountain pen, Despite that, I think I've grown. I do not feel that insatiob insatiable nibbling (?) or need for approval as much anymore. Perhaps its been temporarily replaced by undeterred untainted plain determination. I'll see how I feel in a few months time.

seunghyun certainly did, just not in the way he envisioned. just two days—two days—after declaring his dual majors, finding leeway for delving into his interests by choosing political science and physics concentrating on planetary science to scratch both sides of his brain, he was forced to take a two-year leave of absence from university. a few weeks after writing the aforementioned diary entry, a sour public opinion poll was plastered on the front page of one of the nation's top newspapers, alleging over forty percent of the public thought seunghyun was "underserving" as prince. despite the cloudy word choice, the number floating below fifty, and the overall danger of depending on something as fickle as a fucking poll, the queen was somehow cornered and convinced by an advisor to prematurely send seunghyun to a training course prefacing four terms at a military academy.

the idea of serving in the armed forces wasn't outlandish. his father served in the navy; his uncles the air force; his mother and aunts in auxiliary services. it fits the utmost bill of expectation. seunghyun and his siblings have known of this part of their duty since they were children, but it being this early in seunghyun's life was the disorienting bit. here he was again: underprepared, yet forced to put on a strong face. he was eerily silent on the jet and car ride home—blowing his voice and slamming doors after a yelling tirade with the boss and her husband. seunghyun knew there's no world—at least not yet—that he would win the fight, so despite being reduced to frustrated tears in his personal quarters at the palace, some part of him remained dignified that there was even a fight to begin with. he could say something—it'll lead to doing something next, or something shifting into place.

his two-year leave led him to being in your graduating class. countless summer barbecues and holiday dinners where your cousins routinely asked the same question upon arrival: "what's it like going to school with a prince?" to which you always responded, "i haven't seen him around." it's the unequivocal truth despite their animated groans of annoyance. when seunghyun returned to campus harboring a buzz cut growing out handsomely (much to the frustration of his brothers and amused fascination of his father,) and freshly branded with three honorary military titles after barely passing his combat fitness test (he dominated his flying exam though his humbleness deters any need for boasting,) he stayed mostly to himself his first term back at oxford. to reconfigure his mindset and pick up the pieces of the person he left behind, mostly, but also to find his footing. he wasn't seen outside his dormitory hall unless it was for lecture or the library; zeroing in his assigned readings and corresponding coursework before gradually integrating any extracurriculars of interest; meeting his cousin whom was a year above him on the weekends which turned into a rather large friend group. seunghyun knew he did something right when he walked into the dining hall for breakfast one morning to minimal heads turned and watchful eyes, leaving him and his mushroom omelette to just be.

you only saw him once the entirety of your undergraduate pursuits. once—and it was fleeting; seeing him walk hurriedly down one of the campus gardens, presumably late for something. upon reading in the paper that he was studying political science as well, you were remised to not feel slight disappointment from having no shared lectures or even damn tutors. not that you thought you had a chance . . . that never percolated in your mind . . . but it would've been nice to actually and tangibly see him, or perhaps hear his voice. him and his family were continuously all over the papers and covered in news broadcasts; ever-present around the globe, even reaching yours—though everything and nothing was known about them. its on purpose, you figured, as it did seem like the proper formula for the elite, let alone someone from the aristocracy: move with muted grace, but not without them knowing first. however, when this one in a trillion chance of fate aligned—going to college with a goddamn prince—it was completely understandable to be at least somewhat interested or curious about him . . . he was rather handsome . . . and seemed secure in himself . . .

your time at oxford was lively nonetheless. you were one of a small group of students whom was offered a full scholarship to the university—a direct result of your academic tenacity, your family scrounging the funds together to buy you an airplane ticket for your admissions interview, and the universe patting you on the back for your efforts. that's not to say it hasn't been difficult: it took nearly an entire term to mend the visceral homesickness that nauseated your heart and stomach, and a few failed essays to adjust to the different style of coursework and grading scheme. you were fortunate to find a tight knit group of friends who just understood you; a metaphorical warmth to embrace you in the library or anywhere, exhausted by the various part-time jobs you held to afford the international calling cards necessary to phone home, and just have pocket money in general. you graduated the top five percent in the college you studied under at university, landing you and two of your closest friends well-paying jobs in the city. a month after graduating, you were splitting rent on a modest townhouse with those two friends—happy, content, and for the first time in a long while, stable. the prince was long gone from your periphery. those sort of paths aren't meant to cross, anyway—until they did.

around a year later, tipping off the summer of 1984, the landline rang in the kitchen. it was a friend from college, passing knowledge of a get-together in the coming weekend to your flatmate who picked up the phone in the middle of dinner. "everyone who's graduated last year's coming up to the village again for drinks—to catch up and such. it was initially more intimate, but now with what i've last heard, its on the precipice of growing out of control," she giggled into the receiver. "can i count on you fun lot to be there? its next weekend—the 21st." you three took the train up to oxford the following saturday, dropping your overnight bags off at a frequented village hostel before heading to the listed pub later that evening. it was certainly bustling—the amount of people surrounding three small tables pushed together, making use of one side being one long cushioned booth whilst the others grabbed chairs from wherever they could—squashing the simplified explanation of its saturday night, illustrating that, indeed, an impromptu college reunion had unintentionally blown out of proportion.

you felt alive again—laughing the hardest you had in a long time, trading endearingly awkward anecdotes with friends you last saw on move-out day; basking in shared timidity of not knowing how to be adults whatsoever, and gradually drinking your pint. you hadn't scratched the halfway point, but it was a hell of a lot better than when you first arrived in britain all those years ago, barely able to stomach the malt and earthy flavor, let alone the amount of money you wasted to partake in the nightlife. it was when you wiped the foam from your top lip with your napkin after taking a sip that you saw the prince sat on the opposite end of the makeshift long table—on the booth side, just one or two people away from the corner. he looked deep in his own conversation, dabbing a handkerchief on the sweat building at his temple, his other hand nonverbally accentuating whatever point he was making to his friends before reaching in into the stack of peanuts between them, crushing one idly before eating the savory snack. you tried to keep your surprise muted, but your flatmate and friend—the first one you made at oxford—knew your widened eyes better than anyone else. sat on the chair side, she's been waiting for you, or anyone she knows, to notice seunghyun. she leaned in, a hand on your arm, "i know, right?" she said. "properly out of control." you giggled with her like schoolgirls at a sleepover, faces hot with giddiness.

seunghyun noticed you later on in the night, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in the midst his conversation with the live band playing in the pub. no one had felt tied to the table anymore, dispersing throughout the room. you and your friends stayed put, taking advantage of the added space. you moved completely to the booth side, arm relaxed atop the table with your hand propping your head up, laughter ringing out of you; entering the reminiscing-about-college part of the night. "i still can't believe i somehow churned 2,500 words out of me. in four hours, and weekly, mind you!" a friend tsked from the other side of the table. "i couldn't figure out for the life of me how to balance that with my dissertation." "those assigned readings were the bane of my existence." you added, a flurry of agreed nods paired with a friend who was particularly more tipsy letting out a slurred yet very parliamentarian "hear-hear," in support. "i mean—it'd say chapter five, but then chapter five would be a ghastly one hundred pages long. it was actually impossible on top of everything else. so many days where personal hygiene was compromised . . ." you erupted in laughter, catching seunghyun's ear.

he grinned to himself, the shared joy palpable despite not being in on the conversation. his swift glance turned into a lingering stare, quickly looking away when you got up. "i won't be long. you said that bathroom was just around the right? alright—thank you." you turned the corner, another person walking by when you past him. seunghyun looked over his shoulder, gradually turning around, his eyes following you until you disappeared behind the swinging washroom door. he found himself waiting, half-listening to the keyboardist go on about his prospects at college. when you emerged again, seunghyun's posture straightened, hands going into his pockets until the perspiration of his palms made itself known. you stepped to the side, inadvertently planting yourself a couple feet away from him, making room for what looked to be a group of co-workers walking by. your eyes met momentarily, feeling your heart freeze, somehow moving your head into a polite nod. seunghyun mimicked you, feeling the same grin from before stretching his mouth once again. he took a step closer, his voice next to your ear practically sending you into cardiac arrest before you could scuttle away.

"you have a very beautiful laugh." he said. you turned your head, looking up at him, seeing him scratch his chin; trying to find a word. "prolific." he spoke, looking into your eyes. "i don't think i've heard anything like it before." "t-thank you." you nodded. your mouth felt dry and your chest pounded as if you were in trouble—which didn't make any sense, because he was being perfectly polite. normal, even. but its who he is that's terrifying me, your inner monologue was screaming. like if i say something, i'll be black-bagged and taken away. "that's very kind of you to say." you told him, your arms akin to jelly and brain on auto-pilot. "i do like to . . . laugh." you descended into an embarrassed exhale, unsure of what to say. seunghyun chuckled, his eyes kissing at their respective ends. "that's always good." he concurred. "i'm seunghyun." he rested his palm atop his chest. "its lovely to meet you." you introduced yourself, shaking his hand when he extended it. he internally cringed at himself—i probably shouldn't've done that, his inner monologue voiced; too late to retract his hand. you then asked the question that would eventually lead to a new era of the royal family: "were you also—" you cleared your throat, nerves nowhere near subsiding. "were you also here for the—the, sort of— impromptu oxford reunion?"

your friends read the room and left you alone, eyes drifting over sneakily when you and seunghyun sat at your own small table, him flagging someone down and ordering drinks for the both of you. seunghyun was a skilled conversationalist and put you at ease surprisingly quickly, satisfied upon noticing your relaxed posture as you went on about your time at college. "i can't believe we haven't met before." he said, taking a sip from his drink. "i mean, we studied the same subject and all." your eyes softened, if only he knew i thought the same thing, "i know. it is rather peculiar." you said, smiling when he let out a laugh. "peculiar indeed." when your friends decided to call it a night, they tried to hurry their goodbyes as to not take you away from him, but seunghyun's niceties activated quickly. "i don't want to keep you from your friends—" "—its alright—you're not keeping her away!" your eldest friend interjected, shaking her head with a grand smile. "we're staying at the hostel just a few blocks down. its not a problem at all." with that, seunghyun nodded, bidding his goodnights to them; seeing her shoot a wink at you before heading out the door, smirking upon casting his eyes on your sheepish expression.

"i'm sorry, she can be very—" "—supportive?" he cut you off. "that's one way of saying it, yes." you chuckled nervously. he found it sweet, eyes tenderly cast on you. "i'm quite thankful for her, then." on the walk home an hour later, seunghyun's head was stirring. he walked wordlessly next to you on the side closest to the road, pondering on what to do next once you two reached your hostel. you glanced at him from the side, feeling warmth travel up from your neck into your cheeks from something other than the summer night humidity at the sight of his hands behind his back in an admittedly very princely manner. you had no way of knowing this, despite the pose feeling very familiar from photos you've seen in the paper, but its the way he's carried himself since he can remember—mimicking his father and his grandfather before him. you finally got to see his outfit outside of the dimly-lit bar: a white short-sleeve button up tucked neatly into jeans, complemented by a dark brown belt and adidas trainers. its like those tabloid photos of him and his family have come to life before you, with the addition of his cloudy round wire-frame glasses from the heat; seunghyun's forgetfulness to clean them; and his prescription eye contacts not coming in on time.

"this is me." you came to a halt in front of a brick building. "i had a—" the nerves returned when your eyes met. "i had a wonderful time tonight. thank you for everything, seunghyun." it felt so strange to say his name so casually though he introduced himself as such—how many royal protocols am i breaking? he admired the sight of you: hair slightly frizzy from the heat, skin glowing in the lingering humidity, shirt endearingly wrinkled. "its been nothing short of a pleasure." seunghyun nodded, eyes soft. the sound of your sweet, soft laugh made his brain briefly short-circuit, speaking before thinking clearly. "goodnight." "goodnight." you said back to him gently, not surprised yet feeling bittersweet disappointment. for a fleeting moment, you believed this was the start of something. but, alas, seunghyun is seunghyun, and you are you. a prince and a commoner—a tale too good to be true. perhaps this night was destined to become part of your story-telling rolodex, unexpectedly dropping it on your grandchildren in fifty years time.

he turned to make his way back to the pub and to his car when you started climbing the stairs. not even five steps in, however, did his chest sink to a level so deep that an alarm rang ferociously in his head. i'm making a grave mistake, seunghyun turned around, quickly jogging to the bottom of the stairs. "can i call you?" "hm?" you turned around, about to enter your key into the door lock. "can i—" the nerves caught in his throat, swallowing. "may i call you? i'd like to . . . i'd like to get to know you better. i'm starting my masters here in the fall, and i'd like to have a familiar face." he had plenty, but its the first thing he could think of to keep himself tethered to you. you smiled, glancing at the pavement below your feet. "y-yes, you may." you said. "have you—do you have something i can write our landline number on?" "i—" he patted his pockets—nothing. "i don't." shit. "i'm sorry—" "its not a problem," you attempted to troubleshoot this quickly. "i'm sure there's something in the hostel—" you thought aloud, looking down at him. "would you mind coming in for a second? i just want to make sure i give it to you." you chuckled nervously, seeing the smile on his face. "of course." he climbed up the stairs, sending your flatmates listening behind the door into a frenzy. "go! go—that way!" your eldest friend whispered in panic, the both of them scurrying to the other room.

thus began a new chapter in either of your lives. seunghyun worked towards his masters in art history on the weekdays at oxford, traveling to the city discreetly to visit his girlfriend on the weekends. you worked your nine to five as a policy analyst for a non-profit on the weekdays, taking the tube home to find a deliveryman walking to your gate the same time you were, holding a vase filled with flowers from your boyfriend; the note signed with an S, sneaking him in through the backdoor when he arrived late-friday evenings and left sunday night. you made meals together and took walks around the park, sharing your first kiss underneath a weeping willow tree. his hands were politely behind his back as per habit, stilled even in your holding of his face. "you can hold me, you know." you murmured. "oh, right. yes—" his hands found your waist, gliding warmly to your lower back, bringing you in, "come here, then." he kissed you tenderly, feeling and hearing your amused chuckle against him.

your flatmates were over the moon for you—exhilarated by being in on one of the most exclusive and secretive relationships in the world. seunghyun's upbringing taught him to get along well with just about everyone—having no problem chatting politely with your friends on the phone when they were the ones to pick up, waiting for you to come down to the kitchen. speaking of the landline, it was just that singular one in the entire townhome. the cord could only go so far, so when you had enough of standing or pacing, you pulled a chair against the wall. where seunghyun was staying in the surrounding oxford area, his staff watched in amusement at him dragging the connecting cable and cord to his bedroom to lay comfortably in his bed whilst speaking with you, holding in their laughter when they heard his shoes skid against the floor.

you traded annotated books, reading the pages in each other's voices; ways of thinking; inner monologues. he adored your scribbles and you his chicken scratch, though legibility was another conversation entirely: "is it a prerequisite for future monarchs to write so messily?" you heard seunghyun laugh from his end of the line. "i can hardly make out your thoughts on frost." "he's one of my favorite poets. that's really all there is to know about that," he chuckled. "the queen's penmanship is wonderful, if i'm to be candid. and your's is not all that better than mine, my love." an upside down grin pulled the corners of his mouth. "and the choice of red has me feeling i'm reading a marked essay instead of hemingway." he let out a hearty laugh at your groan and tutted good-faith insult, his face feeling warmer than before. there was equal, if not more, admiration when your eyes were casted on his mother language, thumb dotingly grazing the text before reaching his rushed etchings. you couldn't understand, but you could feel.

perhaps the rumors swirling around your four month anniversary could be attributed to your trips to the back of the movie theater; sneaking kisses between scenes, trips to the farmer's market every other sunday; clad in sunglasses and baseball caps, though a few papparazzi took some nondescript photos of you two—landing on the boss's desk, or driving with the windows of his range rover down; rolling them up once seunghyun pulled into an empty parking lot, your antics in the backseat blacked out by the glass. before seunghyun left for the weekend to see you, he routinely reminded his personal secretary to "only page me if the queen has been compromised, the family's in trouble, or if we've been found out," leading to many peaceful nights in your bed. he falls asleep so easily with the warmth of your plush body nuzzled into his chest; lovingly encased in his arms. light, content snores emit from either seunghyun and yours' nostrils after making love, failed attempts at silencing your lustful moans and whimpers through half-covered mouths—the squeaking of your metal bed frame saying enough to your flatmates if they went got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

having a future monarch's head between your thighs, his hair messy and noises of his mouth and tongue suckling your clit so poetically lewd, was a sight to see and experience to behold. his soft palms moved romantically up and down your sides and stomach, tenderly yet briskly kneading your rolls, savoring the feeling of your stretch marks against his fingers—marks of the divine he calls them in his head—moaning lowly against your puffy lips, his hands making their way up to your perky breasts. "feel me." he egged, vibrations of his low voice against you making your eyes roll back. "feel me. feel my tongue." "o—oh—just like t-that—just like that!" you begged in a pitchy whisper. seunghyun looked up from his place being so hotly squished between your thick thighs, moving your stomach a little to make view of your face. how he wishes he occupied the talent to immortalize such beauty on a canvas whilst sat in his garden at home . . . the sheen of your supple skin nurtured by your building sweat, disheveled hair messily strewn along your forehead and pillow, lips slightly swollen from the heavy kisses you shared moments before you blessed him with your taste, eyebrows upturned, mouth agape, calling his name so delicately . . . he closed his eyes, continuing his ministrations, encouraging you to fasten your grip around his head with his palms on either sides of your thighs.

shortly before the holidays, you and seunghyun mutually agreed to tell your parents about your relationship. "i love you too much to keep being so secretive." he leaned down, planting a purposefully long kiss onto your cheek. you tsked, taking your eyeliner pencil away from your lid, seeing seunghyun smirking above you. "you're going to make me poke my eye out, seunghyun." you tutted, only to soften once meeting his eyes. "i love you, too." you moved closer, signaling for him to come down, pressing a sweet kiss onto his lips. "now behave and let me finish my makeup. we have to leave in twenty minutes." "will do." seunghyun was about to leave his spot leaning against the bathroom sink, quickly kissing your temple before you went in with your eyeliner, scurrying away when you turned, seeing him sat on the cushioned toilet lid cover. "you are the purest of evil." your smile gave you away. "ouch." he clutched his heart foolishly, your collective laughter rivaling the lionel richie cassette playing in the living room down the hall, intermittently interrupted by commotion in the kitchen.

