#who knows how much of the fic itself i will ever formally write but i have enough material to make you feel like you’ve read it

[vetteldixon]

maybe the soulmates notebook (ted/seb soulmates au longfic) will be our goncharov

[goddessofmischief]

Hey, thanks for tagging :) I am 34, so the "old men" are not so old to me and quite frankly, watching Shanks, Buggy and Mihawk in OPLA is feeling like coming home to old friends back from 20 years ago. (I was crushing on Shanks and Buggy so much...😅) So I thought, maybe you could write something where fem!reader already knows them and has a soft spot for each of them, since back when they were flirting and making fun when they were young. Now as adults they meet again and the chemistry is still there.

I remember one of my stories from back then. I was jealous of mermaids, because all the pirates got stupid once they're around, and a drunk Shanks said: "nah, you wouldn't like to be one; You'd be missing slamming doors and Buggy would drown on daily basis just to say hi-." Both Buggy and Reader: "shut up! So not true!". Just like young stupids are... :)

Anyways, thanks for your writing and I can't wait to read more about the "get-shit-done"-squad Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy

     — MERMAIDS (YOUNG SHANKS X READER, YOUNG BUGGY X READER)

A/N: Hope this is alright: since your formal request was so in line with what the theme of the series will be anyway, I used the excerpt of your line as basis for this particular fic. All credit of course goes to you for coming up with the lines and the idea. On a personal note, I just want to say how much I respect that you were an OG fic writer and still have interest in and love for these characters. Welcome home.

...

You would have believed that you had been at sea for years, until Buggy reminded you that it had only been weeks.

Granted, this is how he reminded you:

"It's been wee-eks," Buggy whined, stretching out on his hammock. Shanks was collapsed against the wall, fingers knotted together, eyes not really focused on any particular place.

And you? You were lying on the floor, gazing up at the wooden ceiling, wondering if it would be a good idea to leave the cabin and see the stars.

Being on the ship for weeks was highly irregular for your crew. Great captain he was, Roger knew he could only keep this ragtag group sane if they stepped onto shore and ate an orange every once in awhile. This concern was triply inflated by the fact that he had three young adults onboard who became very antsy if they had to stay in one place for too long. Your patience certainly rivaled Buggy's or even Shanks', but even you had your limit, and you had met it long ago.

The ship would have planned to make port nearly a week before, but the World Government was closer to finding you than ever. It was simply too dangerous.

You soon learned how your friends reacted to a situation such as this. Shanks had retreated mostly into silence, with exception of the odd joke or attempt at conversation, and Buggy had decided he blamed you both somehow for this situation and that any words exchanged with either of you would only be of the complaining nature.

"I know, Bugs," said Shanks, and you were surprised to hear him answer Buggy's complaint. You exchanged glances with him, then turned back to Buggy.

"Let's go outside, yeah?" you suggested. "Do something fun."

"Everyone's outside," Buggy complained. "They've been yelling over something for hours."

"And you didn't think that was important to mention, Bugs?" Shanks asked, irritably. Buggy shrugged.

...

The thing that had sparked such interest in the crew was simply that, as your ship had sailed very far into the deepest waters, much farther than usual, you had sailed into a home of mermaids. Extremely dangerous, and the crew knew it.

It did not negate their interest whatsoever, though.

Pirates get stupid when mermaids are around. It is a core trait of pirates and no less than a sacred tenet of piracy itself. More than a few decent men have been seduced to the sea by the very concept of mermaids, and to that end, the idea of finding one.

Shanks and Buggy were no exception.

You had never really taken the care to notice how they behaved with girls. Their flirting was of no interest to you, and so you didn't bother to surveil it. But it came to your attention now that they had terribly different styles: namely, that Buggy was mostly content to sit and watch from the edge of the deck, and Shanks was more interested in yelling, waving, and nearly falling off the boat.

Granted, by this time, alcohol had become involved, and all bets were off.

Despite all the excitement, the first in weeks, Shanks had begun to notice how quiet you'd become. He approached you, somewhat cautiously, hoping you wouldn't react with a retort or a threat.

"You okay?"

You nodded, staring at the drink you held.

"You sure?"

You shrugged, whispering something under your breath that Shanks struggled to hear.

"What's that?"

You spoke again, slightly more than a whisper, but Shanks heard it all the same.

"...I wish I was a mermaid."

"You wish you were a mermaid?" He repeated loudly, almost outraged. You shushed him, and he just laughed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just... nah, you wouldn't like to be one. You'd be missing... slamming doors, and Buggy would drown himself on a daily basis just to say hi-"

"Shut up!" you giggled. "So not true!"

"And then, of course, there'd be all the pirates. I wouldn't like sharing you with them."

"I'm a pirate. You're a pirate."

"I'm a different sort of pirate. And you're barely a pirate at all."

You shrank back, inexplicably hurt by Shanks' drunken offhand insult.

"I'm as much of a pirate as you."

"Of course you are. I didn't mean that. Not like that. I mean, you're just... you're very careful, you're much too good for us. You're not messy or mean like the rest of us are."

"What do you think I am, then?"

"A princess," he blurted out, and you tried not to laugh. "I've always thought so."

"Always?"

"Mhm. The whole time."

You studied Shanks' face, seeing him in a new light that you'd never glimpsed anyone in before. Had he always been this cute, or charming, or kind?

Well, it didn't matter if he always had been, because he was now, and before you had given much thought to it at all you were pushing his straw hat back and he was meeting your lips in a kiss, your first, his first.

"You're a terribly nice pirate," you mumbled.

"You're a terribly beautiful princess," he replied.

You both parted awkwardly, staring at each other with confused half-smiles and resigning to focusing your attentions back on the ocean. For now, it was merely a strange evening, a shooting star, but later on, you would remember that night as the precise moment you began to love Red-Haired Shanks.

And Buggy, watching from across the ship, would remember that night as the second time a deep knot of resentment grew in his chest, one that would only become larger with time. The first time had been as a child, when Shanks had done something exceptionally well where Buggy had failed, and Roger placed his famous straw hat onto his head.

The second time was tonight, because of you.

taglist: @sawendel @twinklesnake

[suddencolds]

Purely Instinctive | Ki//ller Pet//er

Extremely competent assassin who handles every difficult situation inventively and with ease? What if he fell ill... 😭 (4.2k words)

This is a little different from what I usually write, but I've been reading Ki//ller Pe//ter on Webt//oon (link), and... um, this fic practically wrote itself. This might be the most self-indulgent thing I've written this year. Let's not talk about it 😭

For the sake of the fic, all characters are in their early twenties (aside from Peter, who is obviously a lot older). If you haven't read the series, they're all assassins who work for an organization called the Gl//ory Club. That's pretty much all you need to know :)

—

Here's Peter (under his current identity, Sun-Gu Kim) and Yuna:

—

The drive to the warehouse is unusually quiet.

The mission is simple—find an international spy, currently en route to escape via a ship which departs from the harbor at 6am, holding onto highly classified documents which he’s not supposed to have. The moment he steps foot off of Korean land, he will become much more difficult to apprehend—the ship the target is planning to take is a large cargo ship, its whereabouts easily tracked, but the Glory Club bounty has specified that the target will most likely part ways from the cargo ship on a small rowboat. There’s no telling at what point he’ll split off from the cargo ship, or where he’ll be headed next, which means:

They have only two hours to apprehend the subject before he becomes substantially harder to track down.

Yuna reaches up with a hand to rub her eyes. Of course, serving as part of Glory is no 9-5 job—she hadn’t expected volunteer missions to always take place at predictable times. But they’d gotten assigned to this particular mission on short notice, which meant that she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, tops, before having to drag herself out of bed for this.

They’d been whisked out on Sun-Gu’s motorcycle—the St. Petrus V4, she recalls. Somehow, Sun-Gu had known exactly where to head. How he’d known, with the entire city laid out in front of him, Yuna isn’t entirely sure. But he’d explained that the target’s trajectory would probably not be a straight line to the harbor—that would be too easy to intercept, and Sun-Gu had assured the target would be aware there would be someone on his trail. He’d probably avoid main roads, then, where there would be a higher chance of getting stopped by the police. Then, out of all the remaining routes from his last tracked location, it would only be feasible to get to the dock on time through six of them.

The rest had been intuition. Sun-Gu’s familiarity with the city is impressive. He barely glances at the street signs as he drives, the night warm and stagnant, his motorcycle dialed to silent, and not for the first time, Yuna wonders how he seems to know all of this.

Speaking of Sun-Gu—

Something is different about him tonight. Yuna probably would not have noticed, had she not spent the entirety of the motorcycle ride sitting behind him. He’s incredibly subtle about it. But it’s there, nonetheless—a slight change to his demeanor. Something nearly imperceptible, something she can’t quite pin down.

Had Yuna not known better, she might have attributed it to tiredness. But in the couple months she’s known Sun-Gu, she’s never seen him tired. He sleeps, like the rest of them, of course—he is only human—but for him, the transition between sleep and wakefulness seems like more of a formality. That is to say, he wakes up immediately alert, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him tired.

It makes her wonder, a little, if there’s a reason to it. If there was ever anything in his life which mandated being a light sleeper, that required him to be up at a moment’s notice. Either way, it’s not the reason why he’s—off isn’t the right word. Different is more suitable. Typically, he’s in better spirits. But Yuna has seen him pissed off, and this isn’t it, either.

Sun-Gu parks the motorcycle just outside of the warehouse, unclips his helmet in one swift motion, and—after Yuna gets off—takes her helmet from her and stashes them both under the motorcycle seat, which Glory has designed to be self-locking. Then, without waiting to see if they’ll follow, he makes a lap around the periphery of the warehouse.

The Dokgo brothers have tagged along too—they’re being quiet, now, which perhaps is mercy enough. Probably Sun-Gu had given them a challenge to shut up, and they’ve taken it in good faith. Now, even when they have something to comment, they keep their voices to a whisper.

“What do you think he’s off doing?” Biggie says.

Junior shrugs. “Maybe taking a walk, to relieve some stress.”

“He’s looking for signs of entry,” Yuna tells them. Then, because she can’t help it, and because she’ll be a little pissed off if they’re the ones who end up jeopardizing the mission—“Remember what he said about being quiet?”

“Ah, shit,” Biggie says. “I am quiet. Maybe you should be quiet. Have you considered that?”

She ignores the both of them and heads over to the spot where Sun-Gu stands, now, his eyebrows furrowed. A slat that’s out of place. He pushes it, and it budges.

Underground, the ground rumbles underneath them, and then settles to reveal a trap door. 

Sun-Gu beckons for them to follow him, but he doesn’t wait up for them. Yuna quickens her pace to keep up. The trap door leads them down, down. The air underground is much cooler—Yuna finds herself wishing that she’d brought a thicker jacket.

Ahead of her, Sun-Gu—

Takes in a sharp breath. But no, it’s not just a breath. As she watches him, he lifts a hand, pinches it to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders jerk forward, though only slightly; his back muscles tense. All in all, the entire display is soundless.

Yuna’s feels her eyebrows creep up. 

This is certainly… new for him. But she doesn’t have time to think on it right now.

When they get to the bottom of the steps, the stairway opens out into a deserted hallway: cement walls, cement floors. It’s dark, and cavernous. This whole place feels empty. It’s a little creepy, really. Why Sun-Gu suspects that their target is hiding out here, Yuna isn’t sure. It seems counterproductive to hide out somewhere like this when, according to their intel, the subject has limited time already to make it out to the harbor.