your townhome was filled with either of your friend groups, gearing up for a night out together. you set the black eyeliner pencil down when it was to your liking, trading it out for mascara. seunghyun looked down at his wrist, fixing his watch. a question pestered his mind: "do you think your parents will like me?" "i think in any world—in every alternate dimension," your intonation was minutely altered, your mouth hanging open in the midst of applying mascara onto your eyelashes. "i should be the one asking you that question." you switched to your left eye, seunghyun exhaling through his nostrils. "i'm serious, my love. i can't help but be a bit anxious." "it means that you care." you answered, hearing him hum in acknowledgement. "don't be too hard on yourself. there's already so many other things pressuring you unfairly." "i know." "i'm happy you care, seunghyun. they'll really like you, i just know it." you screwed your lid of your mascara until it tightened. "although," seunghyun looked up, unsure of what you were going to say next. "they may not believe me for . . . obvious reasons." an amused grin tugged at his mouth. "i might require photographic evidence. or a court document." you threw in the latter to thwart off your increasingly flustered state. "i see." seunghyun let out a laugh. "i'm more than happy to oblige."

your gaze fell to the sink, avoiding his. "come here." you beckoned. seunghyun got up, taking the two steps it took to be in front of you; the bathroom wasn't spacious whatsoever. the moment your palms rested on his biceps, his arms made residence around your waist, pulling you in. "you look very pretty." he spoke softly, voice characteristically low. "i do?" the playful grin on your face said you knew the answer. "mhm," seunghyun nodded, feeling your hand travel up his chest, settling behind his neck. "very much so." "well, since you're being so nice," you closed the gap a little, but not entirely, "and so well-behaved." the breath of his chuckle tickled your skin, bringing your lips to his. seunghyun reconnected them feeling either of your hands hold the back of his neck—the kiss slow, intentional; intimate.

he rested his cheek against your temple when you turned your head away. "i have an idea." you said aloud, picking your black eyeliner from your makeup bag. "i wouldn't be opposed," said seunghyun. "but that's not going onto my eyes, is it?" "no," you shook your head. "but stay still nonetheless." "alright. have at it." you undid the first three buttons of his shirt, seeing the suggestive look on his face immediately. "don't look at me like that." you muttered, bringing the pencil to his exposed chest. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, much to your endearing protest. "stop scheming. i told you to stay still." "i'm not scheming. i'm loving you." "you can be so horrifyingly cliché that it somehow morphs into charm." "thank you." he exhaled, mouth molding into a sheepish smile. "have a look." you told him, putting the cap on the pencil, taking a step back to allot seunghyun room to look in the mirror. what reflected back at him brought out the smuggest grin ever to grace mankind.

KING—not written in lettering large enough to rival a billboard, but legible to the point of it being irrefutable. "is it in case i forget?" he asked, looking at you through the mirror. "yes," you nodded, playing along. "the idea was more attractive in my head, but after the first letter i realized it would've been much easier with lipstick. it was too late to stop, though." seunghyun turned around, facing you entirely. "i can wet a cotton pad and—" "—no, no. its fine." seunghyun shook his head in quick reassurance. it clicked for you when he buttoned his shirt. "i like it. it can be our little thing." he said earnestly. "we'll try it next time with your lipstick—the deep red one." you smiled with a nod, suddenly wishing you weren't going out tonight. "okay." your voice was notably quieter. seunghyun was winning; his admiring grin on full display. your face sunk into your palms, "you truly can be so horrible to me sometimes." you complained, gentle tone contrasting with your rhetoric, feeling his arms find your waist. "how am i supposed to go out in this state?" "poor you," he tutted playfully. "so worked up over a bit of teasing." "you're awful."

before the three taxis arrived, the polaroid camera was passed around, decorating your kitchen counter with developing photos. a good number with friends, your flatmates, and seunghyun—one took candidly of you two standing together in the hall; you sat on his lap on the couch, arms around one another, grand smiles on your faces; stood up, his arms around you, cheeks pressed together—all of which you took home to show your parents when you flew home for christmas. your father was flabbergasted; your mother shocked. so many questions were hurled at you, and you answered all of them. excitement soon ensued, you having to hound your father away from the phone, halting his pursuit of calling a travel agency to book a flight to meet seunghyun. "he's telling his parents this holiday, too. i'll let you know when its a good time." "you mean the queen?" your mother raised her eyebrows. "wow—it really must be real if you're talking about them so casually."

much to seunghyun's surprise, his parents were more approving than he anticipated. sure enough, the critical look in their eyes said the trial's only just begun, but in terms of his past girlfriends, this had to be the smoothest sailing yet thus far. arrangements to meet you were quickly set into motion, his mother asking nearby staff to call for her personal secretary—seunghyun stopped her, setting his utensils down. "i would like to meet her parents first." he said. "i want us to be on an equal playing field." "surely, yes," his father spoke knowingly from across the table. "but does she happen to know who your mother is?" "full well, yes." seunghyun answered, nodding. "but, i want to take a step forward in modernizing the monarchy, as i've always desired. this would be an admittedly minute step, yes, but it could set something in motion. she has the ability—the confidence. tenacity, too." he explained. "i would like for us to meet each other's families before our relationship becomes public." "before her life is altered indefinitely, you meant to say." his mother interjected, taking a sip of her water.

seunghyun's shoulders felt heavier—the impending reality weighing down on him. "yes." he answered truthfully. "as you wish." said the queen. "i trust your judgment." he flew your parents out to britain in february, a few days after your first valentine's day together, meeting them during dinner at your townhome. he was a nervous wreck the night before and morning off, his rambles keeping you on the phone instead of preparing for their arrival ("does your mother prefer chocolates or perfume?" "just get her flowers, seunghyun." "oh my goodness, how could i have forgotten that? how about your father? what kind of ties does he like? or is he a cologne—" "—seunghyun, baby, if i don't vaccum right now, i'm going to lose my mind.")

your parents were elated to meet him. seunghyun hurdled through their interrogation with poise, despite having to clear his throat from time to time to thwart nerves. he made a good impression, exemplified by how your father patted him on the back and your mother embraced him like a son-in-law before settling into the taxi, heading to their hotel. you were officially slotted to cordially meet his family come may, ushering in summer 1985; seunghyun receiving his masters degree; closing in on one year together—until his pager beeped in late april. it was around 11:30 pm that friday night. you were laid together in bed: you having just taken the cap off your deep red lipstick, seunghyun's shirt unbuttoned. "is everything okay?" you asked, tone laced with concern. seunghyun shuffled through his dufflebag, pulling out his brick mobile, extending the antenna. "yes—i just have to call my secretary." he dialed, bringing the phone to his ear. his mind rifled through those three reasons he set forth for paging, painstakingly wondering which one it could be . . .

"your royal highness?" "yes, hello—can you hear me?" "i can, sir, yes." "is it the worst possible news?" "no, sir. thankfully not. but you're not going to like this either. i'll get straight to it—" the conversation was in his mother tongue. you gradually sat up, waiting patiently. seunghyun sat down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. though you couldn't understand, you saw he was listening intently to whatever the information was —either humming "mhm" or saying something with the cadence of a question. "its everywhere, sir," his secretary said into the receiver. "not just at home, but international outlets as well. i was able to receive faxes of the cover stories ahead of time—but there is no way out. they will be published come morning." seunghyun's shoulders didn't sink just yet. "the photos are clear. she will be identified immediately. it will be a matter of hours before the press find her residence."

seunghyun sighed. here it was: the brute, unforgiving, oncoming force touching down in less than twelve hours. with the time difference, mother and papa will find out with the rest of the world, his inner monologue reeled, hiding his face behind his palm. your worry intensified, but kept it at bay, knowing it was unreasonable to ask whilst he was still on the phone. "i suggest you leave now, sir. to avoid compromising your safety—" "—and leave her to the wolves? is that really what you want me to do? there's no world where i am cruel enough to do such a thing." "sir, with all due respect," his secretary cleared his throat. "she was—she was aware this would happen, right?" seunghyun hung up.

he hastily shoved the antenna down, holding the phone with his right hand, his left running over his face. "seunghyun?" your palm traced his shoulder, bringing him back down to earth. but he wasn't sure if this was the planet he wanted to be on at the current moment. he set the phone down on the floor, turning to face you. "that was my secretary." he explained. "my love, they know. we'll be in the papers in the morning—everywhere in a matter of hours." you didn't freeze, but the shock rattled your chest. you knew this day would come at some point—it wasn't unexpected, but in fact established in open conversation when you first started dating. however, its one thing to hear about something, and another to experience it. "we've talked about this before—" "i know, seunghyun. i'm okay." you assured. he huffed, conflicted thoughts permeating the furrow of his eyebrows. "do you want to come to oxford? where i'm staying? i can have the car ready as soon as possible." you contemplated for a moment, ultimately shaking your head. "i can't do that to them, seunghyun."

he knew you were referring to your flatmates. before he could protest, you get out of bed, making your way to the door. "i'll go tell them now—so they can prepare for the morning." "they? what about you?" seunghyun stood to his feet. "seunghyun," you let out a breath. "i've long made my decision since the moment i went on a date with you—since the moment i had a drink with you at the bar." you said, gesturing to your side, but in your head it was the aforementioned memories. "like you've said, we've talked about what's coming, and now its here. if i run away now, there's no point. i have to face them. it might as well be tomorrow." part of you knew you had no idea what you were talking about, that there was no true way to grasp the severity of circumstance until you're thrusted into it. your stubbornness persisted. "my love, you're not running away—" you cut him off by leaving the room, heading up the stairs, knocking on your eldest friend's door first.

a debrief occurred in the kitchen until three am—the makeshift council deciding it was best for seunghyun to return to oxford before morning. "please don't think differently of me." he pleaded into your neck, holding onto you so tightly it was as if you would wither away. "i won't." you said earnestly. "you're the best thing thats ever happened to me." he lifted his head, looking into your eyes. "please—please, i beg of you, don't let these vermin take you away from me." "i won't." you repeated. "come here." you said softly, molding your lips with his. he returned the sentiment, kissing you harder, his hands holding your face in his palms. "i love you so dearly." seunghyun whispered. "i love you more." you whispered back. "page me when you're home safe, okay?"

it was horrendous. catastrophic. absolute pandemonium. the night's deliberations led to the arrangement of your flatmate driving you to work. there were a handful of reporters outside that morning as the news waves hadn't entirely penetrated yet in those early hours—you kept your head down and sped walked to the car. however, stepping foot outside lended your location as if you paged the entire nation, and coming home was a disaster-filled saga. over fifty paparazzi booked it to the car—the clattering of camera shutters continuous as if an off button wasn't an option. your name was hurled at you like a frantic, hunger-filled insult, followed by some of the most invasive questions no one in your close circle could've ever drawn up. by primetime, everyone around the world knew your name and how to spell it.

you tried to exit more discreetly through the backdoor, but the press soon figured that one out, forcing you back to the front entrance. much to your benefit, you became rather skilled at strategically scurrying away—though some reporters more agile than you would give you a run for your money, shoving a microphone in your face as they frantically looked back and forth from you and their cameraman, asking any question ranging from "has his royal highness spoken with you today?" to "how do you think your prospects are to serve as queen?" it escalated to finding you on grocery runs or simply out and about running errands and living normally—the papers all filled with photos of you walking with your head down, hand covering your face. you told seunghyun exactly what you needed: "i need protection," you told him over the phone. "a driver, for a start. her poor ford escort can only take so much." he also arranged for your parents to have security, putting his own money down to pay for the cost.

it then escalated to the point of no return. reporters were knocking—some breaking and entering—your neighbor's homes in hopes of getting intel on you; photographers climbing power poles to zoom in on your windows, leading to blankets being strung up for privacy, and somehow someway the leaking of your landline number; cutting the cord after it rang for over fourteen hours. after two months of mayhem, your flatmate couldn't take it anymore. "they've started contacting my family," she said, wheeling her suitcases out through the backdoor, the rest of her belongings in her car. "i have to draw the line." that night was dreadful—a harrowing image of you sat in the living room with deepened eye bags and a thousand yard stare, commotion of reporters behind a strung up blanket. the couch dipped next to you, your eldest friend bringing you into her arms. "i really can't blame her," you cried. "i—i don't—" "—its okay, its okay." she comforted. "at least marry him so we can get a party out of all of this." she smiled hearing your meek laughter, holding you closer.

when you wouldn't give an interview (or in other words, compromise your privacy for nasty people whom you owed nothing; you and seunghyun weren't even engaged yet) then came the unsavory photos published, op-eds written, and outright lies spread. your middle-class background was villainized to falsely frame you as a gold digger ("i've learned quickly that there's nothing people hate more than those who defy their heinously preconceived notions." you told your flatmate over wine one night); photos of you with an accentuated double chin from struggling to open the car door, a body roll somewhat visible in the millisecond it took you to fix your blouse, an angled photo of your legs taken when you were throwing the garbage out; digitally manipulated to over-exaggerate your natural cellulite were intentionally plastered on the front pages with unfavorable headlines digging at your body. some language tip-toed and was more fluffy whilst others were unabashed: Princess Piggy; Biting off More Than She Can Chew?; Local retailer says she won't carry size "Infinity XL" anymore. your body was treated akin to a moral failing. you remained strong, but felt yourself begin to chip away. you were only human, after all.

seunghyun wanted to set the world on fire. he didn't attend his ceremony, receiving his masters degree quietly before being made to fly back home for good old-fashioned damage control. he donned his round wire frames for a softer, more approachable look, shaking the hands and greeting the hundreds of people waiting to see him outside of the research center he just cut the ribbon for. many were supportive, handing him flowers and other gifts whilst saying "she's so beautiful!" or "you two are such a fine match, bring her home soon! the country wants to meet her!", swiftly walking past anyone stepping over a boundary with their question or remark—until a reporter had something to say. seunghyun didn't overhear what he said at first ("your royal highness, how could you—with someone so below you!") since he was accepting a small bouquet of daises grown in a garden of a mother of four, but looked up before being ushered to the car. "its an embarrassment, sir! you're a future king!" the cameraman caught him, and the mic picked up on his voice: "you could only be so lucky."

you were flown out to meet his family in june. driven hours into the remote countryside to a castle ("i've grown up calling it an estate. its the queen's favorite of our holiday homes." "this is not the time for semantics, seunghyun. thats a fucking granite and slate castle.") the day before his siblings and parents were to arrive. seunghyun gave you a tour of the grounds whilst your luggage was carried in and set up in your quarters by staff—the greenest, crunchiest cabbage growing in the garden; ten tangerine trees scattered throughout a neighboring courtyard; the distant stable, just a mile away from a freshwater stream ("the horse i've known since my childhood is still with us. i named him ben—i was probably around nine years old." "when i was that age, i was just lucky enough to see one in a field during a long car ride."); and the part of the castle you two were staying in—seunghyun reciting facts about various portraits, art pieces, and overall architecture of one of the homes he grew up in ("do see those engravings—just by the chandelier? they've been there for over four hundred years." "that's older than me." "yes, me too, my love."; "my mother and papa usually stay just down that hall." "seunghyun, your parents are just going to be around the corner? and you're just telling me this now?")

as the evening progressed, your nerves did, too. perhaps it was the staff prefacing your surname with "miss" when addressing you, the three course dinner you had looking over massive, fruitful acreage, or staring into the eyes of seunghyun's generations-old ancestor painted onto canvas, almost falling after leaning on what was both part of the library but also dually acting as a secret door into another room, practicing your curtsy an infinite amount of times in the bathroom along with reviewing how to address certain members of his family did it all start to feel a bit too real. you didn't sleep a wink, tossing and turning whilst seunghyun slept peacefully at your side. at half three in the morning, you got up, quietly leaving the bedroom to clear your mind. you didn't stray too far, only going down the long corridor connecting the landing of the staircase to where you were staying for the duration of this trip. the ceilings are so high. its like a different altitude up there, you thought to yourself, craning your neck upwards.

your fingers brushed against the top of the wainscot rails lining the wide walls, turning the corner, finding yourself stood in front of the same portrait as before. it was humungous. the man was aged and dignified, demonstrated in his pristine posture and polite expression. though the portrait had evidence of upkeep and attempts at restoration in its scratched golden frame and crinkled corners, if you looked close enough, you could see where seunghyun got his looks from—those kind brown eyes, smooth nose bridge, and prominent ears didn't spring out of nowhere. it was one thing to know he comes from a lineage so indescribably powerful and influential, but entirely another to see it for yourself, and the person before you wasn't even alive anymore. your eyebrows furrowed, thinking i wonder when this was commissioned. you took a step closer, eyeing what looked to be white numbers in the corner. your stomach churned—1679. you clutched your mouth, running to where you remember the bathroom was, retching into the toilet.

seunghyun stirred awake. senses exhausted in interrupted slumber, he noticed you were gone, along with the subtle shin of the morning sun beginning to purify the curtains. he turned onto his left side, aimlessly grabbing the clock on the nightside table, squinting at the time reading 5:17 AM. he put it back, hand patting the surface to feel for his glasses, putting them before sitting up. a yawn escaped his lips after opening the door, shuffling his bare feet against the carpeted floors. he crossed his arms over his chest, walking halfway down the hall before spotting your head in the sitting room. "my love?" his voice was low, another yawn leaving him. "is that you?" "yes, seunghyun." "come back to bed, baby," he approached the couch you were sat at, sitting down next to you. "its so early." he muttered, eyes still half-closed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "is there a reason you're up? is everything okay?" he asked, rubbing the remaining exhaustion out of his eyes.

you were upfront. there's no point in sugarcoating it, even if the timidity of your voice contradicted that. "i'm very nervous about meeting your family." you whispered. "i haven't slept at all. i was—i was looking at the painting of your . . . your—" "uncle with too many 'greats' before his name that no one cares enough to say." seunghyun nodded after clarifying. you couldn't help the smile stretching your mouth, or the amused exhale leaving your nostrils. he always had such a way of alleviating pressure through humor. despite what others may think, he never really took himself too seriously. "yes, him." you chuckled. "i saw the date the painting was commissioned and i just . . . i just fell apart. your family's history, seunghyun . . . i am no match for it. i don't know who i think i am being here." you shook your head, looking at him pleadingly. he shut that shit down quickly, shaking his head. "nope, we're not doing this," he tutted. "not now. not ever." he moved closer to you, taking your hand in his. "we've talked about this before, my love." his voice was smooth. "you belong here just as much as i do." "thats whats wrong!" you exclaimed. "i don't—" you stuttered, frustrated. "its hard for me to share that feeling. this is all so—its all so big, seunghyun. what if . . . what if your parents don't like me? or your siblings? i don't have the faintest clue of what i'm doing. they're going to see right through me today."

"you do know what you're doing." seunghyun corrected you. "in the way you round the press up like cattle and rightfully give them nothing in return, you know exactly what you are doing. the fact that you have suffered so much these last two months, and still agreed to come here with me, shows that you know what you are doing." he didn't stutter a single vowel, let alone take his eyes off of you. "you already have the spine." said seunghyun. "but its only been two months since we've gone public," you countered, him listening carefully. "what if i break? what if they break me? they've already turned on how i look. who's to say it won't be how i dress next, or how i drink from a glass of water? or how much space i take up in a fucking photo?" you ranted. a long breath escaped your lungs, eyes closing momentarily. "i know its part of the package—part of dating a future king." you said. "i know that i'll be torn to bits. fodder for gossip, target of jealousy, receiver of criticism both deserved and not. i know it so well that it weighs down on my skull, even in its infancy." you lifted your head, meeting his eyes. "but my soul is fragile, seunghyun. i'm am only a human." you shook your head, feeling your eyes become misty. "i'm not—i'm not supernatural."

"that's precisely why i want you here." seunghyun leaned closer to you. "i feel your warmth when i hold your hand. embrace you, kiss your lips. i feel it in your gaze when you look for me across the room. that's not a feeling i've known often in my life." he shook his head. "i was born into a kind of privilege i will never be able to fully understand before i leave this earth. but—but affection, space to listen and be listened to in return, to be so naturally loved . . . those are luxuries my lineage will never be able to afford. you are not a husk. you have a beating heart." his thumb ran gently over your quivering bottom lip. "what if they turn me into one?" your voice barely trailed above a whisper. seunghyun didn't hesitate in his answer: "i would abdicate before i let that happen to you, my love."

you blinked, suddenly feeling hot tears stream down your face, your fingers swiftly flicking them off. "i never thought it was possible to love someone as much as i love you." your voice quivered, an emotional frown tugging at the corners of your mouth, avoiding looking at him in fear you would cry harder. "me neither." his eyes twinkled. he leaned in, hands coming up holding either side of your face before you stopped him. "i—" you glanced down, embarrassment filling your chest. "i vomited earlier. in the . . . in the bathroom." seunghyun turned your head, bringing his lips to your warming cheek instead. "if i knew you felt so uneasy, i would've pushed this trip back." he spoke to you so tenderly, as if you were the only two people in the world. "i just needed assurance." you told him softly. "do you feel reassured?" he genuinely asked. "almost entirely." "come," seunghyun stood on his feet, tugging gently at your hand. "let's go for a walk. it helps clear my mind. i'm sure it'll help you, too."

you walked hand in hand underneath the rising morning sun, ankles tickled by the remnants of the previous evening's sprinkled rainfall soaked into the grass. the door into the horse stable was wide open, seunghyun peering in to see the two royal stablehands already hard at work. you watched swift head bows before politely greeting them yourself. "i can't believe i forgot to show you this yesterday." seunghyun took your hand, ushering you to the other side of the barn. he peered around the corner, carefully stepping onto the gravel upon spotting a fluffy tail. "one of our gardeners wrote to me saying a stray cat has had her kittens here." before you could register the anecdote, an adult cat followed clumsily by three toppling kittens emerged from behind a ledge, scuttling away to nestle underneath the shade of a tangerine tree.

his family was a mixed bag. seunghyun's parents were running late, so you didn't meet them all at once. first came his four siblings who arrived with ten minute increments between them, making your stomach feel queasy whenever the double doors swung open, preceding a brief announcement recited by a secretary of who's arrived. you were all relatively the same age, the eldest after seunghyun 24 and the youngest 17—set to begin college at cambridge in the fall. seunghyun's sisters were like looking at the same person at different stages of her life (his oldest the second eldest of the family, his youngest the baby,) whereas his brothers—the certified middle children—were at times at stark odds. the younger one was demonstrably more extroverted, laying back on the couch with his feet propped up on the table, speaking to you as if you've known one another your entire lives within five minutes of meeting, whereas the older brother was more observant; chiming in whenever needed, but not without his handsome smile.

seunghyun held himself differently, as anyone would in front of their family. there was slightly more command in the vibrato of his voice, though his relaxed body language and knack for witty banter was like looking through vignettes of memories. it was clear this bunch were true siblings, not only bound by blood, but through pointless bickering; weaponization of embarrassing stories; and playing rock-paper-scissors over who gets to eat the last scoop of bingsu for dessert though dinner hadn't started. when the queen and his royal highness arrived on the premises, the eldest sister tugged at your wrist, bringing you towards the back of the group ushering collectively down the hall. "we'll play uno after dinner with the boss." she told you lowly, checking to see if seunghyun overheard. he was occupied, fixing his cufflink. "there's positively no way you'll leave us without seeing how worked up he gets over color coordination."

the execution of your curtsy was pristine, though your heart was beating in your throat. if the queen was interrogating you, she was a master at subtlety, because that beautiful smile and warm, comfortable laugh never disappeared. his father's critical gaze earned a defiant nudge on his arm from his eldest daughter when you weren't looking, followed by hushed bickering before asking a question receiving her nod of approval. you slept better that night following a fanatical five rounds of uno, after each of which seunghyun sat closer to the edge of the couch before standing completely on his feet; pacing four steps back and forth, nearly tripping over nothing to beat his eldest sister, or anyone for that matter, in shouting the winning word. you woke at fifteen past six the next morning to use the bathroom, approached by the queen's secretary on the walk back to your bedroom. "her majesty and his royal highness would like for you to join their morning tea. either will be in the same dining hall as the night previous in one half hour."

you dressed quickly, keeping your composure. she’s just a person. she’s just a person, you repeated in your head, fixing your bracelet for the nth time whilst descending down the wide staircase. your curtsy went even deeper than the previous evening’s, nearly freezing when you felt her lay her palm atop your shoulder. “please, come join us.” her tone was unreadable (or perhaps you were just in overthinking overdrive,) but her idly soft voice put your subconscious at ease, no longer feeling your loafers pinch the back of your ankles. you dipped into a curtsy again at the sight of his royal highness waiting with his hands behind his back—seunghyun is his exact carbon copy—at the far end of the long dining table, offering you a curt nod of acknowledgement. "i was upset we couldn't speak as closely last night," the queen's voice returned your attention to her. "with the commotion of our family and all." she chuckled politely, making you grin in an unavoidably nervous gesture. "i look forward to getting to know you better now. we've heard nothing but the highest of praise." "or perhaps excitement is the preferred term." seunghyun's father chimed in, sitting himself down across from you.

"she's always been so bad at hiding when she's not being subtle." the queen's youngest son critiqued from the sitting room window, watching with his older counterpart with his arms crossed over his chest. "never." the eldest concurred. "remember when she and papa—" "move." a frustrated seunghyun forcibly nestled his way between them, making room for himself in front of the tall window. the youngest kissed his teeth, horrendously annoyed by seunghyun's nuisance. "fuck off, will you? it hasn't even been twenty minutes since i woke up." seunghyun ignored him, gesturing sharply at the view below: his mother and father on either side of you, walking along the grass. "they have her caged in—like an animal!" he thought aloud, baffled. "talk about a metaphor." the younger brother snickered, shut right up when seunghyun reached behind him, nudging the back of his head. "the second she's alone, they ring her in like prey! its like—its like they haven't changed at all! and worst of all, they're completely shameless about it!"

"what's going on?" the sisters entered the sitting room, the eldest tying her robe closed over her pajamas. "its hardly eight am and your ruckus is already carrying throughout the house." "i wanna see!" the youngest of them all chimed, scuttling over, pushing seunghyun's arm out of the way to get a better look. his eldest sister couldn't help her grin. "oh, the boss certainly means business." she let out a tired yawn, rubbing her right eye. "even brought out the translator." she referred to the man walking five paces behind you three—a polyglot the queen has employed for decades, handy for state banquets and trips abroad. she and her husband felt comfortable in their english, but kept him close by in good faith. the five of them watched in awe-filled silence. seunghyun was at a loss for words. his sister assured him like it was muscle memory. "you have nothing to worry about." she told him, the lot of them watching their father pat you on the shoulder, able to make out the comfortable smile on your face despite the growing distance. "that's the most relaxed i've seen papa in years." as if he overheard, their father turned his head, looking behind him at the sound of guardsmen walking by. "the curtain!" the youngest brother yelped, all five hastily reaching their hands up to pull the thick fabric.

later in the morning, you asked a guard where seunghyun was, politely directing you to a nearby garden. seunghyun closed his book, rising quickly from his seat on the bench, walking to you with haste. "my love—good morning." he pampered your lips with his, holding your face in his palms. "so?" was all he was able to muster, anxious thoughts running endlessly through his mind that his thinking became fragmented, eyes flittering around your face for an answer. "i think i passed?" you smiled, easing into laughter feeling seunghyun embrace you with a grip that could only be pure relief. "your father has a penchant for going endlessly back-and forth." you spoke, hands traveling up. "i can see where you get it from." you chuckled, giggling sweetly when he held you tighter.

your first public outing as a couple came july 1985 at the dual-venue benefit concert, live aid. wembley stadium was overflowing with music lovers and spectators alike. it was an atmosphere unlike any other, settling into your suite with friends who tagged along as well. photos in the papers chronicled your frizzy hair and his blowing in the wind churning through the open-roof stadium, beer in his hand, both of you donning ray bans; you two stood on your feet, moving your hands in unison with thousands of others when queen took the stage with radio gaga; you taking your lightweight blazer off, dancing and twirling in your maxi skirt whilst david bowie performed modern love, seunghyun's shy smile about to live on for years on the bedroom walls of teenage girls around the world. you looked so natural, as if you were having the time of your life, because you were! better yet, it inadvertently became a very effective optics campaign. there's nothing more relatable than two twenty-something-year-olds who love live music as much as they do each other. luckily for seunghyun, it was real love.

the tide was turning now that people know you and seunghyun were serious. the vitriolic attacks on your privacy not only persisted, but maximized: private letters leaked, random classmates you've never met claiming to be your "closest confidant" coming out of the woodworks for their fifteen minutes of fame, the outside of your car swarmed in the middle of a traffic jam—it was endless. tiresome. draining. it severed his heart to hear you sound so pitifully defeated over the phone (a new landline specially encrypted with a direct line to him, also protecting other calls needed to be made), your voice often times descending into unintelligible whispers, succumbing to tears. "i just want to tell them to get lost." you wiped your cheeks, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "but i'm afraid of what they might do next. its like they're—they're checking off a list of things to do to me, one by one. 'how cruel can we be today,' or something like that." seunghyun armed you with his family's attorneys, sending them off into battles in the courtroom to squeeze tabloids and other defamatory cases dry.

many spectators anticipated a certain announcement to follow the reporting of you and seunghyun moving in together after three years of dating. it was the fall of 1987—seunghyun began pursuing his history of art phd at cambridge, with you landing a senior position at a non-profit's policy advisory board. seunghyun happily departed from his residence after years of flying back and forth, settling into your three bedroom flat with unbridled ease, furthering the next chapter of your shared lives together. you split chores: trading who washed the dishes on an every-other-day-basis, seunghyun cooking most nights with sunday being the designated takeout day, you telling him to buy a new hoover after your current one gave out in the midst of cleaning the living room, etcetera.

your couch has seen a lot. anecdotes and conversations a rolodex of parasitic tabloids would beg on their hands and knees to obtain—offering to oust one another via sacrificial rituals to print; kisses that would scandalize seunghyun into an overnight sex symbol, defying multiple centuries of articulate public relations handiwork molding the impenetrable influence establishing him as a noble figure; you in such overtly compromising positions that would've been the most expensive paparazzi photos ever sold, if only you and seunghyun didn't live on the top floor with your curtains closed. your knees burned atop the cushions with every ministration of your hips, seunghyun's knees seemingly on opposite ends of the room from how far he's spread his legs. your respective movements were messy and disjointed—but so carnally aligned. he thrusted up into you whilst you worked yourself down onto him, condom slick and creamy, your thick, soft thighs jiggling with such force in collision with his hips. all that can be heard are soft whimpers and helpless gasps. "o—oh!" you squeaked delicately next to his ear, almost drowned out by the lewd sound of your skin slapping together. "s—seunghyun—" you mewled, holding the back of his head, pressing your temple against his. "i-i'm lost in you, my love," he panted, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "utterly lost—hngh!" he slowed his hips, calming himself down after your gummy walls tightened mercilessly around him. his hands quickly traveled up your back to catch you when you momentarily lost balance, providing leeway to do some work. "let me make you feel good as you do me, yeah? f-fuck! o-oh my—oh my f-fucking—"

afternoons and nights where your thighs fondle his head, legs cast over his shoulders whilst his knees prop him up on the carpet floors, making love to you with his tongue. you've long forgotten about the wine glasses on the coffee table, or the load of laundry waiting to be transfered to the the dryer. that can wait for an eternity, as far as you're concerned. its a sight to behold: you taking off his glasses after they continuously travel down the bridge of his nose, putting them atop your head for safe keeping, your fingers combing his soft hair back; the subtle tinkering of your bracelets falling down your wrist egging him on further. his backpack and textbook waited patiently on the dining table—he has a meeting with his academic advisor on campus in forty-five minutes. you separated your legs, lifting your hips to lay more comfortably, pushing his head in deeper. seunghyun continued his lethal ministrations on your clit, separating your puffy lips with his pointer and middle fingers, isolating it entirely. "f-fuck! yes!" your voice croaked, cracking into an abrupt gasp. "j-just like that, s-seunghyunnie! oh my fucking god!" you almost sounded offended by how good at this he was. your furrowed eyebrows fought with your fallen jaw, "you're gonna—mmf!—y-you're gonna make me cum!" "that's the goal." he muttered. "this is not the time for—o-oh my f-fuck—" the vibrations of his chuckle shut you right up; eyes squeezing shut, back arching, in utter bliss. "i-i'm gonna—i'm—o—oh!"

two years later, you were in finland on holiday. friends came and went in their respective cabins, leaving you and seunghyun alone those last few days before flying home. you two have considered marriage for a while now—having shared many open and transparent conversations regarding the matter. on a human level, you've been ready for the question since your six month anniversary. however, on an impending-public-figure or more aptly put, future-wife-of-the-monarch-and-serving-as-queen level, it took some self reflection to say the least. his belief in you is what sealed the deal: "i was raised to be honest." he told you one night, tucked underneath the duvet alongside you. "i was also raised to root out weakness. if you didn't have what it took, i wouldn't have let my heart surpass the point of no return." he picked the ring out a few weeks before boarding the royal jet with you to finland, and a week after receiving your parents blessing, discreetly tucking it away securely into one of his duffle bags. he routinely built a sweat on that trip despite the cold winter temperatures—checking multiple times a day if the small velvet box was still with his belongings, as if it would somehow grow legs and walk away.

the aurora borealis bloomed above you. it was your second time seeing the phenomenon on this trip alone—basking in the closest thing, to you, humankind will ever come to experiencing magic. seeing it the first time earlier in the week was purely out of fortune. the skies were clear, your entourage pulling into your cabins after a late dinner, only to stand outside in your long puffer jackets and thick beanies for the next twenty minutes in utter awe. the second time it happened, only now it was only you two coming home to your cabin, seunghyun took it as a sign; a leap of faith. he non-suspiciously excused himself, muttering something about retrieving his camera, hurrying to your shared bedroom and sifting through his duffle bag—unzipping the side pocket tucked behind spare clothing, clutching the small box in his palm. he was down on one knee ten minutes later. nothing moved in the world in those moments except you two. his hands shook as he aligned his eye with the film camera’s viewfinder, the flash making the diamond ring sparkle in the night.

to think your first introduction to his nation was as his fiancée was inexplicably and objectively insane. a concurrent move of grandeur and strategic privacy, you thought, whilst preparing for the engagement photo call and subsequent interview. you looked like a match made in the portraits released to the public: stood outside of the palace; seunghyun in an ashy black suit paired with a deep maroon tie, you in a navy blue long sleeve dress that cut off right below your knees. he was holding his arm out for you, your hand adorned with the ring resting in plain view in the allotted gap. the smiles on your faces were irrefutable—this was solid; written in the stars. your eight minute engagement interview aired the following night—prefaced by b-roll of you two perusing the gardens arm-in-arm; him fixing your dress; you straightening his tie—reaching millions around the world. you were received as a kind, well-spoken, intelligent woman topped off with an endearing sense of introversion—“an expected prerequisite of stepping out of her shell,” the news anchor called it, to be specific. the details of your love story of the prince falling for a commoner (and your dress, quite frankly) led to record numbers of undergraduate applications sent to oxford the following cycle; local seamstresses became booked for weeks on end; department stores selling dupes of your dress were sold out for months at a time.

the several months between your engagement and wedding day were colorful in every possible meaning of the word. your time was spent wishing you had more time, in between moving into his residence (“our residence now, my love.”); sorting out your patronages and honorary titles you were to take on after officially becoming both a princess and the future queen; sifting through heaps of doting letters from the public and trying to respond to at least ten before heading to bed; fittings for an endless array of things (most importantly your wedding and reception dress, along with tours planned months in advance for when you’re officially a royal); cake and food tastings; visits to florists; selecting and meeting your new staff, bodyguards, and secretaries; routine visits with your fiancé to your future in-laws’ palaces to pick out a venue; setting up your office … it was endless.

seunghyun was born into this rodeo, so he helped wherever he could. he didn’t want to stifle any opportunities of you establishing your footing in a brand new lifestyle you needed to learn the ins and outs of, but also didn’t want to leave you hanging out on your own. he knew there was a very possible balance between the two, but couldn’t help but get ahead of himself sometimes (“a lady-in-waiting should be someone you’re close to. she’ll help in daily tasks and anything else you might need help with. i’ve told you this before.” “i don’t know who to pick, seunghyun. i don’t have many friends.” “we’ll find you some, then.” “no—that’s not what i’m trying to say, baby. i don’t want just anyone at the wedding, or in my daily life like that.”) he could only be so aware of his indescribable privilege and being privy to such dense knowledge of royal life. he’s admitted to these faults before, and they’ve manifested throughout your relationship. whether it be more passive—addressing luxury cars as if they were toyotas; footing the 12,000/month rent for your shared flat; using a first edition print of a classic novel as a makeshift coaster when he couldn’t find one in the kitchen cabinets; walking barefoot in his centuries-old historical residence decadent in paintings and fixtures worth millions in nothing but linen shorts and a lightweight v-neck sweater; eating a slice of pizza with a knife and fork, much to your amusement: “no, baby.” you simply tutted, getting up from your seat, a hand on his shoulder. “hm?” seunghyun turned his head, attention returning to his plate when you took the utensils out of his hands. “it comes to a point.” you told him with a grin, directing his fingers to hold the crust.

or it can be much more apparent. do not be mistaken by your faces being printed onto dinner plates and sold in gift shops—you and seunghyun are not the perfect couple. you’ve had petty arguments, a disagreement here and there, or outright misalignments. you try to talk it out, but if the circumstance proves to still be sensitive, you take an hour or two away. to seunghyun, this is your shared secret of a long lasting relationship—a testament in your trust of one another. that no matter what, a momentary rift is just that: momentary. you trust each other to feel love and happiness, but also frustration and disappointment—yes, they are equally important. there’s no point in suppressing what makes us human, especially in highly contentious environment seeking to suck the humanity out of you, such as the institution you were marrying into. he needed you, even when he acted amuck.

he had just hung up the phone with his eldest sister—a conversation ending in raised voices and inflamed discontent. he marched out of his office, running his hands over his face, trying to ease his frustration. you turned the corner, “oh, there you are.” his back was turned to you, hearing your loafers against the carpeted floors. “just when i think i know my way around this place, i walk into one of the three dining halls thinking its the hallway to your office.” you chuckled. seunghyun turned around with haste, trying to thwart his irritation. “what is it, baby?” “i wanted to tell you the appointment with our florist’s been moved to this thursday at three. my secretary received the call just a few moments ago. i’m hoping we can finalize the arrangements for the wedding.” “thursday?” seunghyun’s irritation was noticeble to you now. “this thursday? does it have to be?” “i’m afraid so.” you said, carefully observing him, a little confused. “is something wrong?”