That is, unless Sun-Gu suspects the intel that they were given might be wrong.

Sun-Gu switches on a flashlight he’s carrying and heads deeper in. It’s not until he stops, looking down the hallway to survey his surroundings that he hesitates, only for a moment. He lifts the collar of his shirt over his face, his shoulders tensing.

“Hh’—nKTtt-!”

The sneeze is practically soundless. That makes two times in one night. Something is definitely up, then. Yuna looks around. Perhaps the underground space is dusty, or perhaps it’s not well-ventilated and it’s grown mold, and he’s allergic. Except, the air down here feels remarkably dry—not the sort of environment mold would thrive under—and the floors look suspiciously well-maintained. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be something else, either—some other universal irritant. Sun-Gu is the only one here who’s sneezing. 

Yuna isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sneeze before, out of the months that she’s known him. Could it be some existing condition, then—not a product of their environment, but something from earlier?

“Man,” Junior mouths, from somewhere. “How much longer are we going to have to head down these hallways? They all look the same.”

Yuna turns to glare at him, puts her finger to her lips. “Longer if you aren’t quiet about it.”

“I don’t like this,” Biggie mutters. “When can we get to the fighting? All the lead-up is boring. It feels like we’re in some kind of horror movie.” Yuna squeezes her eyes shut, prays that they’re far enough from Sun-Gu—and, by extension, the target—that they can’t be heard. 

Sun-Gu stops, abruptly. He holds a hand up behind him, as if to say, stay back.

Yuna doesn’t know what he’s noticed, at first. But a moment later, she hears it—the click of a latch being undone, somewhere overhead.

Above them, a small trap door opens, and then pulls shut. A cylinder drops from the ceiling, leeching violet plumes of smoke. On instinct, Yuna pulls her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Tear gas, she realizes—or something chemically similar. It’s some sort of aerosolized compound, meant to render them both less capable of seeing and—partly by extension—less capable of fighting. Her eyes tear up almost immediately, so much that she can barely keep them open. Her lungs burn in protest as she takes in a breath.

They’re in a long corridor. There’s a finite amount of smoke coming from the canister—if they wait it out, it will inevitably thin out. So this was more just a distraction, then. A flashy entry. Just enough time for whoever they’re up against to—

It takes her a few seconds to spot the figure through the smoke. 

She thinks back to the files on the subject. Medium, reddish brown hair, pale blue eyes. 182 cm. Trained in combat. The stranger in the hallway has their face obscured by a gas mask, their hair hidden under a hood, but she can tell by the musculature of their exposed arms that they appear to be well-trained. In their right hand, they are carrying a long, slender weapon. From one end—attached to a metal chain—is a sphere, lined with spikes, each of them carved down to a sharp point.

It must weigh half a ton, from the way it drags the chain down, but the figure wields it easily, as if it weighs absolutely nothing.

“That’s our guy!” Junior yells, at the same time as Biggie shouts, “Stop right there!”

Both of them charge forwards. It all happens in a split second. The figure adjusts their grip on the weapon to turn the wooden handle of it outwards. Then, before either of the brothers have a chance to react, they’re swung outwards by the sheer momentum of the rod. Biggie hits the ceiling with enough force that the concrete above them rumbles, the impact spiderwebbing the ceiling above them. Slabs of concrete rain down from the point of contact. The figure drives Junior straight into one of the walls at an awkward angle which renders him almost immediately unconscious.

Yuna can feel her own heart pounding in her ears. She slinks back into the darkness, pressing herself to the ground so that hopefully, the stranger will forget that she is there—or that she is even a threat to begin with. Seeing what they’re capable of, she isn’t sure she could do much in this situation to begin with.

How long has it been since the last time the path split off into multiple routes? When Yuna turns to look, the hallway before them and after them seems to stretch on and on. An endless concrete tunnel, with the white, sterile lighting of a laboratory space. Nothing to shield themselves with, and nowhere to hide. It’s a strange location to pick a fight in. What exactly was this place built for? 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the figure says to Sun-Gu, grinning. Half of their teeth have been replaced with gold tooth crowns. When they grin, the gold catches the light, winking. “Thirty seconds, huh? Your teammates couldn’t even hold their own for that long? It’s a damn shame. I didn’t even get to use the weapon as it’s intended to be used.” They tilt their head, staring down at Sun-Gu with a look of contempt. “I guess you could thank me for being merciful. But if I’m honest…”

Their smile darkens into something sharper, something hungry. “I just didn’t want to stain a flail of this quality with anyone’s blood but yours.”

Was this entire mission a setup, to get Sun-Gu into one place? Is the subject really in possession of any classified documents at all?

Sun-Gu twists away—not to evade, or not in preparation to attack. His shoulders hunch forward, his expression twisting. He coughs, roughly, down towards the ground. It’s the kind of cough that suggests that he’s been coughing like this for some time now—harsh and throat-scraping. 

That’s when it registers for Yuna.

He’s ill. It seems painfully obvious, in hindsight, now that she’s realized it. 

During the motorcycle ride here, he’d been careful not to touch her, Yuna realizes. Sun-Gu is always careful with his own space—he has an awareness of it, even outside of combat, that she thinks would be unusual for most. Even with small things—the ways he gestures, the way he holds himself—she gets the feeling that none of it is accidental. 

When she looks at him now, she notices—a slight, near-imperceptible flush to his features. He’s breathing a little more heavily than normal. Instincts he can hide. Instincts he can cover for. But there are some things which no amount of physical awareness can hide.

He has a fever, then. That’s probably why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. He’d known that if she’d made contact with his skin, she would’ve felt it, and she thinks he probably hadn’t wanted to raise any concern.

Sun-Gu is here, on a mission, fighting a well-trained stranger on his own, equipped with nothing but a pocket knife, with no armor and no with no reinforcements. On any normal occasion, Yuna might trust him to be able to hold his own—she’s seen what he’s done, alone against a crowd of hundreds—but this time, it’s different, because Sun-Gu is unwell.

The figure looks surprised, at this. “Ah,” they say. Yuna can’t help but think they look like a predator, honing in on their prey, only to find that said prey is already bloodied and limping. Like someone surprised—but pleased—to find their job already done for them. “Don’t tell me you’re already not in tip-top shape? That’s a shame.”

Sun-Gu coughs, again, his chest shaking. Yuna feels a pang of worry in her chest. He really does look unwell—and he hasn’t said as much of a word to deny it, which is telling. She looks around for anything to help him with— If she were to call for reinforcements, she thinks it would take too long for them to find them all here, underground, in the elaborate array of tunnels.

The weapon they’re holding is heavy, which affects its maneuverability, and to some degree, its speed. But Sun-Gu’s knife is much more of a close-range weapon, which means that while Sun-Gu will have to get up close to them to even make a mark, the stranger would be theoretically able to fatally wound him while standing a meter away.

The figure presses forward. With the swing of one hand, the metal ball and the chain arc outwards neatly, directly towards Sun-Gu. For such a heavy weapon, Yuna is surprised to find that this person wields it with impressive speed. It’s nearly too fast for her eyes to track. Sun-Gu evades, easily, but the figure swings again, and again, and again. At this speed, it almost looks as though they’re slicing the air into shreds.

If Sun-Gu were to be hit, his body would stop all of the momentum at once, and the spikes would easily puncture skin, drive themselves into tissue and skin and bone. Worse, Yuna realizes, if the weapon makes it to Sun-Gu’s body—even if it’s lodged in a relatively nonfatal area—the figure will easily be able to drive it directly into a vital organ. That means that if Sun-Gu fails to dodge cleanly on just one occasion, this fight will be over.

That’s another thing, too. Sun-Gu’s radius of attack is limited by the length of his own arm. But the figure can stand in one place and swing the weapon anywhere that the length of their arm, the long rod, the chain, all put together, can reach.

“If I had a little more patience, I might even have waited for you to get back to full health, so that this could be a more memorable fight,” the figure says.

Sun-Gu’s breath hitches. His opponent is not kind enough to pretend not to notice. They drive forward, intending to use the moment of temporary weakness to their benefit, just as Sun-Gu jerks forward with a forceful, “hHh’EEZschHH-uH!”

Sun-Gu evades, but only barely. How he is able to predict the trajectory of the metal ball, even distracted, even with his eyes closed, Yuna isn’t sure. But it’s clear that he isn’t done, and by the time his eyes are already falling shut for another. He’s afforded a sharp, desperate breath, before his shoulders jerk forward again. “hH’nGKt-! Hh… hh-IIIH’DZSshH!”

He coughs, after, as if the sneezes have somehow irritated his throat further.  

The stranger grins. “...But I suppose having your head as a prize would be consolation enough.”

They sweep the chain in a wide arc, directly for Sun-Gu’s neck. Sun-Gu crouches for a moment, then takes a running leap up into the air, righting his trajectory with one foot to the wall to land behind them. He’s put his knife away, Yuna realizes. But there is nothing here—no props, no furniture—for him to repurpose into a weapon.

“Sorry,” Sun-Gu says. The expression on his face is not one of remorse. It’s one of clear, bitter irritation. He’s annoyed, she realizes. “You’re right. I’m not feeling my best today.”

It’s an admission, loud and clear, but the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like an admission of weakness. Up until now, he has been observing, Yuna realizes, as he’s done before—passively taking in the stranger’s fighting style, their handling of their weapon, their habits, their tells. 

“So,” Sun-Gu says, flatly. When the stranger swings again, Sun-Gu snags hold of the chain while it’s in mid-air, and—as if it’s weightless—yanks the stranger towards him. He takes hold of the chain with his other hand, testing its weight. The smile on his face is utterly cold. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

—

Afterwards, when they leave the warehouse, the sun is starting to rise. Yuna finds a text from Glory Club on her phone from an hour ago, presumably from the chairman. It’s curt: Do not proceed. We have reason to doubt the motives of the group which supplied the intel. Ironically, there was not enough reception underground for their warning to reach them in time, but she thinks that Sun-Gu must’ve realized much earlier. 

Biggie and Junior are a little worse for the wear, but other than that, neither of them is concerningly injured. Biggie claims that he doesn’t have a concussion, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fight when Yuna insists that when they get back, their first stop will be to the medical ward to get fixed up. 

Speaking of Sun-Gu: he is quiet, which is not unusual. Sun-Gu has never been the most talkative person, but Yuna suspects that today, there’s more to it. 

“I can take us back,” Yuna says, trying not to make it sound pointed. It’s usually Sun-Gu who steers, but Yuna has enough experience with the St. Petrus V4 to handle a forty minute trip on paved roads, and enough experience too to know how to speed just enough to stay in control of it.

“It’s fine,” Sun-Gu says, flashing her a distracted smile. “It will be faster if I drive, because I won’t have to navigate.” He retrieves his own helmet from the seat compartment. Yuna spends a moment to watch him. He isn’t injured, nor does he look any less alert—he’d gotten out of the battle without so much as a scratch to show for.

But there are little hints, here and there, to exhaustion. The way he clears his throat before speaking, so quietly she can’t tell except for the slight bob of his throat, the slight furrow of his eyebrows. The way he pauses to clip his helmet, shielding his face with one hand from the gleam of the rising sun, as if his head is already hurting. The way he looks relieved to be sitting down, the way his hand lingers, a little shaky, on the motorcycle handles before he steadies it, looking faintly annoyed. 