“its just that—” he huffed. “its just that my sister’s suddenly—outlandishly demanded my presence.” “for?” “the architect i suggested for her renovations doesn’t meet her hellish standards, as she just so dotingly relayed to me on the phone just now.” he gestured dramatically to his office, returning both of his hands to his hips. you hummed in acknowledgement, nodding. you remembered she was moving into one of the family’s many cottages. as decadent and historical it was, it was aged and in need of an upgrade, at least to their standards—insert seunghyun referencing his trusted architect-interior designer duo he employed for the renovations made to his residence years ago. part of you couldn’t recognize what the fuss was all about. the cottage was huge, bigger than any normal person could ever hope for, yet there they were, bickering like it was a dinky studio apartment in the city. an air of snobbishness certainly ruminates in these halls, considering in this brief beat of silence, seunghyun cut you off before you could say something.

“she wanted an ‘egalitarian flair.’” he recited, kissing his teeth. he turned his head, watching you watch him. “you wouldn’t understand—” he cut himself off the moment he realized what words were leaving his mouth. he didn’t know what came over him, but the sight of your appalled expression served him right. “no, go on.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. “i am your fiancée and the woman who will serve as your next queen. you should feel at ease saying anything in front of or to me. go on.” your stubbornness served as your defiant armor protecting you from a contradictory, unforgiving world, but being at the brunt of it was both humbling and shitty. seunghyun’s head sunk, slowly walking over to you with a stride of sympathy. “i’m sorry, my love,” he said. “i don’t know what came over me. i didn’t mean that.” “tell me what you said.” your tone was firm. “i’m not going to tell you something that i don’t mean.” said seunghyun. “why? because i might not understand it?” you retorted sharply.

frustration brewed in his chest. “if you knew what i said, why make a fool out of me?” “because you’re the one talking in circles—thinking i don’t know what egalitarian means!” you exclaimed. seunghyun huffed, “thats not what i—” “—i went to oxford too, you know.” you cut him off. “i might’ve not been at liberty to renovate my home at the drop of a hat, but i can understand where others are coming from.” seunghyun’s jaw tightened, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “don’t make this about that.” he turned around, walking to the end of the hallway towards the terrace. “you know full well i am not the type of person to judge someone based off something as—as s-stubborn as the cards they’ve been dealt!” he exclaimed over his shoulder, sending a butler whom was walking down a neighboring corridor to re-route his path, avoiding the brewing conflict. you quickly followed after seunghyun, “you aren’t!” you said with haste. “and i know that!” you stepped out onto the balcony, the early spring wind brushing against your face.

“but—but these pockets of frustration—” it was so hard to find the words, like they were clogged in your throat, coming out fragmented. “its unfair for them to be mis-directed at me, with no warning! and with hardly an explanation afterwards.” seunghyun reached into the left pocket of his trousers, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. before he could open the box, you snatched both items away. “absolutely not—those things will kill you.” you scolded firmly, placing them atop the glass table behind you. brief, needed silence separated you two. seunghyun was the one to break it, “i’m sorry.” “for?” “being a stuck-up fuck.” you lifted your head, seeing him already looking at you. “i’m not going to lie and say you don’t have the tendency sometimes.” “i’m not sure if you knew this,” he eased into it. “but that’s why i have you around in the first place.”

you scoffed, unable to shake the smile off your face. “your apology’s only partially accepted.” seunghyun made the four step stride over to you, placing a kiss onto your temple. “is it whole now?” he asked. “marginally.” you answered, looking at the meadow ahead of you. you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips hovering closely above your cheek, kissing your lips softly. his hands made residence onto your lower back, pulling you closer when you reconnected the kiss. “whole.” you confirmed, hand holding the back of his head as he leaned down swiftly, planting a kiss just below your neck. his hand grabbed your left, pressing his lips against the back of it, humming in contentment upon feeling the diamond gently rub against his skin. “your sister needs to stuff it.” you told him. he looked at you, amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “can you put that in writing?”

your wedding took place in the summer of 1990. just under 1,500 guests attending the ceremony, ranging from close confidants to political leaders, to a much more intimate 200 invited to the evening reception. no amount of rehearsal could’ve prepared you for the oddity of the day. that saturday felt as if it played out in both slow motion and ten times fast—flashes of thousands lining the barricaded streets, you waving with a grand smile behind your veil and the closed windows of the rolls royce, your parents overjoyed and overwhelmed at the energy surrounding you; your eldest friend, most concrete confidant, and overall key to surviving your then-broken heart fixing the train of your off-white gown after you successfully got out of the car and made it inside, the chimes of bells filling your ears; the broadcast cameras capturing seunghyun’s siblings standing to his left at the altar as you walked down the aisle, already trying to blink away his tears; the organ drowned out any possibility of overhearing seunghyun’s “you picked a good one,” to you, quickly wiping away a fallen tear after taking in the sight of your gown and tiara adorning your fucking beautiful head—bridal boutiques were never the same; his sneaky, subtly and characteristically funny expressions to alleviate your nerves when repeating your vows the officiant recited for either of you—romance novels were never the same; suddenly, the wedding bands were on, and deafening celebration surrounded you as seunghyun’s hand held yours, helping you into the carriage before settling in himself for the public send off. “and here they are now,” a reporter from overseas spoke into his microphone, pressing down on his earpiece to hear himself. the cameraman zoomed in, capturing you and seunghyun waving graciously, smiling unabashedly. “a future king and queen—an unexpected match that has resonated with many far and wide. waving to not only the people of their realms, but to the world itself. may they—perhaps this partnership will fulfill the phrase we’ve known as children, and only from fairytales: and they live happily ever after.”

in the few hours before your reception, you and seunghyun re-cooperated at your residence. as soon as your dress was off, you made a b-line to the bathroom, soaking your feet in the cold water seunghyun had drawn in the tub at your request. “remind me to never break in heels the day i need to wear them.” you let out a breath of relief feeling the cold water hit the irritated skin of your feet, relaxing into your chair. seunghyun chuckled, pulling his own next to yours. he admired how you were able to humanize such grand things (you did just come home from a show-stopping wedding, after all) with undiluted, transparent humor. it was certainly a coping mechanism, and it worked well. “noted.” he murmured, kissing your temple. “we’ve done it, y'know.” he said, earning your attention. “we’re married now.” “we are.” you smiled. “you were magnificent up there,” seunghyun doted. “my beautiful wife.” “my beautiful husband.” you said back to him softly, earning a flustered giggle from him. “you make a very pretty princess.” he leaned in, kissing your lips gently. “i knew i made the right decision accepting your ring when the tiara started to feel weightless.” you both erupted in harmonious, organic laughter, bringing his lips back to yours.

transitioning to life as a working royal was unique. it brought about questions that opened a part of your brain and unleashed emotions you didn’t know you had: I’m not a political figure, yet a handshake or how well I do on do in outings hold as much as power as a legislator does signing a bill into law, you scribbled into your journal—a habit you inherited through osmosis from your husband early in your relationship; initially beginning as letter-writing when he was abroad—I’m not here to share to have or show my opinion, but if I don’t give the impression that I have a working brain, I’m labeled as a ditz. How funny is that? you let out a breath, stretching your arms out before returning your fountain pen to the page. Being impartial isn’t natural. No one wants me to change the world, but they want me to be it. Am I a humanitarian? A projection Something to be projected onto? I brought it up to the husband the other day during lunch, and he said I know who I am and I can make it however I want it to be. He’s got a point. He always does.

by far, he is your biggest fan. when you go on public engagements together, he is smiling in those photos like he’s the one meeting you. whether it was another hot mic moment where a reporter unknowingly picked up on him telling the head of a research facility “i can’t believe i was the one who got to marry her” before embarking on a guided tour of the building, or his asking staff to tape your news coverage when you were performing duties abroad by yourself; always making time to talk on the phone when either of you too were away—time differences were an effortless obstacle (“you are utterly magnificent, my love. you were born for this. i can’t believe it—i think you’ve given me an irregular heartbeat.” “i never thought your dramatics could be transmitted overseas, but i stand corrected.”); or trying to make light of harsh, unruly tabloids, he always stuck out for you—“this is my favorite one.” he slid the paper over to you, hiding his mischievous grin behind his teacup. “really?” you gave him a look. “the one about my armpit being too dark?” “its a ridiculous a waste of resources and insult to intelligence—thats why its hilarious!”

you never thought someone who looked like you would become a fashion icon, yet here you were. steps towards modernization came in waves: unsavory rumors began to swirl around of you being “difficult” when in actuality, you were refusing to work with luxury fashion brands if they rejected expanding their sizes for regular consumers and not just tailoring to you because of your status. it was of no problem to you since other brands naturally stepped up to the occasion, along with integrating small businesses and growing independent fashion houses into your professional and casual wardrobe, helping the underdogs of the world gain traction, as that was once you. not matter if you donned an evening gown and tiara, or a windbreaker with denim shorts and a baseball cap—things were flying off the shelves, camera shutters were going off, and fashion magazine sales skyrocketed.

your precision showed in your makeup choices, too: enhancing your features, but was ultimately sheer, particularly the foundation. you wanted the world to see your freckles; hyperpigmentation; a new spot, or whatever it was. you also had a hand in your speeches—making the language less academic, and more personable. the royal family always moved with purpose—this was just part of your personal arsenal. as confusing as this dynamic was to navigate, no matter how your secretaries or seunghyun told you to explore this multi-layered endeavor, all you knew is that you wanted to be approachable. to be real. this was just one way to do it, even if at times it compromised the amount of respect you received within palace walls. the fact that your popularity was directly derived from your subtle defiance of antiquated tradition certainly ruffled the feathers of traditionalists that shall not be named. but just one strongly worded letter from seunghyun, however, or him threatening to drive his range rover up there, and no advisor dared to say another thing. “all she does is exist as she is, and they love her. do you know how hard it is to do that?” seunghyun ranted in the voicemail box of one of the queen’s advisors that he never liked (the one that got him sent off to the military academy, specifically.) “you’ve never been able to figure out how to do yourself in the fifty years you’ve worked for my family. don’t try to now. see the bigger picture. they adore her. they saw a glimpse of her goddamn lip balm and now she has to get it shipped from elsewhere because its completely sold out. get your head out of your ass.”

you were pregnant six months later—seunghyun and you reduced to joyous tears at the sight of your baby girl on the ultrasound screen. the country and world celebrated with you: landmarks, bridges, and fountains suddenly illuminated with the color pink after the printed and framed announcement was posted on an easel outside of your residence. you continued your duties into halfway through your second trimester—photos of your darling baby bump underneath your coat and glowing skin coating the papers. but once you couldn't stand the heels as your back pain and nausea worsened, and your loafers weren’t doing the trick anymore, you gradually took a step back. your morning sickness fluctuated, at times leaving you bedridden until the early afternoon. your stomach made it hard to shave your legs; too embarrassed to ask a member of your staff to help you, and too fragile to put on stockings, you let it grow.

pregnancy was excruciating. there was no sugarcoating it. seunghyun did everything he could as per the doctor’s orders and his plain instinct from seeing you in so much fucking pain—decorating your side of the king-sized bed with the best maternity pillows in the market; massaging cocoa butter onto your bump every night and morning; making love to your puffy lips like clockwork, helping you relax overly-tense muscles before helping you dress; reading every single piece of what to expect when you’re expecting-related literature he can get his hands on; blinking away his misty eyes at the sound of guttural relief ringing viscerally from your lungs when he held your bump in his palms, pressing kisses to your shoulder—“i am so sorry.” he said meekly. “its—its duty.” you were out of breath, holding onto your wooden bed frame for support whilst seunghyun adjusted his grip below your stomach. “she’ll be worth it. our match made.” you huffed. “she kicks a lot—she’ll be a ruckus force just like her father.”

you and seunghyun have seen one another in vulnerable states throughout the years, but it seems marriage and preparing for parenthood lifted a new veil entirely. the vows for better or worse, in sickness and in health echoing through the high walls of your wedding ceremony and subsequently the world held massive merit, and though some spouses may not mean it when they say it, you two certainly did—your growing baby meant recalibrating your body from time to time to find a new sleeping or sitting position, walking in a way that didn’t have more back begging for mercy, and more pressure applied to your bladder. you were carrying, living, breathing, eating, and digesting for two now, which meant frequent trips to the bathroom throughout the night; fragmenting your sleep. if you didn’t get up from your side of the bed or shuffle across the bedroom in time, seunghyun then helped you into the shower to wash off, or sat in the bath behind you if you felt particularly sheepish.

a month before you were due, seunghyun woke up to your empty side of the bed. hastily speed-walking out of your bedroom, he heard shuffling in the kitchen. he opened the door, seeing you; heavily pregnant, standing in the dark, trying to open a jar in tears. your husband’s silhouette is second nature. seunghyun looked for the light switch, but you quickly protested, “d-dont.” you sniffled. “my—my vision’s a bit sensitive. the lighting makes me dizzy.” his hand found your lower back, lips kissing your temple. “my love, what’s wrong?” he asked so gently, lips returning to your skin upon hearing you cry harder. it didn’t matter that it was half three in morning on a tuesday night and he had to be up at seven for a busy day at work—he was here. “what’s wrong? hm? tell me.” “i just—i just wanted peanut butter.” you said weakly. “and i—and i can’t see the expiry date well because i can’t t-turn on the light. and i can’t reach the bread, because its high on the shelf and the pain is just too much,” you had to momentarily stop yourself from succumbing to blubbering through your tears. “and there’s this—there’s this itch on my back that i can’t fucking reach.”

seunghyun didn’t hesitate. “here, i’ll do it.” he said, fingers ghosting your back. “by your neck? or—” “—below my left shoulder.” his forehead found your temple at the sound of your relieved breath, his hand underneath your shirt, nails raking gingerly on the troubled spot. “i’ll put lotion and oil on your back before bed. you need to rest.” he spoke softly. “its nearly impossible to feel comfortable.” you muttered. “everything hurts.” “i know,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “d'you want me to make some toast, baby? it won’t take long.” “how am i supposed to be a mother, seunghyun?” your voice sounded perishable. “let alone—let alone raise a fucking future monarch?” your bottom lip trembled, pressing your fingers against it in an attempt to halt the brewing tears. “i’m trembling over a piece of bread, yet there is someone on the way who will depend on me to live. i don’t even know what i’m doing half the time. what am i supposed to tell her? its all—its all guesswork for me. i—i don’t know what i’m going to do.” “you have me.” his voice remaining stable helped ease your heartbeat. he was always so good at this. “she has us. we’ll figure this out together. i know we will.”

your first-born daughter and the nation’s future monarch came into the world early in the morning in september 1991, a few months after your first wedding anniversary—screaming at the top of her lungs. labor was arduous, pushing even more so. you called desperately to your mother, whom was also in the delivery room with you and seunghyun at your request. her kind, encouraging words coupled with a tender hand on your forehead provided solace, but once it was time to push, all hell broke loose. you squeezed the life out of seunghyun’s hand, yelling in pain whilst his lips never left your temple, tears escaping his eyes as his words were extensions of his vows: “you’re doing so good. you’re doing so fucking good, i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i know, baby,” breaking into a sob once he heard his daughter make herself known, staring in awe as she was dried off and placed onto your chest for skin-to-skin, snuggled underneath a warm blanket.

the following day, she was introduced to the world. swaddled safely and tenderly in what looked to be the softest blanket ever stitched, her small face and full head of hair painted the nation’s landmarks in a celebratory shade of pink once more. initially held in your arms, you and seunghyun stepped out of the hospital wing to rapturous celebration when those doors opened. it took on an entirely different, almost awestruck tone when you came into view, descending down those few steps with his hand carressing your lower back. in your time as a public figure and dutiful worker under the crown, you had never heard camera shutters go off so fast. you carefully handed her off to her father, the both of you approaching reporters side by side after giving each other a quick nod—a coordinated team effort. “she’s thankfully got her looks,” seunghyun spoke with a smile, letting out a laugh at your playful scoff, your own beautiful smile adorning your face. “well, i don’t know about that.” you chuckled. “seunghyun was actually the one who changed the first diaper!” you answered another reporter’s question with glee, hands instinctually re-tucking the blanket after a small gust of wind flew by.

figuring out parenthood, as anticipated, was at a day-by-day basis. you and your husband learned her different cries quickly, and he was a master at holding her securely with one arm by the end of her first month. you were offered nannies as protocol, but turned most of them away, preferring to be hands on as much as you could before your maternity leave ended, ushering you back into your duties. there were patterns in your daughter’s behavior, but if anything new came up, it was a quick call to action from both her mother and father. she traveled with you once she was old enough and given the all-clear by the family pediatrician—a break from antiquated tradition seunghyun was more than happy to break from, doting on his seven month old as she had her tummy time on a pull-out bed aboard the royal jet. My daughter won’t spent her most important developing years wondering where her parents are like her father did, seunghyun wrote in his diary. I was taught an at early age that my parents were busy. They were, and for good reason. But a child is a child. And sometimes, I just wanted my mother.

once she started walking, it was tough for either of you to catch up with those small legs—numerous accounts reported in the papers of people seeing you and seunghyun in the park, tuckered out by your toddler’s antics before strategically ambushing her by a picnic table, seunghyun scooping her into his arms; photos taken at the annual palace garden party hosting dignitaries and political leaders alike, the future queen scuttling quickly across the green grass meadow towards an archway decorated with multi-colored balloons whilst her parents, the heirs to the throne, just let her have her way at some point; paparazzi capturing you and seunghyun on an afternoon walk outside of your residence, clad in puffer jackets, sunglasses, and baseball caps as he pushed your sleepy daughter in her stroller. the world’s reception to you as parents was thankfully very supportive and understanding, as any parent would empathize the uncertainty that came to doing this for the first time, and on a global stage, for that matter.

your subtly unconventional approaches to what is historically practiced by the royal family routinely littered the papers, starting with the outfits you wore when you introduced your daughter to the world: a light sweater, trousers, and loafers. seunghyun wore something similar, although he had adidas trainers on. critics pointed to how royals, including seunghyun’s close relatives, donned dresses and suits when first introducing their children. to you, personally, that was outrageous and not on the table whatsoever. “to each their own,” you told seunghyun in your hospital room, gearing up for the press call after your hair was washed by a midwife you will never forget. “but i would rather not be grimacing at my heels pinching my feet as i hold the most precious cargo i could ever bear.” some part of it worked in your favor (“as always,” particularly aggrieved palace personnel would begrudgingly acknowledge) optics wise, mostly with fellow mothers: I see myself in you, a young mother of two wrote to you when your daughter was four months old. We know what that pain feels like and what it can do to our bodies. To hell with people who want us to perform.

your daughter started needing personal space at three-years-old, nudging herself off her father to have her feet on the sidewalk, holding his hand as he led her into the hospital wing to meet her baby sister. “wave to them, my love.” he told her gently, gesturing to the crowd with a flick of his head. “go on.” a smile stretched across his mouth when her palm shook in the air for a brief moment, unable to help his leaning down and pressing a kiss onto her face. your daughters were a dynamic duo if you’ve ever seen one: the youngest demanding with her limited rolodex of words that she also come to send off her older sister to her first day of kindergarten; shy, yet coordinated funny faces to cameras on the handful of royal engagements you brought them on throughout their childhood; seunghyun and you caught comedically off guard when you pointed out their grandfather in the crowd of a tennis tournament, seeing your eldest tap your youngest on the shoulder before both of them stuck out their tongues; or the paparazzi photo that sealed the belief of you being a tight-knit family: your six-year-old asleep on your husband’s chest, your nine-year-old sat in the middle seat and dozed off on your shoulder, either parent getting much needed shut-eye after a long two weeks of summertime travel, safe in the confines of the rolls royce about to leave the airport tarmac.

you took the babies to disney world when they were fifteen and twelve, respectively. despite having bodyguards, cameras following you, and eyes of strangers lingering at all times, you wanted to give them a normal childhood as much as you possibly could. you stood in lines for rides and food, dressed in light jackets and stylish sneakers—enjoying your vacation like other families. you got onto whatever your children desired, starting the day with you and seunghyun playing a quick match of rock-papers-scissors since the kids wanted to go on different rides, and either of you found yourself aligned with either of them. he ended up winning, but you got your reward later that afternoon on a water ride, laughing with unabashed joy at the sight of your soaked husband sat in a different car, as there wasn’t enough seats to fit him in with you and your daughters, sending him humorously to sit with the bodyguards. he didn't hide his chuckle when your eldest pulled you towards the drop tower shortly before leaving the amusement park in the evening, overhearing your “i don’t know if i have the heart anymore for that, baby,” before standing in line without further protest. the photos from this day didn’t leave the papers for weeks.

seunghyun sat comfortably in his seat on the royal jet. he looked to you sat across from him, his darling wife of nearly two decades, fast asleep with your arms crossed over your chest. a bracelet your youngest daughter—now fifteen years old—made for you poked out of the sleeve of your windbreaker; blue and silver beads adorning your wrist. your silvering hair glistened in the peeks of sunlight funneling through the plane window; smile lines evidence of a life lived with transparent and unapologetic emotion. you were still a princess and seunghyun a prince, protocols for his coronation—whenever that day would come—long known for you since your engagement, and him since his sentience. perhaps it was only a matter of time before that day came, but for now, you lived and served as you knew how. he’s grown with his work, finally able to integrate his academics and interests into his life as a royal—serving on the board for the country's national art archive. you have a surplus of engagements, as does seunghyun, mainly ranging charity and non-profit related endeavors closely similar to the work you did before becoming a royal.

it was a physically and emotionally exhaustive last few days. you and seunghyun helped your eldest, now eighteen, move into her dorm and settle in at oxford before term started later that week. your youngest currently resented you two for her not being able to come due to her third year at preparatory school beginning earlier than her sister’s university start-date, but you and seunghyun would address that when she visited home next weekend. your youngest’s school was much closer to home and less strict than seunghyun’s was when he was her age. he’s always the first to greet her at the door with a kiss and hug when she came home every other weekend, making sure the chefs prepare her favorite dishes and receive shipments of the palace’s tangerines in time as she’s always been fond of them.

seunghyun unzipped his bag, pulling out his journal and fountain pen. with a satisfied huff, he turned to the next open page, which was about halfway through. When I was nineteen, with a buzzcut and deeper resentment for my parents than when I was thirteen, I used to often wonder about a different version of my life. If I was born into a different family, or better yet, not the eldest. his crow’s feet crinkled with his amused grin, continuing his scribbles. I wasn’t elected to do my job, but I have to serve nonetheless. Its even more ridiculous that I have to ask someone else to do it with me, as embarrassing and greedy it feels. But when I see my beautiful daughters who are wholly the product of my gracious, intelligent, generous, and indescribably beautiful wife, I cannot help but be selfish. To tell myself I deserve the life I live, that it is not a lottery but a fruit of hidden labor, and I won’t let anyone stop it or even attempt to step in the way of it.

he took a breath. I am able to love because of her. We bicker over what to eat for dinner. I tell her when I don’t like her dress, and she tells me when she doesn’t like my tie. My daughters make fun of my shoes and scurry away embarrassed when I drop them off at school playing my cassettes. The love of my life knows me, and I know her. I couldn’t ask for anything better. For the first time in my life, I have made peace with my fate of duty. I do not have to pretend to be happy, for I am so lucky to have a beating heart.

honey's tag list! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @mesopotamism, @riddlerloveb0t, @pepsicolapussi, @breakmeoff

[roboticchibitan]

Please tell me about the bees

Oh no you have activated my trap card

Honeybee facts:

Honeybees are native to Eurasia and are not naturally found in North America. There are stingless bees in south America and Mexico that produce honey but they are a different taxonomic class than honeybees

The way you check for varroa mites (a parasite common with honeybees) is absolutely hilarious to me. You take a half a cup of bees (scooped with a measuring cup, which is hilarious) and put them in a jar. Then dump a bunch of powdered sugar in the jar. Then you cover the jar with a screen. And then. You just. Shake the jar a bunch until the bees are covered in powdered sugar. Then you turn the jar upside down and shake out the powdered sugar and look for mites in it. If you have more than 5 you have and infestation. Bees. Shaken, not stirred. It doesn't hurt the bees and you just put them back in the hive and the other bees eat the sugar on them. They're fine. But the mental image of shaking a jar full of bees and powdered sugar is just so funny.

Importing honeybees into the US is illegal so a while back researchers at WSUs bee lab went overseas to collect bee semen so they can breed calmer more disease resistant honeybees. I desperately wish I could find the article I read about it because the photo in it of a tiny vial of bee semen was also hilarious

Honeybees can get jet lag. They ran an experiment where they flew European bees to north America and the bees woke up for the day on European time

Cursed honeybee facts

Bees have hair growing out of their eyes

When a male bee mates his testicles explode and he dies. He came and went

In preparation for winter the worker bees kick all the drones out of the hive and then seal up the hive with propolis and leave the drones to die in the cold

Bumblebee facts

You can teach bumblebees to do tricks. They did a study in the UK where they rewarded bees for pushing a ball into a hole and then tested to see if the bees could teach other bees and they could! (You can download videos of bees doing tricks from that link btw. You're welcome)

There are no bumblebees south of the Sahara or in Australia because it's too hot for them. The only bumblebees native to the southern hemisphere are in south America.

They think bumblebees evolved in the mountains of central Asia and that's where the biggest diversity of bumblebee species is

There was a bumblebee native to where I was born called Franklin's Bumblebee that is thought to be extinct, but people still go up into the mountains looking for them and they are my favorite bee and I have a tattoo of one because I think that says a lot about humanity's capacity for hope. And they COULD still be out there. We've found "extinct" bees out there living their best little bee lived before!! (Here's the tattoo)

Random other bee facts

There's a bee native to the southwestern US and northern Mexico called the sunflower chimney bee and they're called that because they feed off composite flowers like sunflowers and build little mud tunnels as entrances to their nests in the ground. No one knows why they do that! But I think they're neat!!!

There's bees native to the southwestern US desert that have evolved to have body temps of 103°F/39°C

Most bees do not live in social colonies like honeybees do. Most bees are solitary, meaning each female makes her own nest and lays her own eggs. Tho some solitary bees will nest very near each other

We are learning that bees native to north America like blue orchard bees and blueberry Mason bees are more effective crop pollinators than honeybees, especially for early spring crops when it's still too cold for honeybees to be out and about.

This has been bee info dump time with V. Tune in next time and I'll talk about blue bees!

[ramp-it-up]

Sugar, Cubed II:

Simple Sugar

Summary: I revisited Sugar and the boys from the Sugar is Sweet séries, and let me tell you. Bucky and Steve sure have grown up from their college days. They are no longer playing around. And they are coming for you. You're forced to be roommates with Steve again. But you can establish boundaries. It'll be simple, right?

Word Count: 3K

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; mention of Bucky Barnes x Reader; boss Tony Stark x reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Roommate/Co-worker au, S MUT! Angst, Tony is a shit boss, massive debt. forced proximity. Tattoo talk, Steve apologizes, accidental, then purposeful voyeurism, reference to porn and sex toys, masturbation, talk of impotence, raw p in v, rough sex, dirty talk, lots of cum, eventual polyandry. Basically, you are doomed. Porn with plot.

A/N: This is related to the Sugar is Sweet au, but can be read alone. This is part two to Sugar, Cubed. The next part is soon come! I hope you like it. This is part of Falloween 2024.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

——

After three days of calling in sick, you were summoned for a sit down with Mr. Stark. 

This was not a, ”have a drink while Black Sabbath plays and you admire Tony’s t-shirt as he rambles” type of chat. This was, a “let’s review the terms of your contract in the boardroom with suits” type of meeting.

Tony’s eyes admired you in your silk blouse and pencil skirt as you arrived, then watched you pointedly at you as you reviewed the numbers on the page.

Half a million for your bachelor’s and masters degree at NYU. Almost as much for housing. Not to mention the penalty for breaking your contract early. Even if you were paid a pretty penny and you had a ton of savings, you’d still be digging yourself out of a hole for the rest of your life if you quit.

Tony Stark owned your ass.

But you were on the verge of not caring.

“I know, you are over your current working situation, Sugar. But I still believe in you. I believe in the team of BuckySugarSteve.”

You gave him a confused look.

“Still trying to find a hashtag, look that doesn’t matter. It’s come to my attention that a certain plucky Bucky took things a little too far the other night. I’m sorry you had to deal with that on my watch.”

Tony looked sincere. But you eyed him warily.

“Thinking back on what you said last week, I now agree that you need a break. So I’m sending you to the Tokyo lab. But only for a limited time.”

“How long?”

Tony stood and turned his back on you, looking out over the Hudson.

“Depends on the progress made on the project there.” 

You stared at his back and his jet black hair and chewed your lip. You wanted out from the tension between the three of you. But there had to be a catch.

“What does the work entail?”

Tony turned back around with a smirk and explained the research and answered a few more questions from you. It seemed right in your skill set. Tony sat back down and crossed his ankle over his leg while he templed his fingers. He stared at you over the conference table.

“So what do you say Sugar?”

“I’m in.”

—--

You should have asked more questions.

Rage boiled inside you as you put up the partition on your business class seat and you typed away angrily on your phone. You shouldn’t have been surprised that your seatmate was Steve Rogers, but you were.

You just cursed as he greeted you and pulled out your phone as the flight attendant gave you the stink eye. Steve arrived just at the doors were closing. And there was no escape.

You wanted to throw your phone after you saw Tony’s response.

“I said you needed a break from Barnes, not Rogers. Suck it up and enjoy your time in Japan. Check out the expense account and your digs in Asakusa. You have to share, because space is at a premium in Tokyo, but you’ll survive.”

You didn’t bother to click the links that Tony sent. The living arrangements were sure to be top notch and the money was probably going to be great, but living with and working next to Steve was not what you were looking forward to. 

You popped a sleeping pill and tried to sleep most of the 14 hour flight. After managing to get some rest, you were not as rude to Steve when you had to put down your partition. Luckily, he didn’t try to speak to you and you deboarded the plane and got your luggage and to your driver without incident.

When you got to your place, you were impressed, but anxious. 

The place was modern and well placed within walking distance of the trains, but Tony was right. Your apartment in New York was twice the size of this place, and it was only you. 

You went to investigate the sleeping situation. There were two small bedrooms and they were right next to each other. Only one had an en-suite.

You were chewing your lip, deep in thought when Steve interrupted reverie. His voice was hoarse from half a day of not being used.

“It’s close quarters, but I will make it so you don’t even know I’m here.”

You turned around to see Steve standing in the doorway of the room you’d silently called dibs on.

He looked like a kid, in his rumpled t-shirt and hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. You almost felt something.

But not quite.

“Look, Sugar. I’m sorry. I really am. What happened in the elevator was… Bucky’s got a lot going on–”

He stopped once he noticed that you had stiffened up at Bucky’s name.

“Don’t make excuses for him. If you want to apologize, take responsibility for what you’ve done. Or not done. On. Your. Own.”

You sat on the ground and opened up your suitcase. Steve watched you as you started to unpack, thoughtful.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t punch him in the mouth to shut the jerk up.”

You just shook your head, refusing to smile, even though you thought about it.

“And I am so very sorry for lying to you. No matter what the reason. I should not have done that.”

You looked up at him and you could see Steve’s adam’s apple bob in his throat multiple times. His nervous tell. But you continued to look him in the eye.

“You were right to react the way you did. And you’re right to want to be as far away from u- me as you want to be. I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me and it was entirely my fault.”

You had to break eye contact then. You didn’t want to cave. You turned the sweater you were folding over and over in your hands. You could hear Steve take a deep breath.

“I just want–”

He cleared his throat again.

“Shit, I want a lot of things, Sugar, but I hope we can be cordial, friends even? We used to be friends. We're in a new city, a new country, a new continent. We can have a lot of fun together.”

You looked back up at him.

“Like we used to?”

“A lot has happened since ‘we used to,’ Steven.”

His shoulders slumped.

“Well, I will stay out of your way.”

He turned around to get out of your space and you felt a pang of some kind of emotion that you did not want to name.

“Hey.”

Steve stopped and turned around, his face guarded.

“I’ve been on a plane for an entire day, and I just want breakfast even though it’s 4pm here. I think I’m hangry. Let me think about it.” That smile. Oh, if you still had a heart, he might do something to it.

“I think I saw some eggs and American breakfast fixins in the fridge. I’ll make you an omelet.”

Steve knew you were a slut for breakfast. Among other things.

—--

After eating and chatting, you conceded that you did want a shopping partner; you planned to hit up all the thrift stores and you wanted someone to take day trips with on the weekend. You decided on a truce. It may have been food induced, but you thought that you could set good boundaries with Steve, so you lay down some ground rules.

Steve agreed to everything you said.

After trying to stay up as long as you could, you were ready to turn in for the night. You had a couple of days before you needed to report to the lab, so you and Steve decided to explore your neighborhood and maybe do some touristy things, since Tokyo Tower and the Asahi brewery were right outside your window.

And then it happened. 

You were minding your own business after your shower, in your thin cotton tank and sleep shorts, going to the kitchen to fill your water bottle. Suddenly, the hallway door opened and you ran into Steve coming out of the bathroom, naked except for a towel slung low on his waist and beads of water running down the planes of his extremely well made torso.

He almost ran into you.

“Oh, shit Sugar, I’m sorry….”

You’d stopped short and were staring at his left pectoral. There was new ink on the golden boy’s body. 

And you couldn’t believe it.

Among the beads of water diving down his body to disappear under the towel, because why wouldn’t they, there was a chemical formula. And you couldn’t believe which one it was.

“How long have you had that?”

You were staring, and your hand reached out to touch it, but you pulled back before you made contact. You looked up into his eyes and then back down at the tattoo because you didn’t want to drown in his eyes like you used to. 