Of course, for someone like Sun-Gu, where—on the battlefield—any sort of slight miscalculation could be the difference between life and death, where trusting his body to function exactly as he’s used to is crucial for his success, Yuna isn’t surprised that any sort of bodily inefficiency would be an annoyance, even more so for Sun-Gu than for most.

At the same time, as she stares at him, she has to wonder—just how long has he been unwell? Had she not been awake during the battle—had she been unconscious, then, like the other two—would she even have noticed? How many times in his life has he been ill and just proceeded? Yuna doesn’t know what his relationship to Peter is—whether he’s a long lost cousin, or someone who trained under him before, or something else. But she knows, from the way he fights, that he must’ve had years of combat experience even before he joined Glory. No one is born with that amount of expertise, that level of near-inhuman intuition.

In the past, when Sun-Gu found himself in life-or-death situations, had he proceeded like he is now—as though everything were normal? As though any affliction he was suffering through privately was not even worth the attention of his own team? It makes sense, she thinks—that he wouldn’t broadcast any weakness openly, especially for any potential adversaries to listen in on. But if he’d been so careful to hide it from all of them, how would he take it if she acknowledged it out loud?

“Is something wrong?” Sun-Gu asks, watching her now. 

“No, nothing at all!” Yuna says, quickly. Think, she tells herself. She returns his smile, a little sheepishly. “I was just thinking… I’m a little hungry. Do you think we could stop at a convenience store on the way back?”

Sun-Gu blinks, a little surprised. But then he nods. “Of course,” he says. 

She fiddles with her own helmet until it’s securely on. Then she gets onto the motorcycle, behind him, and waits for him to take off.

—

True to his word, Sun-Gu stops at a 24/7 convenience store on the way back. But when Yuna asks him if he wants anything to eat, he waves her off with another smile. “Not enough time has passed after that fight,” he says. “I’m still too worked up to eat something.”

Bullshit, she thinks, but she steps inside the store nonetheless. Inside, it’s heavily air-conditioned, pleasantly cool. She picks out a sandwich from the fridge for herself, and one for Sun-Gu, while Biggie and Dokgo—who have followed them here on their scooters—load up on containers of cup ramen and ready-made hot fried chicken. Yuna snags a bottle of water from the fridge. Then she’s sure no one is looking, she takes a blister pack of aspirin off the shelves, along with a travel pack of tissues, and pays for it through the self-checkout station.

Biggie and Junior are still inside by the time she’s done shopping, so she heads outside, the plastic bag in hand.

She finds him still seated on the motorcycle, his helmet still on. He’s sitting ramrod-straight, his shoulders stiff, his head ducked slightly to avoid the sun. To anyone else, he might look alert—perhaps even nervous—but Yuna knows better. It looks as if he is doing everything in his power not to fall asleep.

His breath hitches. He gasps, his body jerking forward with a loud, “hHHD’TSHhh-Uh!”, which seems ridiculously unrelieving for how loud it is, and sighs, tenderly massaging the bridge of his temples. So the headache from earlier hasn’t gotten any better, then. 

She watches him for a moment longer—watches him duck forward into his arm with another ticklish sneeze, and emerge with a liquid sniffle—and wonders when this had all started to feel like second nature.

Caring about him, that is.

When he hears her coming, he looks up to her. “Done with breakfast already?” 

“Not yet,” she says. “But I got you a sandwich.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Though, didn’t I say—”

“You’re not hungry right now, I recall,” Yuna says. “You can save it for later. But I have something else for you too.” 

She hands him the aspirin and the bottle of water. Sun-Gu stares down at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I am not injured,” he says, at last.

“I know,” Yuna says, casually. “The aspirin is for your headache. That’s been bothering you all morning, right? It might help with your fever, too, but I think the best antidote for that would be some proper bedrest.”

For a moment, Sun-Gu just stares at her, his eyes a little wide. Then he laughs. “You really don’t let anything past you, do you, Yuna?”

“That’s right,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you were trying to hide it.”

“Not exactly,” Sun-Gu says. “I just didn’t deem it worth mentioning.”

“Three to five days of bedrest, and lots of warm fluids!” Yuna says, jabbing a finger into his chest, accusingly. “That’s what people recommend for illnesses like this. Not a killer mission first thing in the morning!”

“You are very prudent,” Sun-Gu says, looking mildly amused.

“You don’t think it might’ve helped to mention your illness to someone you trust? The chairman, or even me?”

“I fail to see how that would’ve made any difference. It’s not as though the mission could have waited.”

“Fine, then.” Yuna says. “You might not agree to take it easy. But I’ll keep noticing as long as you keep being irresponsible.” She means it as a threat—that in the future, if he ever dares to be so reckless, she’ll be the first to notice. And if Yuna thinks he should be resting, instead of on a mission, she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about it. 

But when she looks over at Sun-Gu, he is smiling. 

[madoumonogatarirunelord]

Schezo birthday fic!

(This is my first time ever writing a fic but I'll try my best for the Schez ❤️)

The dark mage never liked parties. Or loud noises. Or the sound of balloons popping every three seconds. He wasn't a fun person, and so nobody ever remembered what the 16th of March meant to Schezo. Not even a happy birthday or even somebody saying hello. Just silence.

Schezo was used to silence, but this much silence was deafening. Was he selfish for wanting somebody to celebrate something that seems so trivial? His older brother used to make a big deal out of it—

Schezo cut that train of thought off as soon as it started. He missed his family, sure, but there's no use crying over spilled milk. That's what life had taught him.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps alarmed the mage. "Who goes there?!" Schezo yelled, though he didn't want to scare his only visitor. He felt rather lonely today of all days, and he didn't understand why.

"Why, it's just the comet warlock himself! Happy birthday, Dark Mage!" Lemres walked through the door, a chipper smile on his face. A cake with white icing, gumdrops and lots of sprinkles was in Lemres's hands. He placed it down and, only then did a small, shy figure make itself, or rather himself, present.

Klug had tagged along to celebrate Schezo's birthday, even if it was only to make up for those times where he intruded on the mage before him. "What is the meaning of this?" Schezo was skeptical... What if the warlock had poisoned his cake? Or what if this was a planned attack, and that tiny mage was here to prevent his escape? Or—

"I-I'msorryMrDarkmageIdidn'tmeantointudeallthosetimesIwasjust—" Klug was panicking, his voice was shaky and he could barely get his words out. Lemres put a hand on his shoulder, calming him down slightly.

"M-My apologies... As I was saying, I'm s-sorry for intruding into y-your cave and I was thinking th-that I could make it up to you... By celebrating y-your birthday!"

Schezo was confused now. That pesky little mage and that comet warlock were celebrating his birthday? But he thought that nobody cared. Nobody even turned up all day until these two... Wait, how did that little mage even know when to celebrate?! Unless that comet warlock told him. Well, he was slightly thankful.

"We worked on this cake for ya! It's to make up for the time I ate yours... And for Klug intruding... So, happy birthday! How would you like to celebrate?"

Lemres spoke calmly... Schezo had to admit, he really was a cool-headed genius, as Klug had said aboard the SS Tetra.

"Celebrate? You mean it? This isn't some cruel joke, is it? Hmph... I never knew you two, of all people, would be my desire..."

Schezo quickly face-palmed. He was quick to realize what he had just said. "I-I meant I never had guess th-that you would desire to celebrate my birthday!" He sighed, his face a rosy red. Lemres enjoyed the sight, letting out a small chuckle, while Klug clung onto his arm.

"Sh... Shall we share the cake? After all, there's no way I'd ever get through all of this."

Just as soon as Schezo awkwardly mumbled those words, a small, formal voice lingered in his head 'How very kind of you, master,' It said. Great. His own sword was treating him like he was 14 again.

"How very kind of ya—"

"Don't." Schezo cut off Lemres before he could finish. He then walked up to the cake, a small, appreciative smile on his pale face. The dark sword didn't even touch the cake, just one small slash and three equal pieces were cut.

"If you can't eat it all now, I have a few tubs you can take home." Schezo stated as served the cake, one rather large slice for everyone.

"S-So, am I forgiven?" Klug asked, a nervous and awkward look on his face.

Despite his usual demeanor, in front of this mighty mage and his idol, he felt tiny. Like an insect... But that soon faded away as Schezo gave the poor boy a small nod and a smile.

Schezo just hoped that the boy wouldn't end up like him... But that was the future, and right now, he had to entertain his guests.

"A delicious slice of cake, if I do say so myself~ After a long day of baking, I think it paid off~" Lemres laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and he succeeded.

Soon everyone was cracking jokes and getting to know one another. Schezo, after 166 years, could finally celebrate his birthday with those he loves, and it almost felt as if his family was right there beside him. In fact, they were... His own, new, little family.

[sleepy-lil-kit-kat]

your fic with hades was SO CUTE!!! i loved it! :D i was wondering if you could do something else with him? it can be anything!!! i think he would be super protective as a cg!!! maybe meg and hercules question his ability to watch over a regressor, thinking their not safe with him. i dunno just a thought!! thank you!!

skies will be gray

~600 words, not on ao3

same as before, disney's hercules and some Greek mythology. set ambiguously post-canon

cg!hades, regressor!reader, ascended-to-godhood!reader. due to being from a pov that is very attached to hades, not wholly sympathetic to meg and hercules. hurt/comfort

i ought to admit, this... isn't my best work, lol. i rewatched hercules and it still didn't feel right, but i felt bad letting the request sit too long in my inbox. Meg and Hercules are... sorta the villains here? they're doing it from a place of caring, and Meg has a lotta issues with Hades... they're not bad guys really, but they are making a mistake (maybe one i might write them fixing later. who knows!)

- k!nk/nsfw please dni! this is a sfw age regression post! -

requests are open! see my pinned <3

"Lord Hercules, Lady Megara. My Lord speaks of you both." You clutch your chiton tightly as you look at the two heroes, trying not to betray your nerves too strongly. Or betray the fact that you really, truly, do not want to speak.

"My father's mentioned you as well." You stiffen up at that, even though it's probably just the usual gossip that goes around when a mortal ascends. Probably, most likely, flavoured with that disdain for Hades and those that live with the dead that all the gods above have.

"I see. Well, please excuse me, but I must be getting on with my duties." The formal mask serves you well, here.

"What exactly is your domain? Hades is as close-lipped as ever on the matter."

"Well, Lady Megara, I don't–see how it is of any concern to you. Please excuse me." You bow shortly, then step back and let your form dissolve into smoke, so that you can be on your way. So that you can escape.

(It's quite likely, you think, that you'll need to sit with Hades for a while when you get back. And he'll rant about how the gods favour the heroes born to them, but you don't mind that.)

-

"You manage to get that stubborn ghost back down here?" Hades is as ever, and that in itself is enough to calm you just a little.

Mechanically, you nod, then sit yourself down on your cushion, letting yourself go sort of limp.

"Stressful time up there, huh? You ran into someone?"

For a second time, you nod, and hold up two fingers so that he can see.

"Two someones, huh? Don't worry, kid, barely anyone's likely to come down here after you."

You flinch.