But it seemed kind of inevitable now.

Sometime in the six months that you’d been broken up, Steve had gotten the compound for simple sugar tattooed on his body, (CH2O)x

“Sugar–”

“How long?”

You whispered it. And then dove into the blue depths of his eyes again.

“Two weeks after we broke up.”

His voice was impossibly deep, and threatened to reach places that you wanted to be unreachable. But you didn’t ask why.

“What was the thought process behind that decision, Steve?”

You didn’t ask why. But you needed to know the reason.

“Because it’s pretty simple, Sugar. You just wanted honesty. And if I had been honest, maybe we’d still be together. So I got this tattoo to remind myself that this is all I have left of the girl I loved the most. So maybe when I fall in love again, I won’t be such an idiot.”

“Wow.”

You reached out again and touched the tattoo. It had been right over his heart, without you knowing, for the better part of half a year.

Steve’s eyes stuttered closed and he drew in a sharp breath when you touched him.

“Sugar. You gotta know how…

You shook your head, blown away and rocked by what he said. Mostly the “when I fall in love again” part. You don’t know why that phrase echoed around your head.

“I’ve got to tell it all. Sugar, I thought in the back of my head that if you knew Bucky was hurt, that you’d go back to him.”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to sympathize with this grown ass man who lied to you so hard about someone you both loved, but you understood.

“So I lied, partly because he asked me to. But mostly because I was trying to keep you to myself.”

You sagged against the wall, still touching him, fingers grazing the mark that he’d made on his body for you. Steve followed you, not wanting the contact to end, and stood before you in the narrow hallway, naked except for a towel. He was closer than you’d allowed him to be in a while.

Finally, you looked up at him.

“You’re right, It is simple. I just wanted honesty. I wouldn’t have abandoned you for Bucky, Steve.”

Steve moved impossibly closer as his eyes flicked down your body. You remembered he had it memorized. Your chemistry was amazing. Not just the formula tattooed on his skin, but the draw of you to him, and him to you. You weren’t over that.

But you wanted to be.

One of Steve’s hands was on his towel, and the other was above your head. You were looking up at him and he down at you, and it was the perfect moment to kiss. But he didn’t make another move. You looked down and noticed that his towel had changed shape.

“Sugar…”

You looked him in the eyes again. It was all up to you.Your breathing was erratic and your panties were damp. Reaching up, you put your hands up on his pecs again. 

This time to push him back. 

“I think we need some rest.”

Steve backed up, toward his bedroom.

“Right. We need…”

Your need was mighty. But you weren’t giving in. You took a deep breath.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Sugar.”

—-

You breathed a sigh of relief at your narrow escape and went in the kitchen to drink water and cool down. You mindlessly scrolled your phone for a few minutes and decided that you were calm enough to go to sleep. You glanced at Steve’s door as you opened yours, and you just had to stop.

His door was cracked just enough so you could see Steve sprawled on his bed, towel still on, still tented, and he was scrolling on his phone. He looked delicious, from the tattoo on his pec to his tiny tan nipples to his amazing abs and the trail of hair pointing to the large cock that you had memorized, and which was standing at attention under his towel. 

He looked good enough to eat. And you had plenty of times. But those days were over.

You bit your lip as he rubbed his erection over the towel, and moved closer as he groaned a little bit.

Was he looking at porn?

You totally understood his frustration after what happened, and he was in the privacy of his own room, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. You felt guilty but you continued to watch him touch himself. 

And as you wanted to touch yourself.

You stared at his open door as suddenly, the towel came off, and he was naked, and stunningly aroused, his face pure lust.

Steve Roger’s cock was gorgeous. 

Your memories were nothing like the reality of him, thick and curved against his abs. He gripped the shaft, stroking it. Your hands found one of your nipples in the now-dark hallway, imagining kneeling for him.

You dreamed of his cock in your mouth and could practically feel yourself swirling tongue over his head and worshiping him as he told you what to do. The sensation him deep in your throat and letting him use it took over you.

You pinched your nipple tighter as he casually jerked himself off. You felt dirty, thinking how he’d feel knowing that you were watching him like this. 

Would he be mad?

Or…

Stifling a whimper, you slid a hand into your shorts, smearing your wetness over your clit to trace fast, tight circles there. You hadn’t had anyone but electronic lovers and plastic since you broke up with Steve. And here he was, giving you a show. 

You needed to see it. You wanted to see Steve cum, erupt, spill over his large, veiny hand, cream all over those abs. You moaned slightly as you imagined sucking it off those places.

His hand blurred on his shaft. Your clit hardened as you remembered his thick dick penetrating you, him fucking you well, calling you beautiful…

“Christ, Sugar, make me so hard. Take me so well. Cum with me Sweetheart…”

You were almost there and suddenly, Steve stopped. He got up, let go of his dick, walked to the light switch, give yon a look, and then plunged the room into darkness. 

Then he closed the door.

You practically jumped into your room, pacing, shocked and excited, thoughts in a jumble.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your shorts.

It was a text from Steve.

“If you want more, just open my door. It’s unlocked. You can have anything you want. I want you. What do you want, Sugar?”

You are propelled into the hallway, to his door, hesitating only a moment. You’re just going to talk to him. Apologize. Tell him you would never do it again. 

You were in his room now and the Tokyo moon cast shadows over his sleek torso. He was covered by the comforter, but you knew he was still hard.

“I always loved you in just tank tops. Those nipples are just begging to be sucked.” 

His deep baritone made you launch yourself toward him. Steve caught you in his arms, both of you bouncing on the bed from the impact.

“What it’s gonna be, Sugar? What do you want?”

You are taking his hands and molding them to your breasts, throwing the covers off and straddling his thighs. You pulled your shorts and panties to the side so you could feel the slide and ridge of his cock catch on your clit as you slipped over him.

It felt electric.

“I want you Steve. Fuck it all. I want you.”

You’ve lost your mind. You’re creaming on his dick as his big, strong arms held you steady and you humped him like a mad woman. 

“Fuck, it’s been so fucking difficult being hard as a rock all day working next to you in the lab, you ignoring me, and then not being able to get it up for anyone else…”

You were irrationally angry.

“Mine.”

You grabbed Steve’s cock and moved your thighs, lifting up and pushing his fat head into your cunt. You glared at him as you slowly sunk down on him, his thick shaft slowly opening you up.

It hurt so good. 

Your head lolled back on your neck as Steve pulled your tank top down and started brutally sucking your nipples. 

“Fuck yeah, it’s yours. Fit me like a fucking glove.”

Steve held you down for a few seconds as he pushed up into you as if he was going to lock on on his cock, then he lifted you up by your waist and started pounding you from beneath.

He stared up at you in the moonlight and you could feel his cock jump inside you.

“Didn’t matter what I did, who it was. Couldn’t fuck anyone else. Had to come home and pull up pictures of you.”

Steve was moving you now, just like a fleshlight, thumb at your clit.

“I’m about to fucking bust, and you better fucking cum around my cock before I do. Been too godamn long, Sugar.”

You moaned erotically at the thought of Steve impotent with everyone else but you.

He groaned in response and squeezed your nipple brutally. You quaked with your orgasm and Steve erupted mid pump, his spend spurting out as he moved in and out of you. 

“Fuuuuu-uuuck!” 

You collapsed backward on the bed as Steve continued to pump, impossibly still hard even after he came. You reached down into the copious wetness and circled your clit, wanting to prolong the sensation, and Steve groaned/laughed as you convulsed around him again.

You were a tangle of limbs, fluid, sweat and wet cloth as you came down.

Steve pulled you up, you got out of his bed and walked back to your bedroom, turning on the shower.

As you climbed into your bed, Steve was already there, re-showered himself. You fell asleep in Asakusa, Tokyo, Japan, tracing his tattoo, and wondering if it really was that  simple, Sugar.

——

Did you like it? Let me know!

Read Sugar High

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

𝐑𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞

𝐏𝐭 𝟐

Pairing: Merman!Hyunjin x Human!fem!reader Genre: Angst kinda, Fluff🥰💖, Smut🔥❤️ Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: Blood, Chan is lowkey a dick, MURDER kinda, sex, p in v, cumming inside (use a protection >.>), possessive themes breeding kink, implied pregnancy it doesn't get a part tho i think thats it tell me if i missed anything.

A/N: Based on this TikTok someone save me from my imagination-

"The humans killed our ancestors, the pushed us far from the shores, our people died because of them."

"But why?" One of the merboys asked.

The class looked at him, small bubbles jetting behind the teacher from seashell horns on the coral wall. "Because they fear the unknown Hyunjin."

It was a while after classes he was moving on the current among the schools of fish, he saw the floaty. He moved for it confused. Why was a floaty this far from the shore. On the bobbing swan was a girl, she stared at him with wide eyes and he stared back. Her hands weren't webbed, she didn't have the fin like appendages jutting out behind her ears... but mostly, she didn't have a tail.

A HUMAN!? Hyunjin swam back slightly, fear prickling through him, the human tried paddling to the shore frantically, also afraid. His brows furrowed. Hesitantly, cautiously, he came above the water and tried forming the syllables he'd learned in class. "You swim no??"

The human girl looked at him. "You speak.."

Hyunjin made a face.

"Sorry. No, I can't swim." She laughed slightly. "What are you?"

Hyunjin tried to think of a word. "You caught... riptide." He pointed to the beach.

The human nodded.

"Catch current." He said, grabbing the floaty and pushing it rather quickly to the upcoming wave heading for the shore.

"Wait." The girl looked at him, her e/c eyes meeting luminescent sea green ones. "I'm y/n. What's your name?"

"Hyunjin." He said, pushing the floaty to the current.

The human grabbed his hand, he froze in fear. But she put something in his hand as the current swept her off. Looking down at it, he smiled slightly at a little moon charm.

Minho was poking Hyunjin's head in class. "Hey bubble maker. I'm bored."

"Class isn't over yet." Hyunjin sighed, fiddling with the moon shaped charm that floated around his neck.

"Sneak out with me." The merman behind him poked him again.

Hyunjin turned to Minho. "What do you take me for?"

"Come on." Minho smiled, the fin appendages behind his ears shifting, the scales that lined them shimmering a deep blue color in the light. "Chan and Yongbok must have already left class too. We can get the others."

"FINE" Hyunjin gave an exasperated huff, swishing his glittery green tail, pushing at the sand floor, startling a small squid.

Minho smiled, asking the instructor if he could use the restroom, a few minutes later Hyunjin asked to also go, and the two didn't return.

Meeting up with their friends, Chan, Changbin, Jisung, Yongbok, Seungmin, and Jeongin, the group swam out of the coral area and surfaced looking around. The sun was setting and sparkled against the water, lapping gently around them.

"Woah..." Jeongin, the youngest marveled, eyes glued to the shore. "How do humans build things like that?" He pointed past the sand to the tall structures.

Chan shrugged, "Last time I was on land, someone said there's a lot of math involved."

Changbin sucked in a sharp breath.

The rest looked at him, he was pointing frantically at something. A boat, not just any, but a boat with nets coming from it.

Hyunjin grit his teeth, "Isn't illegal to fish here?"

"It is." Jisung's eyes narrowed.

Chan looked at Changbin nodding. Before the rest could say something, both mermen swam full speed for the boat, slashing the nets and emerging from the water. Hyunjin watched as the people on the boat fell back into the water in fear. Chan dove again and even if it was far away, the scent of human blood reached Hyunjin's nostrils as he watched Changbin flip the boat.

"Disgusting scum." Yongbok spat, before swimming under.

Jisung pursed his lips before diving under as well, the others followed. As Hyunjin watched the boat capsizing he turned to the shore and his eyes widened at the sight of a human dressed similar to the others swimming and flailing frantically.

Chan came next to him, "Don't let him get far."

Hyunjin's ear appendages flared. He swam quickly, claws emerging from his webbed fingers as he closed in on the screaming human. The metallic scent filled his nose as he slashed the human's throat and let the current float the body to the beach.

You cringed as your boss slapped folder on your desk. "Another?"

"This one was a bit better than the last 4." The man huffed. "Guy we found on shore got out easy. Whoever or whatever killed him did it quick."

You made a face, squeezing the sun charm that hung around your neck. "I'll look into it, might have to stake out."

He nodded. "I could assign you a squad."

"If whatever or whoever did this sees a squad of men, it surely won't act."

"It's for your safety."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine."

Your boss smiled and patted the report. "Get to it."

You flipped through the report, looking at the images and the boat, the claw like marks on the fishermen's chests. You huffed, deciding to go to the forensics lab see what they had to say. When you saw the bodies all the forensic analyst and pathologist could say was that the wounds were ridged as if the blade used was jagged, not uniformly.

"Though, y/n." The forensic analyst pulled you aside to two microscopes. "Have you ever seen something like this?"

You looked into the microscope, there was a keratin like material under the first, similar to human hair but glittering.

"What is it?" you asked.

"A fraction of a scale from something...?" The forensic analyst sighed. "But look at this." She motioned to the other microscope.

Looking through it you saw a cell. "What about it?"

She grabbed you and shook you. "It's blue."

You shrugged.

"Y/N.. I didn't stain that sample."

Your eyes widened and you looked at the skin cell again. It was blue...

"I'm going on a stake out tonight." You said determined.

The pathologist and the forensic analyst looked at you a little scared.

"But-" the pathologist started.

"No!" You crossed your arms. "I'm going to figure this out."

You left the room before they could stop you.

Hyunjin probably shouldn't have but the moonlight looked so alluring through the water. The merman swam to the surface and hummed softly as he took in the moon, full and bright, the sky clear, his right ear fin twitched and he sucked in a breath. Boat...

His eyes narrowed as he tried to identify what type of boat. The nets flew and Hyunjin's gills flared, humans didn't ever learn. He dove under and swam toward the ship, claws out.

"There's something out there!" A man shouted.

Hyunjin burst from the water to slash at the man but his eyes widened as he saw a pair of eyes he hadn't seen in years. He pushed against the boat and dove again, swimming away as fast as he could.. He grabbed the moon charm around his neck and remembered, the human girl who got swept away by the riptide. She... He cursed at himself for not flipping the boat and getting it over with.

"I'm not crazy!" You shouted. "I saw a merman!"

"You've been saying that for the past two months." Your fellow investigator sighed. "Sure more fishermen have died but there's nothing to prove that you saw merpeople."

"Just go home and rest, Y/N, you look crazy." the receptionist quipped.

"Listen kid. You're barely out of high school trying to play investigator." The captain of your department patted your head. "Go home and rest. Let the professionals do their jobs."

You groaned in exasperation and walked to your office, sitting in the spinning chair, you knew you'd seen it, you'd seen it before. It- no.. he had your moon charm, you put your head in your hands and stared at the case report. Could there be others? You noticed it as you scanned the victims, the boats.. You grabbed the phone and dialed the natural resource reserve department.

"Hello. Natural resource reserve department this is Kady speaking."

"Hi I'd like to know if Sta Beach and the surrounding area is protected from fishing for commercial and personal use." You said to the woman on the other end of the line.

"Sta Beach?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before you heard rapid typing. "Yes it is illegal to fish for any reason in that area."

You nodded. "Thank you." Hanging up the phone you stared at the pictures again. The fishermen were fishing illegally.. so...

You remembered how that blonde haired merman flew out of the water, claws out but froze as he saw you. THE MERPEOPLE KILL PEOPLE WHO HURT THE FISH! You stood and slapped the case folder closed. You grabbed your phone and carkey, dialing your boss's number as you left the station.

"Why are you calling me at 2 in the morning-"

"I know what's going on. I'm going to fix it myself."

"L/N-"

"It was a pleasure working with you chief."

"L/N IF YOU GO OUT THERE! I SWEAR I'LL-"

You hung up the phone and got into your car, staring the engine and driving to the beach again, as you came to the parking, you put your car into park awkwardly across three spaces and ran for the shore.

You watched as gentle waves crashed against the rocks and sand, removing your shoes, you ran to the water. The moon reflecting off it, stars glittering. You stared out for a moment, noticing a ripple in the water, a head surfaced, fin like appendages behind its ears, it shook its dark hair as another head emerged, then another. You held your breath as five more heads appeared and scanned the water, the first turned and locked eyes with you. Your eyes widened as it dove under the surface, the other heads turned.

You saw those sea green eyes again and you knew.. "Hyunjin..."

Hyunjin shouted, "Chan WAIT!" before diving after the first.

Your eyes widened as the first merman, Chan you assumed, burst out of the water claws bared. You scrambled back deeper into land and it landed, tail dissipating into two legs. You shrieked as he jumped for you. Someone caught him and dragged him to the sand. Hyunjin.

"She saw us!" Chan snapped, easily slamming Hyunjin into the sand.

"She's seen me before!" Hyunjin grabbed Chan's hands. "She won't say anything!"

Chan stared at you. The other mermen came to the shore and changed, they looked human, only their eyes having unnatural luminescence.

One of the men, hair purple and eyes pale white stared intensely at your chest.

You bristled, "It's rude to stare at a woman's chest y'know." You said.

"I wasn't staring at that." he walked forward and Hyunjin jumped off Chan but the purple haired man was faster, grabbing your sun charm and pulling close for inspection. "Hyunjin." he turned to the green eyed man. "Is this here you got that from?" he pointed to Hyunjin's necklace.

Chan stood, eyes narrowed. "She's the human?" He rubbed his face, claws retreating. "Why are you here?"

"I'm investigating why the fishermen died. I guess.." You looked at the men. "I have my answer."

Hyunjin looked at you. "You should go back."

"Why-" You started, but the sound of a siren made you turn.

A few of the men dove back into the water when they heard it, the purple haired man looked at Chan. "What if she says something?"

Chan looked at Hyunjin.

The lights from the police cruisers came closer and one pulled around the corner, a head sticking out the passenger window, gun drawn. Before you could react, Chan grabbed you and threw you into the water, you almost screamed, flailing around since you couldn't swim but Hyunjin grabbed your face, forcing your mouth open as he pushed you deeper beneath the surface. You choked as water invaded your mouth but he put something on your tongue and closed it. To save yourself from choking of the sea water you swallowed and covered your mouth.

The purple haired man tilted his head at you. "Speak."

"Huh-" You grabbed your throat, realizing you were breathing. You looked at them, Hyunjin's legs had become a green tail, Chan's a dark blue one and the purple haired merman now had a funny purple and green tail.

Hyunjin smiled and Chan still gave you an incredulous look. "Minho. Make sure they don't get away."

The purple haired man, Minho, nodded, shooting up to the surface.

"She can't stay." Chan huffed, swimming past Hyunjin and you.

Hyunjin looked at you.

"I thought I was crazy." You said.

"When I send you back you'll have to act crazy." he sighed.

"You can't send me back, they saw you guys drag me under-"

"Minho has it handled, you can return and say it was some kind of sea animal." Hyunjin looked at you. "Chan is right, you can't stay here."

"Says who!?" You snap.

"Do you realize I should've killed you when we met? You and I aren't supposed to even know each other! It's forbidden!" The appendages behind his ears flared angrily.

"Why is it forbidden? Ariel makes it work!"

Hyunjin made a face. "This isn't a fairytale. When human and merperson come together. People die. Why do you think we hide from your kind?" He shook his head. "When the sun rises, you're going back."

You stared at him. "Fine."

He swam after Chan, leaving you there.

If Hyunjin had ever eaten his words it would be years later. Blend in. Act human. Get the artifact and go.

So there Hyunjin was almost four years later, walking around a museum on land, dressed in a suit, carrying a "cellphone". He found the artifact relatively quickly, and admired the craftsmanship of his ancestors.

"Something peak your interest sir?"

He turned to the voice, eyes widening. You looked a little different from before, and if the human world was anything like under the sea, an investigator didn't often change carriers to a museum worker.

You looked up at him and bristled. Taking a step back and shaking your head. "Enjoy the exhibit."

Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak but you had already turned on your heel to walk away. He reached for you but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked at Jisung who shook his head.

"Remember why we're here." he said.

Another museum worker came up to him and Jisung, she smiled and motioned the artifact. "According to native legend, almost 500 years ago this blade belonged to a merman, he fell for a human woman on the surface, and when they wedded in secret, the villagers took him for a monster who bewitched her and they took him away. The human woman told the other merpeople what had happened and hey came to get him back, the result was almost the deaths of nearly all the merpeople who lived on the coast, and when they did, the human woman killed herself with this blade. After the merman found out, he too killed himself."

Hyunjin hummed. It wasn't legend, it was fact. He looked at Jisung. "What an interesting story."

The woman nodded, "The museum is closing soon, please make your way out soon."

Jisung smiled, "Of course."

The men left the museum and Hyunjin grabbed the moon around his neck and breathed deeply. He did it for the best, so the past wouldn't repeat itself... he sent you home. But..

"Did you figure out anything?" Jeongin asked.

Hyunjin snapped out of his thoughts looking at him. "The museum is closing in an hour, we can get it then."

Minho nodded. "Kill the least amount of people as we can."

He nodded, thinking about how they would even get out of the city after they got the artifact.

When it was time to get the artifact, the lights in the museum were out, he could see just fine, sneaking in with Yongbok through a window at the back and making their way to the place he'd seen the artifact. Yongbok grabbed the glass and lifted it just enough for Hyunjin to reach his hand in and grab the handle of the dagger.

"How the hell did I know you'd come back here?"

Yongbok looked claws ready but his brows furrowed when he saw you. "Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin looked at you. "Let us pass."

"No." You huffed.

"Yongbok." Hyunjin handed him the dagger. "Get out of here."

"But-"

"Go."

The blonde haired man ran for it.

Hyunjin looked at you. "Why do you have to be everywhere?"

"I work here!" You snapped. "You're everywhere! Stealing that thing!"

"I'm following orders!" he shouted.

"Oh! Are you?! Kill me then! We can't know each other!" You bared your neck at him.

Hyunjin stared down at you. "No."

"Then what orders are you following Hyunjin?" You shoved him. "You let me live time and time again! What orders are you following?!"

"I can't kill you!"

"Why cant you?!"

"What reason do I have to kill you?!"

"Chan said it himself; I know your kind exists! I shouldn't be allowed to live!"

"You say that like you want me to kill you!"

"Maybe I do! I really thought we were friends! From that moment you pushed me back on the current when we were kids, I thought you were my friend Hyunjin!"

He looked away. "I can't."

"But you'll keep me alive." You gave a dry laugh.

"Of course I will!" He whipped around. "What type of moral code do you think I have?"

"You killed those fishermen no problem."

"They were hurting the fish."

You glared at him. "Take your artifact and go." You pulled off your sun charm and threw it at him. "If you see me, you don't know me."

You turned to leave but he grabbed you, pulling you back against his chest, his hair draping over your shoulder. "I just wish you'd understand.."

"I do." You said quietly, trying to pull away, but he held you there.

"No, you don't." He muttered.

"Make me understand." You reached up and touched his head gently, patting his hair.

He pulled away and turned you to face him. His luminescent sea green eyes locked on yours, and hesitantly, he leaned in, his plush, full lips centimeters from yours. And he kissed you gently, nose bumping yours before he turned your head, tongue prodding at your lips for entry. Your lips parted and he sighed softly at your taste, relishing in the feeling of being so close to you.

Then he pulled away, forehead pressed against yours. "I'll be back, I swear it..." He put the sun charm around your neck again and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Wait for me."

You'd gone back to school, deciding to major in marine biology, it had been almost a year since you'd seen Hyunjin. Still illegal fishermen and the occasional oil dumping people in boats were killed, it was on the news and in the paper. More likely than not it was the work of Hyunjin's friends.

You sat in your apartment bedroom, flipping through your assignment. Your roommate was out for tonight, so it was just you. You tapped your desk as you read through the textbook looking for an answer to a question. You bit the plastic cap of your pen out of frustration.

"Maybe humans want the turtles eating plastic because they're no better." A voice said. That voice was familiar. A voice that was nothing but hostile to you. Now it sounded so calm.

You jumped slightly in fear, turning to your bedroom door.

"Woah woah woah!" Chan laughed. "I didn't mean to scare you. Just thought you might want to see your special guest."

You practically flew from your chair. "Guest? Chan how did you get into my apartment- What guest?" You pushed past the dark haired man and your eyes widened at the sight of Hyunjin and the others, who fiddled with your toaster.

"OW!" A short, well built man jumped, blowing on his finger.

"Changbin!" A thin blonde haired man grabbed his hand and went to the sink. "This is why Chan never sent you to human world before."

The group hadn't noticed you yet.

"Uh-" A young man poked Hyunjin.

"What, Jeongin?" Hyunjin turned to him.

The young man, Jeongin, pointed at you.

Hyunjin looked, his lips parting slightly as he saw you.

"GUYS!" Chan shouted.

The other boys looked at him.

"Let's leave them..." He ushered them out of your apartment.

Changbin was still staring at his finger.

"Oh wait.." You grabbed a paper towel and got an ice cube before handing it to Changbin. "Hold it to your finger. Toaster burns are so scary" You teased.

The other men laughed as Chan finally got them out of your apartment.

You turned to look at Hyunjin.

He smiled at you. "You live alone?"

You shook your head no.

"Where's your roommate?" He asked, fiddling with the ice dispenser.

"She's not coming back until tomorrow evening.." You said.

Hyunjin nodded and hummed softly. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

"Chan needed the artifact to find the old merpeople palace. If he found it then... we could come to the surface when we wanted." He opened your fridge and took out a Tupperware of something, examining it before putting it back. "I didn't think we'd find it.. But we did... it looked so old. It was destroyed."

You stared at him. "We destroyed it all that time ago... Humans right?" You moved and sat on your couch.

He nodded, sitting beside you. "It was destroyed because a merman and a human woman were in love."

You looked at your hands. "Is that why Chan hated me?"

Hyunjin nodded. "He was scared the past would repeat itself."

Silence spanned for a moment and then he hugged to his chest.

"I missed you." He said softly.

"You don't even know that much about me.." you muttered.

"I'm here for a while." he said rubbing your shoulder. "I'll learn."

You huffed a small laugh. Looking up at him, you smiled slightly.

He smiled down at you and leaned down to kiss your forehead gently.

You sat up and leaned in, kissing him gently.

The tips of his ears turned turned red. You giggled at his flustered expression but he grabbed you, kissing you again. He hesitantly reached his arm around you, pulling you closer. His tongue pressed its way between your lips and you smiled, allowing him entry. He groaned softly and pulled you onto his lap.

You put your hands on his shoulders and bit your lip looking into his eyes. He smirked and kissed your neck, his hand splaying on the small of your back. He sucked a dark mark beside your jaw and you moaned softly, he hummed and moved lower, his hands moved under you shirt and lifted it over your head. He tossed it haphazardly, his lips meeting yours again as you tugged at his shirt.

"You could've just asked sweet girl." He pulled his short off and kissed you again, his hands moving behind you unclipping your bra, he tugged it off gently before his hands grabbed for your chest. You moaned and arched into him. He groaned softly as you began grinding against him.

He tugged at your pants and you lifted off his lap, he tugged it down as far as he could before he turned your legs in way where he could pull your pants and underwear off all at once. He smirked at you flustered expression.

You grabbed his crotch and he whined. "Not so cocky now huh?"

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again, fondling your breasts as you fumbled to get his pants undone. When you finally got the zipper down, you pulled his pants and boxers just low enough to get out his cock. You stared at it for a moment.

"Y'know if I remember correctly, you said it was rude to stare a while back." Hyunjin teased.

You rolled your eyes and kissed him gently. "You're so dumb."

He laughed lightly and pulled you against him, rubbing his tip between your folds. "Are you ready?"

You looked into his beautiful eyes and nodded. He pulled you down and you moaned as your walls split around his manhood. He groaned when you throbbed around him, kissing your cheeks gently when you were fully sat on him. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to adjust to him.

He kissed your head gently and muttered. "Take your time."

You made a face and rocked against him gently.

Hyunjin gasped. You smiled. "Take your time." You mocked.

His eyes narrowed and his hands settled on your hips. "I guess you're good to go."

"Hyunjin-"

He lifted you slightly and brought you down on his cock hard. You squealed and he groaned. He repeated the motion again and again, "Why am I doing all the work here?" He moaned in your ear.

You huffed and pressed your hands against his chest for balance as you began riding him, one of his hands moved to hold your back while the other played with your right nipple as he sucked the left.

You moaned and gasped, "Hyunjin.."

"Huh?" He looked at you, his eyes half lidded, pupils blown wide. he huffed a small laugh. "Let me help you pretty girl." He flipped you over and pushed you into the couch, gripping your thighs as he fucked into you. "Fill you with my babies..."

Your pussy clenched.

"Oh you like that?" He moaned. "I'll fuck you full of my kids. This pussy is mine."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he hit the spongey area deep inside you. Hyunjin smirked and caged you in pushing your legs almost beside your head, pushing as deep into you as possible. You moaned loudly, loud enough you were scared you'd get a noise complaint from your neighbors. But you couldn't stop yourself as Hyunjin filled you again and again, reaching places you didn't even know was possible.

"Are you going to cum for me?" He asked, grunting softly.

You were too dazed to form a sentence but he grabbed your face and made you look straight at him.

"Answer me honey." He said lowly.

You nodded. "I'm going t-to cum."

He groaned and pressed his lips to yours, "Cum for me, sweet girl."

He rubbed your clit and you fell over the edge, your eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy clenched and spasmed around Hyunjin's cock. He let out a strained moan, following close behind. he gripped your thighs tightly definitely leaving bruises before he finally relaxed.

Your eyes went wide as you heard the door to your apartment unlocking. "Girl, I'm back early, but you will not believe, I saw the finest guy ever downstairs, he said his name was Cha-" Your roommate came around the corner and froze. "There's no way I sit on that fucking couch, BURN IT. GET A ROOM DAMNIT Y/N!"

"Do you understand what you've done Hyunjin?" Chan turned to him, eyes worried. "You could be killed for for this.. Y/n COULD BE KILLED FOR THIS! This is a massive mistake."

Hyunjin looked at Chan for a moment, "It's not a mistake I'll regret in this life or the next."

Chan groaned and facepalmed.

You were driving to the beach, it'd been a bit since you'd gone to see him, most of the time he came to you.

"Mommy."

"Huh?" You looked at the child in the back of the car using the rearview mirror.

"What's Daddy like?"

Your eyes met the child's sea green ones and you smiled. "You'll love him."

[girderednerve]

i have been listening to plastic capitalism (vanatta, 2024). i'm like a third of the way through but here are my thoughts so far

okay just for background plastic capitalism is a history of the credit card industry & related regulation which runs from roughly the 1930s to the 1980s. this is the book i said has dissertation voice, so it is pretty dense, but i like it. okay moving on

one thing i have seen people say on here & elsewhere as a sort of yardstick for the recency of women's liberation (such as it stands, yikes) is that "women couldn't get credit cards until 1978." this is an interesting sentence which has become fascinating to me with more context

credit cards developed out of two major antecedents: travel cards (e.g., diner's club, introduced in the 1950s for jet-setting executives, & accepted at nightclubs, bars, airlines, & so on) and revolving credit plans offered by major retailers, which operated more like store accounts. the idea of attaching one's credit to a card came from the latter context, and they were the far more common credit offering. these cards were intended very explicitly to be used primarily by women

the people who pull out that 1978 date aren't wrong, though! women were the target audience for department store accounts, retail charge plans, early bank charge cards, but those creditors specifically targeted middle-class housewives & issued credit in their husbands' names (very 'you do the shopping & he gets the bill,' pearls & a red lip in the department store)

the 'credit cards for women' thing is interesting because if you are into the history of credit cards the big breakthrough in 1978 wasn't access for women, it was marquette v. first of omaha. marquette is the case in which the supreme court decided that a credit card transaction would be governed by the laws of the state in which the issuing bank was chartered, rather than the state in which the transaction physically took place. it sparked a sort of regulatory race to the bottom for a lot of states, as they tried to attract larger banks; this is why citibank's head office is in south dakota, despite the titular citi being located in (where else) new york. south dakota had no consumer credit law, and new york had a relatively low interest cap. hmm.

there's a real friction around consumer credit, because the postwar american lifestyle relied (among other things!!!!) on access to cheap consumer credit, but being a debtor is, speaking very generally, a disadvantaged & stigmatized social position. so on the one hand there's a precariousness attached to being in debt, but there's also the atomic-age glow of convenience & affluence attached to credit [sidebar plastic was a novel & exciting material when bank of america began issuing its industry-defining bankamericard in 1958]. why should women want credit cards in the first place? well, because they're now a requirement for full participation in the modern economy. this is why you see a sort of warm & fuzzy posture around signing people up for bank accounts & credit products, even though many of them will undoubtedly incur fees or have other problems as a result: they are being included! they are being offered Opportunity™

the framing which treats credit as a pathway to future success is more or less predatory marketing, but in the 1960s when these regulatory fights were being hammered out, there were a lot of civil rights activists who accurately pointed out that black people were systematically denied access to good credit. there is a wrinkle here where many black people were denied good credit because they had first been violently denied remunerative jobs or capital ownership, which had the very secondary consequence of damaging their creditworthiness, but it is very true that 'creditworthiness' is a subjective trait which was assessed by racist white bankers. it is also very true that people who need cash quickly & cannot access traditional forms of credit from a bank are pushed into riskier & more expensive forms of credit (pawnshops, payday & car title loans, etc.)

related to this tangle is one of my favorite regulatory bugbears, i.e. the thing where the united states does not have a federal usury statute & instead has disclosure laws [pattern in consumer protection more generally]. vanatta has a whole bit on the legislative history of the truth in lending act of 1968, & the two main arguments for disclosure instead of a federal ceiling on revolving credit were: 1) efficiency, in the sense that some freshwater economists wanted the market to regulate itself & in the sense that traditional state-level usury laws tended to have all kinds of bullshitty carve-outs for different kinds of lenders, so it was a huge mess, and 2) placating jim crow segregationists who resisted any attempts at all to expand federal power on principle. states' rights! so that's the background.

the weirdo fragmented state-level financial regulation was a deliberate outcome of the new deal's financial interventions. the new dealers wanted to expand credit to stimulate demand (as per the ideas of my man john maynard), but they had concerns about credit & wanted to limit it by keeping it tied closely into the traditional community relationships around local banks. this is a weird idea to me because i hate bankers but i did not become an adult until the twenty-first century. vanatta doesn't talk about antisemitism or cultural ideas about bankers at all so far, which is fine because the book can't be about everything, but i am very curious about it now. anyway that's the background for why marquette happened at all: on purpose, most financial regulation in the united states occurred at the state level, which is incredibly stupid but then here we are #laboratoriesofdemocracy

i should really read mehrsa baradaran's how the other half banks next. writing that down so i remember. i want to know more things about informal credit, the gray economy, regulatory failures, things of that nature

mastercard [well, the bank card network that became mastercard] was founded in buffalo because visa [well, the bank card division of bank of america, which became visa] had a very specific franchising strategy in mind & they didn't care about upstate ny as a market. those clowns #upstatepride

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[achy-boo]

Nastrond

The Housewarden of Noirutopia and Sam's only son. This man is like his father and mother only difference is...he didn't know his mother at all.

╭──・ Basic Information

Name: Nastrond

Romaji: Just Nastrond

Quote: “I had friends on the other side but those friends did not like people.” or “Mother…you will love my Nyxie..”