"Ran into someones who... might?" He himself sounds hesitant now, though he hides it well. "It wasn't Hercules and Megara, though, right?"

Though you don't say anything, your stillness is answer enough.

"Oh, mercy," he says, and then you spy, at a distance, the two heroes. Hades rises to his feet, and so do you, clinging to the fabric of his robes as though it's anchoring you to reality. "So nice to meet again, heroes," he drawls."

"You've been hurting the godling."

Rapidly, you shake your head, but you don't think they see it.

"Hades, we spoke to them earlier, and they said–"

"They spoke? That's strike one, then, because if they can help it, they don't." Hades's firey hair turns red as he interrupts Hercules. "Go on, why do you think I'm hurting the kid."

"You're hardly the best candidate to care for anyone!" Megara's eyes are practically burning as she says it. You know of their history, you know that she has every reason to think this, but–

You tremble slightly, clinging tighter to Hades.

"Get out."

"But-"

"Get. Out."

Even faced with the god's wrath, his form covered in ruby-red flame, they don't back down. Hercules puffs up more "Not unless-"

"Stop it," you whisper, unable to take much more of this.

Improbably, the two heroes hear you. Hercules pales, and they both–

–they say something to each other, and then they leave.

There's a beat. Hades turns, crouches down. "Hey, hey kid," he says, tone oh so gentle, gentler than you think you've ever heard it before, despite the rage that he'd been in just a minute ago. (He'd... he'd calmed himself, for you.) "Those idiots are gone now, yeah?"

You nod, slowly.

He sighs slightly, though it's not you he seems aggravated at, and lifts you up. Unlike what usually happens though, he just holds you there. Like a moth to a flame, you press yourself closer to him, soaking up his shadowy-safe presence. In his arms, you're so small, so protected. Nothing could ever hurt you.

All is right with the world.

[naivesilver]

Since it persists on being too hot to focus on my more useful OUAT fics, have a disgustingly self-indulgent Pinocchio Swap AU turned "Please Let Piccolino Have A Loving Family" AU moment 🙃🥰

"Grandfather," Pinocchio asks, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the worktable, "why are there so many clocks here?"

He half expects Mr. Marco to scold him for asking such a silly question, but instead the man just chuckles fondly and pats Pinocchio over the head, earning himself a giddy grin. "Ah, that's just because I like fixing them, lad. They need a more delicate touch than doors and plumbing, you see."

"But only one of them is working. Why's that?"

"That is because I don't have the time to spare for them all." Mr. Marco gestures vaguely towards the single working clock, hanging from the wall on the back of the workshop. "That one, though- August helped me sort it out, when he'd just arrived here. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes!" Pinocchio immediately interrupts his curious poking around the table, all but bouncing with enthusiasm. He likes learning about things August is involved with. August's always doing some really cool stuff, it seems.

As such, he lets the old man pick him up and lift him high enough that Pinocchio can see the clock from up close, and doesn't protest when the boy leans even closer, marvelling at the nice carvings in the wood - Pinocchio doesn't wiggle out so much to risk falling, which would for sure earn him a scolding, but still, it's the principle of the thing. He wouldn't feel so certain that he's safe being held like this, with some other people.

He thinks he knows a little of how things work in Storybrooke, now. Not everything, of course, but at least what he needs to get by on a normal day - he knows he can close the window blinds at night if he's worried someone will enter as he sleeps, and that he doesn't need anyone's permission to do so; he knows he can go crawl on August's lap if he's lonely and the man is writing or talking to someone, so long as he doesn't get too much in the way; he knows that if he wants to go pet Dr. Hopper's dog there are multiple adults who'll hold onto Gina for him, because dogs are so much bigger than her and she gets frightened easily around them.

He still doesn't know whether Mr. Marco is okay with Pinocchio calling him Grandfather or not, but that kind of thing is so confusing here, he's not sure he's ever going to puzzle it out. Back home he was supposed to address all older people like that, but Storybrooke? Beats him. Maybe it's too formal for them, who knows.

The clock ticks by another minute. Pinocchio squints at it, following the moving hands with his finger for a moment - the numbers are written a little different from what he remembers, but it's not too long before he can safely declare: "It says it's six minutes past two. That's it, right?"

"Very good," Mr. Marco praises him, and it doesn't feel like a mockery, even if he does sound genuinely surprised. "You know how to tell the time already, then? What a clever boy."

"Yeah." Pinocchio's chest swells with pride, and he points eagerly at one of the other clocks, the still broken ones. "That one's saying it's half past six, but that's because it's stuck. And that one thinks it's midday. Or midnight, I don't know."

"Yes, that's right. Good job. Say, who taught you so well?"

"An old man in a town. He said that because I had a nice watch, I should know how to read the time."

He doesn't like thinking about that too much, honestly. The old man, yes - he'd met a lot of nice elderly people in his travels, more than he did nice younger ones, at least - but the memory of the watch itself makes his chest clench painfully, like the time he was underwater without air before the dogfish happened.

He wonders what they did with it, after he lost it when he turned into a donkey. He's not even sure it still worked at that point, because it fell pretty hard, and the Coachman didn't give him time to check on it before leading him away with his rope - Pinocchio hopes it didn't break too badly, even if he can't have it anymore. It was a good pocket watch, nice to look at. He'd never owned anything so nice before that, and even though he's received lots of gifts since he came to Storybrooke, it's not the same thing. People are richer there than they were in his old land. They always seem to have something to spare for him, especially August and Mr. Marco and the gruff lady at the diner.

He must have gone quiet for too long, however, because the man gives him a little shake, if not a very rough one. "You alright, lad?"

Pinocchio nods, even though the picture of the golden watch is still flashing in front of him, as if it were the sun and he'd stared at it for too long. "Grandfather?"

"Yes, Pinocchio?"

"Can I see how to fix them, too, when you have time? Like you and August did?"

He's not really thinking he could manage it, honestly. He's not good enough for that. But anything's better than being stuck remembering the same thing over and over again, with no way to stop it. Physically doing something usually works as a distraction, like when he couldn't solve his math problems and he'd just up and start running.

For a couple seconds he worries he won't be able to explain himself if Mr. Marco asks him about it, but the old man doesn't, and instead simply nods, his mouth curling in a warm smile.

"Of course," he says, sounding a little choked up. "You're a smart boy. I'm sure you'll learn very fast."

"Really?"

"Well, yes. Why don't you go look for August and ask him, too? I bet he'll say the same thing."

Pinocchio nods again, allowing Mr. Marco to carefully put him down and darting away towards August's room as soon as his feet have touched the floor. He's not completely certain he didn't say something wrong yet, especially when he was distracted, but it's fine. He's fine. He would have been told, if someone was mad at him. That's how it works in Storybrooke.

And even if he did make someone mad, he can learn how to fix that. Just like the clocks. Just like the golden watch, stuck in another world that it might be.

[spacestationstorybook]

safeshiptember day 11: magic

was planning to write a lot of fics for the second half of the month because there are a Lottt of prompts i want to do but college feels like it's gonna be pretty busy so idk how many of them i'll get to. but this one was a must do...bernie learns a spell :) inspired by the fact that the first reason-based spell she can learn is blizzard.

word count: 1318

Normally, Bernie would never dream of doing something so utterly senseless and terrifying as following the instructions of a random note slipped under her dormitory door, but the note telling her to meet its sender behind the greenhouse is, to her immense relief, written in familiar spiky handwriting. Despite the fact that they’ve probably progressed past such formality, it’s also signed--just A--probably because they like the dramatics of it all. 

And so, at the appointed time, Bernie is behind the greenhouse, to meet her dearest friend.

Antigone greets her with a familiar grin, eyes sparkling. “You made it! Glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“Y--you don’t really scare me anymore, I guess,” Bernie says shyly. “Well. Not really.”

The smile gets bigger. “I consider that a great accomplishment, then.”

“Why’d you send that note? You’re not mad at me, are you?” Despite trying her very best to stay calm, a note of panic pitches itself into her voice before she can stop it.

“No! Absolutely not. I wanted to…the other day, in class, you said something about sometimes wishing you could do the things that people like me and‏‏‎ ‎Linhardt‏‏‎ ‎do. And I--well, not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m somewhat of a magical prodigy--not that it’s unusual for a‏‏‎ ‎Vestra--and I thought, if you’d like it, I could teach you a spell? Just a little one, nothing too scary or extreme.”

“Oh! I--you’d do that?”

Bernie knows a little magic that her mother taught her as a child, but nothing complex, just simple spells that anyone could do--healing a tiny cut, or lighting a torch. She knows she’d never be on the level of any serious mages, but…it is sort of exciting, the idea of wielding a powerful spell. Just knowing you hold that much power in your hands.

“If that’s something you’d like.”

“I--I guess so,” she says, a little hesitantly at first, but she nods her head more firmly, trying to imbue herself with confidence. “I mean. Um, yes, I’d like to try it. As long as it doesn’t hurt or anything--it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“It shouldn’t if you have a good teacher,” says Antigone, with a reassuring smile.

She smiles back, even if she’s still a little nervous. “I guess I’ll trust you this time, then.”

“I thought we’d start with a simple elemental spell,” Antigone says, in the tone of voice that implies they’ve been spending considerable time coming up with a plan. “They’re usually the easiest for beginners, though harder to master, and they’re the best for people who don’t show any particular sort of magical affinity.”

“I don’t have an affinity? Is that bad?”

Antigone shakes their head vigorously. “No! It just means you’re not from a family that prioritized magical power.‏‏‎ ‎Vestras‏‏‎ ‎have been dark magic practitioners for generations, and it’s expected of us to…to marry other dark mages, so the magic continues to get passed through our bloodline.”

Their enthusiasm fades when the subject of marriage approaches. Bernie knows they’re thinking about what might be the only thing in the world that scares them. She remembers the last time they talked about this.‏‏‎ ‎Hubert’s‏‏‎ ‎duty is to‏‏‎ ‎Edelgard‏‏‎ ‎first, they’d said, so it’s okay if he doesn’t get married. I’m the one who they want to continue the line, but I..the thought of getting married to some man I don’t know, saints forbid bearing his children…I can’t do that. I know it’s not a phase that I’ll grow out of no matter how much my father tries to tell me it is. I can’t do it. Not for my family. Not for anyone. 

It was the most serious she’d ever seen them. She wishes she knew how to comfort them. She still does. Despite how similar her own situation is, she’s still so afraid she’d say the wrong thing and ruin her closest friendship. She hopes, somehow, that they can feel how much she cares.

Antigone shakes themself off. “Never mind that. The point is--anyone can do magic, some people just have deeper reserves or more natural power to draw from. It doesn’t mean you can’t learn!”

“Okay. Um. What should I do?”

She holds a hand out in front of her, as if it’ll crackle to life with magic on its own. 

“Well, first things first--could I hold your hand?”

“What?” she squeaks, face reddening so fast she thinks she might burst into flames on the spot. Wouldn’t that be a fascinating display of magic. 

“To--to share some of my magic with you,” Antigone says hurriedly. “It, um, it helps when you’re learning to have someone give you a little power boost--Hubert‏‏‎ ‎did it with me when we were children--never mind, you don’t have to--”

“No!” she says, far too loudly. “It’s okay, y--you can.”

AUGH what is her PROBLEM why is she so NERVOUS about this?? More so than she is about everything else?? They’re just trying to help, why is she so weird about it?

They extend their hand to her. Her mouth feels dry and her face is still hot, but she takes it before she can overthink and run away. Her heart is beating so loud, she wonders if Antigone can hear it. 

They’re friends. Friends can hold hands. They do it all the time. This is a completely normal thing that she should be feeling very normal about.

Their hand is a little cold. It helps her think straight again.

“Okay,” Antigone says. “Focus on pulling up your magic from inside of you. Do it slowly, like you’re siphoning water. Feel it travel to the palm of your hand.”

Bernie focuses. There’s a small sparking feeling in her chest, and she gasps at the sudden sensation but tries to keep her mind on it. She tries to memorize it--the way it fizzes, the way it moves, the way it almost hurts but it’s more like a tiny shock, like what happens when you touch carpet. She tries to give it a tiny tug towards her hand. At first she almost yanks it, and squeaks at the sudden burn it leaves behind, almost like the few times she’s tried alcohol (and hated it). Antigone squeezes her hand reassuringly, and she takes a deep breath out. Siphon it. She imagines herself separating off little threads, like she’s embroidering, and moves those threads towards her palm.

“Now cool it down,” says Antigone. “Cooler and cooler, until it’s freezing--and then let it go.”

She imagines swallowing an ice cube. Her hand tingles with the sensation, and before she can hold it for too long, she lets the magic out.

A burst of snowflakes and tiny shards of ice whirl out from her palm, dancing in a sudden breeze. They look at odds with the cheerful summer’s day, but at the same time…they’re beautiful. So much so that Bernie can’t believe she really made them.

Antigone laughs in delight. “You did it! On your first try! I knew you’d be good at this.”

“You did?” Bernie asks, disbelieving.

“Well, I figured you would be. You’re good at more things than you think you are,” says Antigone, and oh, wow, is that smile really for her?

“T--that’s not true,” she weakly protests. “I mean, I do a lot of things, but I don’t know if I’m really good at--”

Antigone snorts dismissively. “Don’t say that. Come on, you can cook, paint, write, embroider, you even craft your own stuffed things! And you take better care of the plants in the greenhouse than almost anyone else I know. You amaze me almost every day, Bernie. Really.”

“You’re just saying that,” she murmurs, though by now she’s so flustered it’s barely audible.

They bump her shoulder gently with their own. “I’m very smart, you know. I’m rarely ever wrong.”

She can’t help but giggle at that. It hasn’t even occurred to her yet that they’re still holding hands. 

[thesunwillneversethere]

In defense of CyberAxolotl, PikaPikaFlower, and VinnieCervine

I’ll begin by saying I am not someone directly associated with the situation of these three, but a friend that CyberAxolotl vents to frequently, and I have known her since early 2020. This post was created with her input. I’ve never formally met VinnieCervine or PikaPikaFlower, but it’s told me about them, and told me about what’s been happening in their lives recently. And I feel the need to address some accusations made against them.

No names about other people associated with this situation will be said. This is an in-defense-of post, I am not attacking anybody.

There is a call-out post out there targeted onto CyberAxolotl and VinnieCervine based on their actions in 2020-2021, anywhere from 2-3 years ago at this time. I feel like it should be unnecessary to address their pasts when, at the times of 2-3 years ago, CyberAxolotl would be 12-13 and VinnieCervine would be 14-15. However, I will unpack them either way.

The label of “exclusionist” in the context of LGBT discourse on Cyberaxolotl is outdated information. CyberAxolotl is not exclusionist anymore, it was an old opinion that she no longer has. Told by CyberAxolotl, she regrets having had it.

CyberAxolotl has also been accused of making a r^pe fanfiction. It’s unfortunate to say that this claim is true, but a talk with her yields that she never meant to write it like that, and she regrets writing it at all. As said by her, 

Cyberaxolotl, as it said itself, didn't realize how messed up her fic was back then. Its also important to note that in her friend group, no one told her that it was messed up, meaning no one warned it about it.

I can understand why that action can make her unforgivable to a lot of people. She knows better now and has known better for a very long time now, and it wishes to forget that it had ever happened. But, as she said, she can’t unwrite it. All she can do is apologize and never do it again, and she KNOWS not to do it again, she’s not 12 anymore.

I believe those are two of the most major things in the past that required addressing. In their pasts, Pika was not associated with them. And, as people do, they’ve grown over two-three years

Now, new stuff has happened.

Today, CyberAxolotl is 15, VinnieCervine is 17, and PikaPikaFlower is 18. 

CyberAxolotl and PikaPikaFlower are in a romantic relationship, and CyberAxolotl and VinnieCervine are in a queerplatonic partnership.

15 and 18 is on thin ice for an age gap, and the two of them very much know that. However, a three year age gap is legal in both of their states, so long as they are not sexualizing or having sex with each other. Specifically, so long as CyberAxolotl is not being sexualized, or sharing depictions of herself naked or in sexual situations.

The two have been in a relationship since CyberAxolotl was 14 and PikaPikaFlower was 17, and are still together now. CyberAxolotl’s birthday comes before PikaPikaFlower’s, in July, while her girlfriend’s comes in September. They are always within the three year age gap.

Now, here’s something that you might not like; most teenagers are going to talk about sex, or porn, or stuff related to the topic with each other. When you’re comfortable and close with someone, even at their age, that tends to happen. What it doesn’t mean is that they are sexualizing themselves, oftentimes, especially in fandom culture, they’ll be sexualizing adult fictional characters, or their own fictional characters who are adults.

Establishing healthy boundaries is especially important when your relationship has an age gap like theirs. But, CyberAxolotl tells me this;

Teenagers are going to talk about sex with other teenagers or people they’re comfortable with. It’s a lesson everyone is taught coming online to never share sexual pictures of yourself, and CyberAxolotl knows that fully. Their relationship is fully legal so long as CyberAxolotl is not sexualized, and it has said that it’s uncomfortable being sexualized, so I can’t see that as happening. 

Whether you approve of their relationship or not is not your business. CyberAxolotl says she talked with her mother about PikaPikaFlower and their relationship, and her mother reiterates the same lesson of “as long as you aren’t sexualizing yourself, teenagers are going to talk about sex and porn. it’s just what they do.” (Quoted from her)

Any allegations made about PikaPikaFlower being a predator are far-fetched and wrong. Regardless of your opinion on their age gap, it’s legal, and it’s nobody’s business but their own. They’re happy, and if you don’t trust what they tell you about their relationship, then you’ll never be satisfied. And regardless, it is not your right.

And now, something that has been accused of them in the past and now.

Stepping over boundaries and making people uncomfortable, something relevant to all three of them.

CyberAxolotl has a big statement about this to make for herself.

I think some people can relate to the sentiment. If you don’t realize something is wrong, and nobody tells you, you won’t know it’s wrong. That’s what this comes down to, and while I know it can be hard to be patient, improving as a person is hard and needs some understanding. And having NSFW as a big part of your sense of humor can also be a problem, because you can’t really change your entire sense of humor.

And reeling it back, remember that CyberAxolotl and VinnieCervine are children, and all three of them are neurodivergent. It’s not an excuse, but they’re classified as disabilities for a reason. It means that a little extra effort and understanding needs to go in, and if you don’t have the patience for it, that’s okay. They’re all still young, even if PikaPikaFlower is an adult, and they all have time to learn. As long as they want to learn, and are willing to learn for the better part of a change, they can try their best with some help. CyberAxolotl has told me that she’s now more comfortable talking with its mother about her problems and is getting help from its family.

But also remember that changing and growing is not a linear process. They can all grow in some ways and change in others, but sometimes, they’ll end up taking a step back. This is why patience is important, nobody’s recovery or growth will EVER be linear, it’s just human nature. If you don’t want to try to help them, that’s okay, and I’m not saying they haven’t been wrong, but I don’t think anyone should be shunned, reported, or made to feel unwelcome in their community.

I do not want to call anyone a villain in this situation. Things were done wrong, a lot of things. It can’t be undone. I just don’t want these three attacked by anybody.

Thank you for reading to the end. Your thoughts on these three are your thoughts, but I don’t want their lives ruined over these accusations because they CAN be life ruining. Evidenced by problems from years ago being dug up now and brought up again.

I will say this once more; Please do not harass CyberAxolotl, PikaPikaFlower, or VinnieCervine. they are people too, they have made mistakes, but they are growing from their pasts and i want them to be happy and safe.

[ageless-aislynn]

🦅❌📈💕!!! ♡

Yay, thank you so much for the ask! 😁

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

A little bit of both, lol. I don't do a formal outline but I usually get a basic idea, hopefully an opening scene and some scenes along the way, try to get an sense of the general direction, then just jump in and hope it works itself out by the time we reach the end, lol! This is not the most effective way to write, I should add.

Oh well! 🤷‍♀️😂

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Anything that's true horror or that focuses on torture, humiliation or degradation. I don't know if that's considered a trope per se or not but...

📈 How many fics do you have?

At AO3, I currently have 145 but there are actually a few more because I initially posted my Doctor Who fics at Livejournal and when I moved them over to AO3, the smaller ones I combined into collections (oops, and haven't actually finished moving some of them over, now that I just looked at that 😳😉). 113 are for The Flash, with Halo now in second place with 11.

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Right now, Master Chief makes me happy to both read and write but I definitely have to give a shout-out to the ever-villainous-yet-I-love-him/them Eobard Thawne, who remains my most favorite Flash character to drop into when I'm writing. What that says about me, I dunno! 😂

Thanks again! 😁👍💖

Fanfic writer emoji ask

[nyssasorbit]

Psssssttttt what happened that pushed you over the edge, i wanna know so badly

I'm assuming this is about my tag ramble recently.

I don't want to get too much into it, since I don't want to stir up any drama, but I'll kinda detail here what I won't detail in a post I'll probably make later.

Ever since the whole BA drama recently, I feel really...idk what's the right word for it. Disappointed? Disgusted? Embarrassed? Because of the fandom. I don't think the creator alluding to the fact that he's been assaulted in the past should be something taken lightly, and I really hate how the majority of the fandom completely ignored it.

There's a lot of things I don't agree with regarding Er/ik's writing, and, hell, I change shit all the time in my fics, but he's still a person that really doesn't deserve to have gone through something like that. Looking over comments praising him as a creator rather than connecting with him as a person just...really really struck me the wrong way. Yeah, of course people can praise him as a creator, and given that it was relevant to the content, they should add whatever comments they want regarding that! But considering he added something very personal to the conversation...for everyone to overlook it just...makes me wonder if they were even paying attention to what he wrote, or if they just jumped on the opportunity to write a comment for brownie points.

Maybe I'm just biased or something, but I've been through something similar in my own past that I'm still working through, and to see most everyone refuse to offer a little sympathy or just something kind of hurt. Everyone always talks about how much they care about Er/ik, but this instance kind of proves to me that they don't. They treated him like a content machine and only care for the products he dishes out. "Reda/cted" is who everyone loves, not "Er/ik".

And again, I don't necessarily agree with everything Er/ik says or does. I definitely don't agree with his reasons for putting out that BA for several reasons either. But this is just...this situation is just different imo.