V/A: Sylus from Love and Deepspace(Japanese) and Sung Jin-woo (English)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight(Taken by Nyx Keket)

Age: 17

Birthday: July 28

Zodiac sign: Leo

Eye color: Icy blue

Hair Color: Jet black

Height: 5'10

Weight: 134 lbs

Race: Half human and half voodoo

Homeland: Port o'Bliss

Family:

Sam- Father in NRC

Yareli- Mother(Deceased)

Pana- Little Sister(taken care of by the nanny)

╭──・ School Information

School Status and Fun Fact

Dorm: Noirutopia

School Year: 2nd year

Class: 2-A

Student Number: No.27

Occupation: Librarian

Club: Reading/coffee club

Best Subject: History

╭──・ Interests

Favorite Color: Purple, Pink, grey and midnight blue

Favorite Food: Crawfish, Muffaletta, Oysters

Least Favorite Food: Medium rare meat(he only eat it when there is a thought behind it)

Likes: Reading, tending to his dorm’s garden, writing, rainy days, heat(once in a blue moon), cold/rainy days, winter, fall, spring, talking about Nyx(once in a while), reading about flower languages, horror movies at 3am(SUE him bitches)

Dislikes: Not knowing about his mother, loud noises even when he is asleep, his dorm in chaos after waking up, people wanted him to dump Nyx, the rivality between NRC and RSA(he despise it so much), his father teasing him about him and Nyx

Hobbies: reading,baking and cooking, sewing, practicing Voodoo magic, playing his guitar

Talents: Taking to his friends on the other side, causing things to appear different, cryptic and riddle like language, ambidextrous and dance fighting

╭──・ Other information

Nicknames: Nastrond(Normal), Voodoo King(Delano) Sam’s mini me(Sam, Divus and Trein), RSA’s Engima(shared with Saturday)

Other nicknames: My Voodoo(Nyx), Nastro(Jeanne, Tsukii, Night), Nana(Kianisha)

Appearance and Personality:

Appearance:

♡ Nastrond had black hair that reach to his middle back, icy blue eyes that turns magenta when using his Voodoo magic, he wears the typical RSA uniform but in the same color palette as his father Sam. He may or may not have symbols/tatoos of his late mother and a skeleton marking on his hands, arms and neck(All are permanent). He is 5’10 and is lean muscular. But he is not afraid to have the same hairstyle as Sam but different length and color.

Personality:

♡ Like Father like son. Friendly and charisma but had some of all his late mother's personality, deceiving, bold and seductively flirty. But he is a gentleman with a heart of gold. As a housewarden of Noirutopia, he had to be strict yet laid back however never allowed rulebreakers or chaos in his dorm since the dorm had enough chaos. He is not materialistic and knows how to finance money. He is so intelligent that he rival Azul's on smarts. However he is loyal to his girlfriend Nyx so good like trying to get him to cheat on her. Ain't happening

Trivia:

- He calls his dorm members “Little Dolls” or “Noir Voodoos” though the first one is most common

- He was born after his late mother was executed for witchcraft

- His little sister Pana was adopted by Sam

- He is not those snobby people(meaning that he doesn’t like spending money like crazy)

- His eyes sometimes stay magenta even without using his Voodoo magic

✶ Unique Magic

⟡Name: Witch’s Cry

⟡Chant: “The accused is burn to the stake…their wrath and cries echos in the night sky…let the accused’s purple flames…consume you whole…Witch’s Cry.”

⟡Description: The person or the sinner in this case is tied to the stake with the souls of the accused surrounding them with purple flamed torches as the accused’s wrath and cries echoes in the night time..purple flames consume the sinner to the ashes, joining the accused..eternally bound to burn another sinner to the stake.

“Noirutopia is the dark side of the light…this is my home…my people…now..join me little doll. Join the darkness.” - Nastrond

[3ugene]

helllloooo it's mika here super excited to bring you ki yujin eugene!! i havent managed to scraggle up a bio or plots page just yet (thx to my timeliness i see) but i have a mini stats page up here and some waaaaaay too long info under the cut abt this 28 year old prim painter turned runaway tattoo artist living in apt #2b ^_^ v v excited to get to know everyone and their muses so please like this and i'll hit up your dms!!

𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙: her childhood memories are clouded entirely by nannies, a subsisting feeling of boredom and the cold marble tiles of her house. having two famous artists as parents (mom a sculptor and dad an ex-90s-idol turned ceo of an idol company) meant they were never really in the house nor did they spare her a glance until ...

it became noticeable to them that eugene shared their proclivity for the arts. suddenly, her scribbles were forced to have structure and introspection behind them (which sucked to say the least when her doodles were meant to be for fun)

she was subsequently shoved into every arts class possible

entered into a bunch of national and international art competitions from the age of 5-18 (came first-third every time 👍👍) but always felt restricted since every artwork of hers that the public saw and were submitted to competitions (think light watercolours, flowers, nature) were carefully picked by her parents and she never felt that it was really a representation of her

got super burned out at 18 from all these competitions so she applied to snu undergrad for fine arts and got in!! (🎉🎉🎉)

incredibly formative years for her and her work -- she met a bunch of people who thought like her and felt that she could be herself for the first time, experimenting with different styles, mediums, etc

inspired her art a LOT n she grew to develop her own style that she still carries forward to this day (main style is a ukiyo-e inspired watercolour paintings mixed with gothic/horror ideas ie imagine a softer takato yamamoto)

after snu she told her parents she was doing a masters in fine art at yonsei when in reality she was just jetting off between jpn and kr and interning at multiple tattoo studios LOL

after "finishing" the year, she held a bunch of exhibitions and galleries. her parents got super excited because they thought she was finally taking art seriously ...

and then they found out what she had been doing for the last year. insert ugly screaming plates smashing argument where years of resentment and bottled up feelings came to the surface!!

ended up with her getting cut off and kicked out of the family aged 22, and now they pretend like she never existed. she still hasn't unpacked how she feels about it/how traumatic it was. will she? find out never :^)

luckily she had made quite a lot of money from her exhibitions (all part of the plan👍) and used that to fund her next actions which were a) move out into a studio apartment and b) guesting at even more tattoo studios

eventually formed a loyal client base who followed her when she opened up her own tattoo studio 캔버스 (canvas) in hongdae around three/two years ago!! 15% student discount just make sure to book in advance :D

moved into gyeogang street lofts a couple of years ago because it was cheaper but also for convenience purposes (closer to studio and she also needs her morning coffee before doing anything)

sort of here there everywhere and nowhere all at once

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙚: notable aesthetics include early morning cigarettes, the sound of pen scratching against paper, ink on your fingertips, late night drives, biting your bottom lip until it bleeds, headphones constantly pulled over ears, piles of sketchbooks haphazardly stacked, wine stained lips, half-finished journals and mood boards

not the most likeable person. reserved, has a short temper, pessimistic, blunt and doesn't tend to talk much (attributed to the fact that she didn't really have friends her age until she was 19). the little that she does say can come across as snarky until you realise that's just how she talks, but she is trying to do her best to remedy that and initiate conversations first since she realises it's not the best trait of hers. her 2025 resolution was to be more approachable but she's spoken to approximately two people that weren't her clients so far, and one of them was a barista at brewed awakenings

important to note that her abrasiveness never stems from actual ill-wish or anger, she's just unware of how to explain her feelings or communicate very effectively. many of her harsh corners are rounded if you look close enough

loves loves loves her work, however, and any discussion about art or tattooing means her eyes will immediately start shining

𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙠-𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨: sry lack of organisation means i dont have a plots page set up yet but throwing some ideas out so regulars at canvas (she loves u and the only way she can show it is giving u strawberry mogu mogu before every session); first time tattoo-getters (she also loves u); friends from university; fellow artists; childhood friends that she heavily relies on and has seen her at her best and worst; ex-bestfs; fwbs; fwbs getting messier by the second; exes; exes with lingering feelings; situationships; gamer friends; a "muse" for her; someone who's willing to be her practice canvas; someone guesting/interning at canvas; someone who simply doesn't like her and vice versa; found brother/sister; someone she keeps snapping at because you keep catching her on a bad day she's so sorry she promises she's not a bitc-

[planet-of-the-machines]

Closed For Storm

(By the bus)

Trailbreaker: *taking attendance* “Riley, missing due to grades. Emily Day, present. Rachel Madison, present. Chad Copperbottom, present. Thaddeus ‘Thad’ Copperbottom– Hey, Treavor, why aren’t you doing this?”

Treavor: *leaning against the grill of the bus, apathetic as ever* “Does stress due to your daughter being a felon count as an excuse?”

Trailbreaker: “Uh, sure… Let’s see… Rebecca Dawson, present. Penny Crawford, missing due to trauma. Damien White, present. Uzume ‘Uzi’ Doorman, present–”

*It’s at this point that Bumblebee runs up to him, out of breath and slightly overheating.*

Bee: “Teach! Teach! Need amplifier!”

Trailbreaker: “Not now Bee, I’m taking attendance for Mr. Vernon–”

Bee: “We don’t have— there’s a storm right on top of us!!!”

Trailbreaker: “What do you mean there’s–” *notices the storm coming over the hills to their east, and the darkening skies* “… huh. I was wondering why it was getting darker.”

*Uzi, in her jet mode, flies in and transforms mid-air, doing her propulsive “landing strategy.”*

Uzi: “Welp, V hasn’t killed Lizzy yet.”

Trailbreaker: “Oh thank robo-God.” *Writes Lizzy’s full name on the list below everyone else* “So, where are we going to be staying for the next day?”

Uzi: “Uh… about that. All the roofs of the cabins are gone. And the welcome center has caved in on itself.”

*The Heavy Drone teacher gives her a baffled look*

Uzi: “What? I’m not the one who’s piled so much snow on them without maintenance over so many years!” 

*thunder.MP3*

…

Trailbreaker: “Nevermind then.” *turns to Bee, shows him the amplifier* “You said you needed this thing?”

*Meanwhile, Hot Rod, Chase, and Boulder are removing the items intended for use during the two classes’ activities. J is helping out, because Orion directed her to.*

Boulder: *carrying a stack of board games* “Alright, so when are the campfire stories exactly?”

Hot Rod: “After we get done with Monopoly.”

Chase: “Which variant of Monopoly are you referring to?”

Hot Rod: “Vanilla. The original one. Frankly, I left all the other variants back home in the community center.” 

J: *holding the tug-of-war rope in her arms* “Could you barely-sentient toasters get this done any faster? My elbow motor-joints were made for better purposes than waitressing!”

Hot Rod: “Madam, the Council expects you to integrate into our little community, and that includes pitching in and helping out in stuff like this. I know dealing with some people can be a pain in the aft, but you can start by helping us out–”

*thunder.MP3*

*It’s only now that the quartet notices what’s approaching.*

Hot Rod: “…or we could drop everything and run for cover.”

Trailbreaker: *from a little distance away, cupping his hands around his mouth* “ATTENTION, KIDS! PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE MYSTERIOUS OUTPOST! I’D RATHER NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY OF YOU FREEZING TO DEATH IN THAT STORM COMING OVER THE HILLSIDE! I REPEAT, MAKE YOUR WAY…”

(Meanwhile, a few moments earlier)

*At the entrance to the outpost in question, N is watching as Cliffjumper is punching the steel blast doors. 

*Repeatedly.*

N: *nervously* “Uh, I think you may be hurting yourself more than the doors right now.”

Cliff: *at the doors* “COME ON!!!” 

*It’s at this point that V lands next to her brother, carrying a somewhat terrified Lizzy on her back.*

N: “Oh hey V! Did you–?”

V: *blunt* “Threatened to burn her in sunlight, got her to promise not to kill me again.”

N: “Oh. Uh, glad to see you didn’t kill her.” *smiles sheepishly, gestures to the blast doors* “Um, could you please help us open this?”

*V squints her eyelights, as if she’s having trouble seeing something, before hitting the side of her own head. This seems to fix whatever’s wrong.*

V: “This? N, I tried using my chainsaw on one of these years ago. I had to wait a month for Jenson to send a replacement for the diamond bits.”

…

N: “Uh… there goes that idea, I guess…”

*At this point, the male disassembler notices Lizzy, and a light bulb icon appears on his visor… something the blonde cheerleader notices.*

Lizzy: *bluntly* “No.”

V: *looking at the glow of lightning within the storm clouds above, wincing* “Eeehhh… might not have a choice about that…”

*thunder.MP3*

*The pink-eyed drone looks up for a brief moment, a buffering logo briefly appearing on her visor.*

Cliff: *notices Lizzy’s new tail* “Is that…?” 

*The tail’s head, eyes the same shade of pink as on Lizzy’s visor, growls in response.*

Cliff: *raises his hands defensively* “Woah. Easy, fella.

Lizzy: *in an exaggerated groan* “Fiiiiine.” 

*The cheerleader’s three-pronged glyph appears on the upper part of the door, before it starts lifting up. There is a loud grinding noise as it raises, before stopping halfway “open.” Lizzy then does the same thing for the lower half, except she pushes it almost flush with the ground/floor inside.*

Lizzy: “There! Are you losers happy?” 

N: *chirpily* “Thank you–” *He’s interrupted by a sudden lightning strike some distance away, lighting one of the many dead, leafless trees on fire.* “OKEVERYONEINSIDE!!!”

*With the swiftness expected of a Disassembly Drone, he pulls the cheerleader and his sister tightly in his left arm, then flies into the outpost, grabbing Cliffjumper by the arm and pulling him in after them. The floor is not metal grating like they’re used to, but wooden. So are the walls, but they’re a bit more lavish.

*A few moments later, Uzi flies in, carrying Bee, though she’s visibly straining carrying him. It only takes a few seconds for the purple-haired shifter to figure out who opened the blast doors, who flips the bird in response.*

Uzi: [[UP YOURS]]

Bee: “So… that’s one problem solved.I guess we use this–” *pulls the power amplifier from… somewhere* “–to turn the lights on, then.” 

Uzi: *sighs* “Just… stay behind me.”

*The two depart and head deeper into the bunker. It takes a few minutes for the rest of everyone on the field trip to get indoors. The last to arrive are the quintuple of Hot Rod, J, Boulder, and Chase– courtesy of the games and activities the heavy drones are carrying –just as the wind and snow really start picking up. Once they do, Lizzy uses her powers to slam the doors shut. 

*This has the unfortunate consequence of leaving the entrance room in total darkness. 

*A moment passes before the silence is broken*

Heatwave: *deadpan* “Did nobody think to grab a flashlight?”

Orion: “Wait. Just a moment, I need to find– there!”

*He turns on a light built into his helmets, surprising the students.*

Jazz: “Huh. Guess being a former miner has some perks, don’t it Pax?”

Orion: “You could say that, but it’s more like a necessary piece of equipment when excavating where your future home is going to be.” *looks towards the students* “Stay close kids, we have no idea what may be in here.”

Rebecca: “Well, duh. Not like anyone’s been here before. Oh, wait. 

Boulder: *setting down the board games he was carrying* “From what I could tell, there was a blizzard in the area when he and the survey corps came by here. Not as bad as what’s coming down now, but they probably didn’t see the blast doors through the snow.” [[Occam’s Razor]]

*There’s a soft thud from Braiden’s direction.*

Braidon: *annoyed* “Hey, watch it!”

Chad: “You watch your back, aristo… uh, shit.*

*Orion turns to address them, but his head light illuminates what the more classy of the two WDs actually ran into.

*He’s startled to find the largely rotted-away corpse of a human security guard, slumped against the wooden paneling on the wall, clutching  a rifle in both hands and slumped over to its right (likely from being run into). More concerningly, there were long-dried bloodstains on the floor beneath them.* 

*Most of the group is horrified by this finding, but this is dwarfed by comparison when the actual lights of the bunker come online. The entire room (save for the blast doors to outside) looked like it had come out of a Victorian-era manor, its walls stained by dry blood and desecrated with corpses in similar condition, at least half a dozen. The hallway that was in the center of level one (as it was for all outposts as far as anyone knew) was styled similarly. At the end everyone could see curtains over a window in place of the gray metal wall… except said window was just an inactive LED screen.*

Sideswipe: “Uh, murder bots? Remember when we were talking about what our outpost was supposed to be, before humanity killed themselves?”

*This gets the trio’s attention*

Sideswipe: “Was it meant to look something like this?”

…

*N and V look towards J.*

J: *slowly* “…maybe? The specifics are above my paygrade…”

*It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the real answer. However, that left one question: what killed the humans living here?

*And was the field trip group in danger?*

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Victor

The Victor was built in 2508 under contract to the Terran Hegemony as a support 'Mech with jump capabilities. With the creation of the Star League, the Victor would go on to serve in the SLDF during the Reunification War, after which it was made available to the League's member states. Because it only ever served in line regiments, the Victor was never outfitted with the advanced technology reserved for Royal units, a fact which would increase its survivability in the years ahead.

Standing at 14 meters tall, the Victor approaches the concept of support in an unorthodox way for a 'Mech of its weight class. While only possessing a ground speed of 64.8 km/h, the Victor achieves a high degree of mobility instead through the use of four jump jets, allowing it to jump up to one hundred and twenty meters. A Victor can therefore "support" friendly units by jumping directly into the fray and bringing its deadly close range arsenal to bear, an ability which can surprise inexperienced MechWarriors and prove advantageous in mountainous terrain. One sacrifice made for this superb mobility is the 'Mech's relatively light armor of only eleven and a half tons, while the lack of proper anti-infantry capabilities is a minor problem.

An estimated one thousand Victors had been produced by the time the Star League fell. Many of these left with Aleksandr Kerensky during the Exodus, and when HildCo Interplanetary's three Victor factories were destroyed during the First Succession War, the 'Mech became a prized target with all sides scrambling to salvage serviceable units. Only Independence Weaponry retained the ability to build new Victors, and with their capture by the Federated Suns during the Second Succession War it became the AFFS' primary assault 'Mech and a favorite command model for battalion and regimental commanders. Though the Draconis Combine would eventually retake the company following the War of 3039, most Kurita samurai were too proud to adopt a 'Mech now associated with their enemy, while the Davions made do with purchasing new models from the rebuilt HildCo factory in the St. Ives Compact and funding the construction of Styk's Tao 'Mechworks.

By the time of the Clan Invasion new models of Victors were being produced which incorporated newly rediscovered lostech into their design. The formation of the Second Star League and destruction of Clan Smoke Jaguar would finally win the design acceptance by Combine warriors, while the conquest of Styk and St. Ives by the Capellan Confederation forced the Federated Commonwealth to contract General Motors to build more Victors. Though it had officially fallen out of favor, during the FedCom Civil War the Victor remained the favorite of Allied forces, with newer variants seeing use in the years afterwards.

The Victor's primary weapon is a Pontiac 100 Autocannon/20 in its right arm; though some models reported problems with the ammunition feed, this was not a common issue. The left arm contained the 'Mech's close-range backup of two Sorenstein V medium lasers with a Holly SRM-4 located in the left torso. The autocannon alone is capable of downing most light 'Mechs in a single shot and stripping off the armor of any location on most heavier 'Mechs, leaving its other weapons to take advantage of any weak points in the enemy's armor. These weapons were originally aimed by a Standus 20 Targeting and Tracking System, but its tendency to project "ghost" targets saw the Standus replaced with the MaLandry 34.