This isn't the first time the fandom's gotten on my nerves, and in fact, several months ago I had to take a hiatus to get away from those people. But now, I just can't look at everyone the same way. I can't think about engaging with the content without feeling gross. The fandom's given me these sorts of negative vibes for a long time now, but this is just a new collective low for us. It's made me want to be as far away from this fandom and the content as possible. I want absolutely nothing to do with it.

I know this is long and rambly, and I'm really sorry. I keep wondering if I'm seeing something that isn't there, which is why I want to try to wait until the end of the year to formally leave, in case I realize that or the content itself gives me inspiration again. But right now, I have zero inspiration to keep up my fics, and I barely have enough to try to finish the last bits and edit the finale to the letter series. With Er/ik maybe being MIA for a while and the only [planned] vids being ones I'm kinda not super interested in coming up, this is a good time to leave. I'm not sure if it'll be permanent, and I may come back soonish for the canon content and/or to finish my fics so they don't live in a void forever, but I just want to forget about it all for a while.

I don't intend for this to be seen by others, but for anyone who stumbles across this (and you too anon, ofc), feel free to let me know if I'm seeing something that isn't there, or completely missing something else, because I'd love to be proven wrong about the situation. I've thought over a hundred times why being near the fandom lately makes me feel awful, and this is the best way I can articulate my feelings I think. I'm still really conflicted on it though (as you may have noticed, lol), so feel free to add to the discussion.

Sorry again for the long post, but thank you if you read all the way through!

[bettsfic]

75k words into my magnum opus (the fic I asked for advice about many months ago); got it changed to first person and have not regretted it for a second (she's an unreliable narrator haunted by an extra-dimensional entity only she can see: first person is the only way that makes sense). Anyway, hoping to pick your brain about the second half of the fic. (Full disclosure: i know i need to just think on it more but i'm so impatient! I think about that meme all the time: "turns out to read my fic I have to write it first. Shocked and upset!" Lol.) I want to do a 'mystery', in that the main character has a terrible secret she's holding on to at all costs, she doesn't even *think* about it, but the pieces of the truth are revealed slowly through the second half until the secret comes out in the emotional climax. I want that reveal to be a huge emotional punch, quietly devastating. Like a twist, in that it recontextualizes the prior pieces of information.

But I'm really struggling. This feels like a Big Challenge and I'm daunted (full disclosure: I very much suffer from 'my first draft has to be perfect!' syndrome. It's getting better, but slowly). Any advice on writing mysteries, emotional gut-punches, or anything that occurred to you as I was trying to describe the challenge? Thanks for your time! Also, good luck with the residency! Please keep telling us about it! I'm very intrigued :)

first of all, congrats on 75k and making the change to first person! i really love how complex first person can get from a narratological perspective. a lot of people overlook the fact that first person is a facsimile of consciousness and in its flawed rendition of cognition there's a lot of formal/structural risks you can take with it. in your case, the big risk is implying unfettered access to your character's mind but the reveal isn't just the secret itself, it's that the secret has been denied to the audience, which renders the reliability of the rest of the story suspect (and which will add to the fun of rereading! figuring out what's true and what's not).

[for anyone interested, i wrote a bit about the limitations of the portrayal of reality in fiction. a lot of what i'm going to say relies on what i've already said there.]

what you're talking about, what this all comes down to, is the concept of narratorial access. in every story ever written, the writer has had to, consciously or not, decide how much or how little access we have both to the mind of the narrator and the true events of the story. no access at all would be omniscience; the story is being told from a narrator who cannot see at all into the perspective of the characters and therefore we can imply that the proposed events of the story are entirely true. (example: kent haruf's plainsong)

the opposite, however, is impossible. we can't ever recreate the absolutely true experience of consciousness in writing, because in the mind our thoughts aren't necessarily bound in any specific way. but in writing, we're bound to the necessity of letters presented on a page in sequence. we're bound by language itself. you can think two thoughts at once, but you can never write two thoughts at once. they must go one after the other, and they must be read one after the other. honestly it's one of the great tragedies of reality, that we have this beautiful tool of language that allows us to understand the minds of others, but it's still so profoundly limited.

which is to say, in that impossibility of the portrayal of consciousness, there's still a decision to be made of how close can you get. the more narratorial access we have, the less certainty we have in the true events of the story outside their perspective (this is where the concept of an unreliable narrator comes from. an unreliable narrator is simply a narrator whose perspectives we have a lot of access to).

this example of extreme access is actually very relevant to you: pale fire by vladimir nabokov, in which we have absolutely no fucking clue about the true events of the story and the narrator is keeping a big, big secret from us. he's even keeping the chronology of the story from us. he denies us the very thing nearly all stories offer us: a sequence of events. but that's what nabokov does, right? his portrayal of cognition is so detailed that the work of the reader is figuring out what the story even is.

so, speaking of the work of the reader...

re: emotional climaxes: on a sentence level, a general rule of thumb is that anything you deny the reader, the reader must supply themselves. if you don't describe a setting, the reader must create the setting on their own. if you don't describe a character, the reader must create that character.

this is not to say you should describe everything so your reader doesn't have to do any work. what i'm saying is, pick the work you want your reader to do.

i once had a professor whose feedback was often "i had to put a lot of this information on the page myself, and i don't think that's something you want me to be doing because i've probably gotten it wrong." this is the crux of "show don't tell" and why it's often misunderstood. "show don't tell" is a shitty way of saying the reader likes doing certain work. the reader enjoys drawing conclusions from a character's thoughts or behaviors. the reader doesn't want everything explained to them. but! there are many, many instances where the reader does need things explained to them, which is why "show don't tell" sucks. one of the greatest challenges in writing is figuring out where that balance lies. what do you put on the page? what do you keep off the page? what do you explain outright? what do you leave to interpretation? there's no right or wrong, better or worse. there's only what's appropriate for the story you're trying to tell.

debra gwartney explains it a lot better than me in "when the action is hot, write cool." personally i think this craft essay is a little too prescriptive (there are many genres where this advice just isn't true), but it's an interesting craft technique to keep in mind when approaching your own culminating moments.

the best example i can think of "cool" writing in an emotional climax is jo ann beard's "the fourth state of matter." (major content warning for a school shooting.) you may notice the style right away offers us a LOT of narratorial access. we can assume by reading that the narrator isn't really holding anything back from us, emotionally speaking. we can also assume, since this is nonfiction, the events of the story are true but simply colored by the perspective of a woman going through a messy divorce who has a squirrel trapped in her bedroom. but even though this is a nonfiction essay, we're denied access to reflection; the events of the piece are unfolding to our narrator as they did, presumably, in reality.

(when you have a narrator reflecting from a specific present of the narrative [that's called the point of telling, which is like point of view, but for time instead of character], there's always a decision you have to make in terms of what information to unveil when, considering your narrator already knows the whole story. this is different than if you have an implied ongoing present of the story where the narrator themselves has no access to future events until they happen.)

as you go along reading "the fourth state of matter" a moment happens near the end where the style abruptly changes. the narrator abruptly changes. we shift into a space of impossibility, of pure speculation. we go from highly textured complex sentences to fragmented sentences. we pull far, far back from any emotional connection to the story.

and in doing so, it hurts the reader way, way worse.

beard has denied the acknowledgement of emotion in the sentences themselves, and so the reader must supply it. and in supplying it, they feel it.

i hope this made sense. best of luck in the second half of your story! and if you have any questions about what i said here i can do my best to expand on it.

[why-am-i-here-someone-save-me]

no brain, thoughts dead

but imagine adeptus!reader and human!zhongli

thats all have a good day/night

ASDFGHJKL YIN YOUR BRAIN IS MASSIVEEEE AAAA

Okay I’m not sure if you wanted headcannons or a one shot fic or what, so I decided on a bigger than intended drabble! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! 🤭 Thanks so much for sending in an ask, I was super excited to get my first one!

Teatime Talks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of Liyue’s citizens believed that the adepti had all secluded themselves in Juyen Karst. Few knew of the Conqueror of Demons who still fought his eternal battle with the miasma of fallen gods, and fewer still knew of you. Out of the masses that passed through the harbor, only a select handful were aware of the adeptus that watched over the harbor itself. Only the half-adepti and your old friend knew of your true identity.

Speaking of your old friend, she put down her teacup with a mischievous smile. “Ah, that reminds me [Name] I had the most surprising thing happen the other day. A young man approached me and asked me if I could introduce him to ‘my young friend’. Isn’t that amusing?” You groan and shake your head. This wasn’t the first time that you’d been mistaken as Madame Ping’s ‘younger’ friend, despite being older than her. “And what did you tell them?”

You’re met with an uncharacteristicly smug smirk from your friend as she answers. “Why, I invited him to come and join us for tea!” You don’t get any time to respond, as a man with long brown hair politely inquires if he could join you. Ping makes a show of warmly agreeing, obviously amused by your hidden distress. If it weren’t for the fact that you care about her so much, you’d have already walked out on her shenanigans. But you relent, choosing to humor your old friend. What you had not been anticipating however, was for the man to immediately throw you for a loop. “You are not a human, correct?” Ping watched silently as your eyes become a small bit guarded. “…And if Im not? Why do you ask?” The man simply smiles, and the wariness in your eyes fades a little bit at the genuine expression. “Then I suppose if you’re not, my intuition would be incorrect this time. I’ve been told I have a knack for picking up on strange things.” An amused grin forms on your face. “Oh? Well, I’ll believe that I guess, seeing as how you’re correct. I am [Name].”

His eyes flash with recognition as a twinkle of excitement enters his eyes. “Ah, I’ve read of you. You are an adeptus who oversees the safety of the Harbor, correct?”

You are a bit surprised to hear that he knows who you are. The few books written about adepti that you had known of hadn’t ever mentioned you. You quite preferred it that way in all honesty. It was calmer. Yet seeing this man be so genuinely intrigued by you and your work felt… nice. Ping smiled mischievously as the two of you began to talk, slipping away while you were in the middle of telling your new companion who you were.

“It is an honor to meet you honored adepti;” You roll your eyes at his formality, having never been one who enjoyed such things, “and an even bigger honor to have been able to have tea with you. I do hope that I get to meet again sometime.” You laugh a bit at his solem tone, smiling a bit. “Hmm, sometime seems a bit too vague. How about you just join us again next week instead? Perhaps I’ll tell you a few stories that your books haven’t told you about.” The smile that breaks across his face is beautiful. “That reminds me though. I don’t believe I ever got your name.”

“My name is Zhongli. It was wonderful speaking with you [Name].” As he leaves you glance over and the once empty seat next to you, finding Ping’s smirking expression looking back at you. You’d be annoyed about how she left you if it weren’t for how wonderful the conversation between you and Zhongli had been. A huff makes it’s way from your lungs as you rolled your eyes at your old friend.

“I’ll admit Ping. You’ve found an interesting one this time…”

[thunder-at-dawn]

Yearning

word count: 2,311

summary: sometimes, you don’t realize how much you miss something until it’s right in front of you.

this fic is a bit different then my usual ones! i played around with my writing style, and it’s pretty much half tickle fic, half me exploring characterization stuff. it’s a tad bit messy but whatever. anyways i haven’t written any eternalduo fics since last year, and that is too much time for me to not write about them. enjoy! :D

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

extra notes: this fic takes place a couple of days after c!foolish joined the smp, in january of 2021. also, this fic is platonic. if you tag this as romantic i will fight you in a denny’s parking lot at 3am /neg

Foolish didn’t think he would ever see her again. And he still hasn’t, in a way.

When the totem of death had met Eret, she was a powerful being. She could defeat anyone in battle, yet still had the most relaxed, carefree, whimsical personality out of anyone that he had ever met. It was a perfect balance of light and darkness.

When the totem of life had met Eret, she was frantic. Uptight. Cautious. And he didn’t really blame her. She was a king, after all.

He just wondered what had made her this way.

So, here he was, in her castle, wandering and looking for the royal. Foolish wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to speak to Eret. He didn’t even know what he was going to talk about. He just… yearned for her, supposedly.

Some familiar humming could be heard around the corner, and Foolish saw the door to the castle library wide open. Taking a peek inside, he could see Eret walking amongst the bookshelves, a stack of books in her arms. It didn’t take long for her to spot him.

“Foolish?” She questioned.

“…Eret!” He said, stepping inside the room. “Uh, are you busy?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

Foolish paused, wondering what to say next. He didn’t know why, but she seemed to not really know who he was. From her perspective, they had known each other only for a few days. But from his perspective, they had known each other for a whole lifetime.

And he wasn’t sure if “We were best friends years ago and fought against monsters along with a wither cult together, except you don’t seem to remember it or me at all” was the best conversation starter.

“I just… wanted to check in.” He shrugged, walking to her. “How have ya been?”

“I’ve been alright.” She nodded, giving him a soft grin. “How about you? How have you been adjusting to your arrival here?”

Instead of answering right away, a thought crossed his mind. Why was she acting so formal? It was just the two of them…

“It’s been pretty good, yeah.” He said in response.

“Can I help you with anything?” Eret wondered aloud.

“Not particularly, but… is it okay if I stay here for a little bit?” The totem asked, hoping to not intrude.

“Oh, of course!” She nodded. “My castle is a home to all who pass by. You don’t ever have to ask, Foolish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled as Eret turned back around.

As she went back to stacking books on the bookshelves, Foolish looked around the surrounding area. The walls were sky-high, decorated with paintings and glass mosaic windows. Yet, the library felt small, but not in a bad way. It was homey, in a sense. Multiple chairs were set around a table, an ottoman couch aligned itself against the wall, and the lit fireplace emitted warmth into the library.

Foolish sat down at the table, which had various books and papers scattered about it. “So, what exactly are you doing right now?” He asked.

“Oh, just some organizing.” Eret called back to him.

“You seem like the organizer type.” Foolish thought.

“Hm, I suppose I could be described as such.” Eret said with a light chuckle.

Wait, did he say that out loud?

“It just helps me keep my mind off of things, I guess.” She continued. “I enjoy it, it keeps myself busy.”

Foolish nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes drawn to what was on the table. He could see books open to pages about historical events, and he saw a couple of photos of people he had and hadn’t met yet. Eret walked over, giving Foolish a soft, comforting smile as she placed some books onto the table, and grabbed the ones that were already there. She turned around and started walking away, and Foolish quickly stood up to follow her.

“This castle is really big… did you build it all yourself?” He asked.

“Mostly, with a bit of assistance here and there.” Eret nodded.

She had always had a passion for building. Foolish remembered times of back in the day, when Eret would always talk about large building projects she wanted to do, but didn’t have the time for.

Even with how much she’s changed, it made him happy to see that this passion of hers had stayed the same over time.

Eret hummed to herself, quickly walking amongst the bookshelves and finding the right places to put the books in. Foolish was low-key amazed with how easily she did it, even if it was relatively simple.

“You’re quite intriguing, you know.”

Foolish looked to his friend, who was looking back at him. “…I am?” He raised an eyebrow, confused.

“You are.” Eret nodded, turning back to the shelves. “I know we only met a couple of days ago, but I felt drawn to you, if I’m being honest. I’m not really sure why… it could be your personality, or that we share similar interest in building things… I don’t know. It’s just… you’re a very interesting person, Foolish.”

Foolish kept staring, unsure what to say in response. The royal turned back to see his surprised face, her lips curling into a small, awkward grin.

“Sorry, that was very sudden. I just felt like I should say it.” She apologized.

“No! No, it’s fine! I appreciate it!” Foolish reassured. “Really, I do.”

Eret nodded. “Well, it’s true. You’re very interesting, I’ll admit.”

“…I’m not really surprised that that’s what you think. I mean, they don’t call me “Foolish “Most Interesting God Alive” Gamers” for nothing.” He joked around, knowing no one had ever called him that. The joke made Eret smile, and then it made her laugh. She shook her head, laughing softly at the other’s silly behavior.

As they stood, Foolish’s emerald eyes looked out the window, seeing the dark night sky. “Oh- wow. I didn’t realize how late it was.” He pointed out.

Eret turned, noticing the darkness as well. “Oh my. It doesn’t even feel like you’ve been here for long.” She sighed, turning back to her friend. “Well, you know what they say. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

The totem grinned, happy to know that Eret enjoyed his company.

“I should probably get going.” He said, unsure if he wanted to leave, in all honesty.

“Well, you get a good night’s rest.” She nods. “And like I said earlier, my castle is home to anyone that steps inside. You’re welcome to come and visit any time.”

“I’ll be sure to, Eret.” Foolish nodded in return, leaning forward and placing his hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, as if to say, “I’ll definitely be back.”

However, Eret let out a startled noise, stepping away and placing a hand over her mouth.

Foolish stared at her, intrigued. “What was that?” He asked.

“I- Nothing. It was nothing.” Eret said, looking away and placing one final book on it’s shelf.

“Nothing?” Foolish repeated. “It didn’t seem like nothing, it-”

Oh.

Oh.

In that moment, Foolish had remembered one small, tiny detail about his friend.

And by the looks of it, it was a detail that had stayed the same about Eret, even after all these years.

“Eret?” Foolish questioned, this time, with mischievous intent that was obvious to the other.

“Foolish, I thought you said you had to get going.” Eret said with a nervous grin.

The god huffed out a breath. “You know what? You’re right. It’s getting dark. I had fun spending time with you, though.” He exclaimed, holding his hand out to Eret. She looked a bit confused at first, but slowly reached towards his hand to give him a handshake. And then…

BZZZT!

As a small spark united between them, Eret burst into giggles, pulling her hand away. “Whahat the hell?!” She asked Foolish, who held a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Gotcha!” He giggled along with her.

“That… that felt weird.” She said, looking at her own hand.

“Weird how?” Foolish smirked, knowing the answer. Eret looked up, giggling with a nervous smile on her face.

“Oh, come on, pal! You were all chatty with me earlier, and now you’re not answering my question! Kind of rude, don’t you think?” He poked at her side a couple of times, watching her flinch and squirm away.

“Fohoolihish-” She snickered, returning to covering her mouth with her hand. She felt the other’s hands wrap around her torso and squeeze at her sides, and she didn’t have time to properly think before her body went limp like jello.

“Oh goHOD!” Eret melted in his hold, uncovering her mouth and letting her laughter flow free.

“Awww, there’s that smile!” Foolish cooed, squeezing up and down and up and down again. He noticed that Eret was losing balance, so he slowly lowered her to the ground, following her down and continuing his playful attack.

“You’re not even fighting back!” Foolish noted out loud, to which his friend let out an embarrassed, giggly whine into his chest. While keeping one hand squeezing away at her side, he surprised her by using her other hand to scribble at her stomach. Eret let out a sudden squeal, her squirming increasing almost instantly. She continued to laugh until she grabbed onto Foolish’s wrists.

“O-Ohokahay! Thahat’s eHEnohough!” She giggled as Foolish’s hands came to a stop. They were looking right at each other, and he could see her smile.

Now, for the past few days of knowing each other, Eret had smiled at Foolish. She had given him small, welcoming, smiles and warm grins. This, however, right now? It was a smile. A large, goofy, genuine smile.

It was the smile that Foolish had recognized from seeing it years ago. It was the smile that would be on Eret’s face whenever exploring a hidden temple. It was the smile that would be on Eret’s face when she was laughing too hard to be able to get out a full sentence. It was the smile that was Eret’s face when she and Foolish had realized that they had defeated the wither cult for good.

And right now, it was the genuine smile that Foolish had longed to see. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to see it. How much he needed to see it. All of those years of memories were flooding back to him, and it made him feel warm inside.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by a shriek of his own laughter.

“EHERET-! Wahait! WaHAhait!” He squealed out, feeling fingers start to dance along his sides. “Thihis ihisn’t faHAIHIR!”

“Oh come on, I’m just doing what you did to me! And I, for one, think that’s completely fair!” Eret grinned, swiping her nails across his belly and making him giggle like mad. “Wow, it looks like you’re a lot more ticklish than myself.” She teased.

“NohOHOhoho!” Foolish whined. “Ihi’m nohot!”

“Really?” Eret smirked evilly, more than willing to test that theory. She increased the speed of her fingers, wiggling themselves all around his side and stomach.

“And you’re not even fighting back, either! How adorable…” She smiled, giggling as she watched Foolish’s face become pink with embarrassment. In this moment, her hands trailed down to his hips, lightly scratching along them. Foolish’s laughter went up a whole octave, and he covered his face with his hands.

“Is this a bad spot?” Eret teased, her movements light and taunting. Foolish shook his head no, and the two of them knew that was a lie. She squeezed at his hips and used the tips of her nails to add light scratching to the sensation. The shark hybrid let out a loud snort, laughing and grabbing onto her wrists as she had done with him earlier.

“OKAHAY! Okayokayohokahay! Tihime ohout!!” He insisted, watching as Eret laughed and pulled her hand away. The two of them sat together on the floor, looking into each other’s eyes and letting leftover giggles fill the air.

“I should prohobably go, it’s pretty dark out.” Foolish stated, standing up and helping Eret stand up as well.

“Alright.” Eret sighed, grinning as she held onto Foolish’s hand. “…Foolish, I know we’ve known each other only for a couple of days, but… I have a feeling this friendship will last for a long time.”

We’ve known each other only for a couple of days.

Those words rung painfully in Foolish’s ears. They had a lifetime of memories together as best friends, and she didn’t remember a single one of them.

And before he realized he had done so, Foolish had pulled Eret into a tight hug.

The library that was filled with the joyous sounds of laughter just a few minutes ago was now filled with a cold silence.

Eret paused, surprised, but she hugged him back after a moment. Her warmth made Foolish feel a familiar feeling that he had not felt in a while.

He felt at home.

Eret pulled away, smiling. “I suppose I’ll see you soon?” She asked.

“Yeah… yeah.” Foolish nodded, giving her one last look before walking towards the door. “Night, Eret!”

“Goodnight, Foolish.” She said, following him until he had left the room, and then gently closing the door behind him.

Foolish walked down the halls of her castle, heading towards the entrance to leave. As he walked along the wooden floor, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit upset. He didn’t know what had caused Eret to lose her memories, and he wanted to know. However, the sadness was quickly replaced with a feeling of hope. Hope for a bright future with his friend.

It was just as she said. Even though Eret had only known him for a couple of days, they were already very close.

Maybe one day, they would become as close as they used to be.

[fruitcoops]

hii would you write a coops fic that takes place before they’re out when they’re still sneaking around but have like a sweet date night at remus’s apartment

Of course! This is a continuation of Newcomers and Nargles, where Remus babysits Luna Lovegood. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Thank you for having me over,” Sirius said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. The only light came from his kitchen, which was far enough away that they were left in soft shadows on his couch. “Really, Re, this is wonderful.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he laughed, though Sirius could see the pink flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just pasta and my apartment.”

“I love your apartment.”

The flush deepened. “Moody calls it my hamster cage. You had to duck to get in the door.”

“Details.” Sirius leaned forward for a proper kiss to his lips; they had set a timer for the pasta and had a while yet, if his memory was correct. Plenty of time to settle himself more comfortably in Remus’ lap and kiss him until he got the glazed look in his eyes that Sirius adored.

He wanted this all the time. To come home with Remus every night, without fear of the wrong person (or anyone, really) seeing them. He wanted to kiss him in public and keep his hand in Remus’ back pocket like a cliché movie couple and watch Remus light up when he held his hand. He wanted.

Remus made a soft noise and slid his arms around his waist, holding him light and cozy while he traced small swirls on the small of Sirius’ back. It sent goosebumps racing along his spine—Sirius cupped Remus’ jaw in his hands and hummed his approval. The room was so wonderfully warm, filled with the smell of cooking pasta and sauce on the stove. They had made it together; shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, trading kisses in the steam.

God, he wanted it so much it ached.

Remus trailed light kisses along his neck, taking pauses to nuzzle Sirius’ skin and nibble his collarbones. Sirius buried his face in honey curls and let himself believe this was his everyday life. Their everyday life.

A quick knock at the door shattered the illusion. Sirius felt the blood flee his face as they both froze. “Who is that?” he managed.

“I don’t know,” Remus whispered. His pupils were dilated with fear and, with a pained look, he guided Sirius off his lap so he could stand and turn the rest of the lights on. His slender hands smoothed his sweater and jeans in methodical movements, but Sirius saw their tremors.

He distracted himself from panic by looking around the apartment and all its knickknacks; the feeling of being surrounded by Remus in his most distilled form was unparalleled. A little granite wolf figurine sat with its wooden counterpart on the table by the door; dozens of pictures of family and friends scattered the walls with no rhyme or reason to their placement. It was cluttered in the best possible way, and Sirius wanted his whole life to look like it.

The door clicked open. “Hello?”

“Remus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m so glad you answered.”

Sirius glanced over and saw Remus’ whole body relax as he opened the door further with a smile. “Hey, Pandora, how are you?”

“Doing fine, doing fine. It’s Phil and I’s anniversary and we’ve got dinner at 7:18, but Luna’s babysitter came down with a cold and can’t make it. We just got the text an hour ago and we were hoping you could watch her while we’re out.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “I—well, I have a friend over for dinner, but we made plenty of pasta for one more, I s’pose. Sirius, is that okay with you?”

It took him a moment longer than was prudent to get over the fact that Remus—kind-hearted, friendly, beautiful, so beautiful—was asking his opinion on letting a kid join their date. Their top-secret, possibly-life-ruining-if-discovered date. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so rude!” the woman gasped. She poked her head around the doorway and waved to Sirius—her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder in a messy plait, and her dress seemed to be made of a variety of beads. She was pretty, with a combination of angular features and a heart-shaped face that nudged a memory in the very back of his mind. “I’m Pandora Lovegood, from 7A. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” He padded over and held a hand out to shake, but to his surprise she took it turned it over, furrowing her brow at his palm.

“Well, that’s quite the love line!” She smiled and patted his cheek. Her eyes were glacial blue, but somehow still as warm as a crackling hearth. “Good for you. Your life line isn’t bad, either. I’ll be back with Luna in a moment!”

“Have a good night, Pandora!” Remus called as she fluttered away. “Say hi to Phil for me!”

Sirius was still standing in mild shock when the door closed. “Pandora, Luna, and…Phil?”

“Xenophilius,” Remus said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Her husband, and Luna’s dad.”

“Hell of a name.”

“We can’t really judge, can we?” Some of his amusement dimmed and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his cheek until he smiled. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus looked a bit sad as he looked up despite his smile. “Yeah, but this is our only time together.”

“It’s not the last time I can ever come over to your apartment,” Sirius reminded him as he ran his hands up Remus’ arms. “I think it’s great that you’re doing this for your neighbors. It shows how caring, and sweet, and wonderful—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he laughed, cutting Sirius off with a vivid blush.

“Besides, I agreed to this.” He nudged their noses together. “I’m pretty sure my impressive love line can handle another date sometime soon.”

Remus grinned as he leaned in. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

A tumbling sound came from outside, followed by a peal of giggling and a sharp pattern of knocking. “I did a cartwheel!” a tiny ball of blonde curls announced as it launched itself at Remus’ legs the second the door opened. “Hi, Remus!”

He caught her with a slight wince as Sirius tried to calm his pounding heart. “Hey, sunshine, are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She wriggled down from his arms and gave her mother a bear hug, beaming when her face was covered in kisses.

“Be good,” Pandora said as she set Luna down and brushed her hair out of her face. “Listen to Remus and his friend. We’ll be back by ten at the latest. Thank you both again for doing this. I’ll bring over some cookies tomorrow, Remus.”

“That’s very sweet, Pandora.” Remus’ eyes tensed at the edges, as if he was in pain at the very thought. Pandora whisked herself toward the stairs again and Sirius shut the door behind her. “Luna, do you—”

“I remember you!” Sirius turned and found himself staring into the biggest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. The memory came rushing back in a flood—Remus, frazzled and fluffed at the edges, with a little girl balanced on his hip. Luna stood on her tippy-toes and he leaned down so she could take his face in her hands. After a moment, she nodded. “You’ve done an excellent job of keeping the nargles away, Mr. Sirius.”

“Thank you.”

“Mama said you and Remus were making pasta. May I have some, please?”

“Of course you can,” Remus assured her, ushering her into the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady.”

Sirius waited until Luna had safely skipped out of earshot before bending toward Remus’ ear. “Why does she…?”

“Talk like a normal kid and then a Victorian orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno. I guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a chemist and part-time psychic and your dad owns The Quibbler.” There wasn’t a trace of judgement on Remus’ face as he raised his voice by a few degrees. “Be careful by the stove, honeybun.”

“I will!” Luna chirped back. Sirius couldn’t place why, but he held undeniable affection for the little girl, even after only two meetings. She was unapologetically odd; he was sure he could never get bored of talking with her.

Luna sat on the countertop while they served up dinner, happy as a clam as she recounted her and her father’s hunt for Fizzing Whizbees at the candy store. They were her mother’s favorite, apparently, but Luna had yet to see one in real life. Her conversational skills came to a sharp halt during dinner; it was so startling that Sirius grew concerned after two minutes without her high-pitched contributions.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her plate with a curious glance between them and gave Sirius a bright smile. “I’m making an octocapus.”

“An octopus?” Remus leaned over to look. “Wow, you got all the legs with your noodles! Way to go!”

“You’re a great artist,” Sirius agreed as Luna continued working on her masterpiece.

“Yeah, I know.”

He bit his lip to keep in his laughter and met Remus’ eyes; at first, he had been a bit worried about babysitting during a date, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the night. When their plates were clean and Sirius was warm and drowsy from carbohydrates, Remus collected the dishes and headed back into the kitchen despite Sirius’ offers for help.

Luna gave a wide yawn with her head propped on one hand and turned to Sirius the moment Remus turned the sink on. “Do you give Remus kisses?”

It took all of Sirius’ self-control not to accidentally spew water all over the literal child sitting across from him. Instead, he coughed and spluttered into his napkin while the alarms in his brain began to blare. Remus showed no sign of hearing their conversation while he rinsed out the large pasta pot. “What?”

“I’d like it if you did,” Luna continued with nothing but her usual dreamy expression. “Remus needs friends, and mama says he could use some kisses.”

“I think everyone could use some kisses,” Sirius said evasively. His heart galloped in his chest.

“Hmm. Yeah. How long have you been friends?”

“We’ve known each other a little longer than you’ve been alive, but we’ve only been friends for about two years.”

“That’s a good amount of time.”

“Oh?”

She put her chin in both palms, suddenly looking much older than she was. “I’ve been alive for four whole years. That’s a long time. If you’ve known someone for four whole years, you should give them kisses.”

Sirius stared at her. “That’s quite the philosophy.”

“What’s that?”

“An idea.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘idea’?”

“I…don’t know.”

She hummed a little under her breath. “Will you color with me?”

“Yes,” he answered as relief coursed through him. He had no clue how she had gone from blunt questions that could turn his whole world upside down to coloring, but he didn’t care. “Yes, I would love to.”

Luna slid off her seat and hopped over to Remus’ desk, then dug around in the drawers and emerged with a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. “I’m bad at outlines. Will you draw them for me?”

“Absolutely.”

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

Luna fell asleep halfway through coloring a Kneazle with Remus, which as far as Sirius could understand was just a cat that had its face squished. But it made her happy, and he would draw a million squishy cats to keep her questions about Remus to a minimum.

As soon as Remus finished tucking her in beneath a heavy blanket on the couch, he turned and crushed his lips against Sirius’ like a man dying for air. The kiss lasted long enough that Sirius was staring to get lightheaded before finding himself the (quite enthusiastic) recipient of a rib-crushing hug. They held each other for a few minutes, silent and swaying, before Remus let him go with a final kiss and they began to clean up the mess.

True to her word, Pandora returned just before ten pm with a blond man at her side and a big hug for her daughter. “Goodnight, Luna,” Remus whispered. They received a sleepy wave in response and then, finally, they were alone. “You are the best person ever.”

Sirius wound his arms around Remus’ waist and melted a little when strong hands combed through his hair. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can doodle. It’s nothing fancy.”

“You drew imaginary monsters based on descriptions from a four-year-old.” Remus cupped his cheek and rested their foreheads together. “You’re amazing.”

“This was a pretty awesome date,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to bask in their little bubble.

“We should do it again sometime. Preferably without the child, though.”

Sirius’ smile came all the way from his heart as he buried his face in the slope of Remus’ neck. “As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he could bring himself to admit, but for now, it would have to do.

[tiffdawg]

Chaste | A Din Djarin x Reader Fic

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW - explicit sexual content, heavy petting, mutual masturbation, creampie, dity talk featuring Din’s bedroom voice. 18+ only.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in my little poll yesterday! And thank you to @huliabitch​ for encouraging me to write this. This is just something I wrote in between final papers. I don’t want to try to fit it into the current timeline so let’s just say this is sometime in the future well after Din decides to keep the kid. No spoilers for season two. No backstory, no plot; just smut. We might need that to cope depending on how the season finale goes tomorrow...

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

… . …

Chaste

Unsurprisingly, Din woke up hard. Again.

Your semi-conscious brain registered his erection pressing against even before you’d opened your eyes that morning. It sent a rush of heat straight to your core. Just as it had every morning for the past week. And despite the early hour, you knew he was awake. Gentle fingertips traced abstract shapes along your side where your shirt had bunched up in your sleep. His dizzyingly light touch sent chills across your skin, but at your contented hum, his hand slipped under the hemline.

In his tender explorations he found your breast. You shifted against him, rubbing your thighs together in a pathetic relieve the mounting pressure building within you. He groaned behind you. His fingers circled your nipple before pinching the now stiff peak. You gasped at the electric mix of pain and pleasure.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping,” Din rasped, voice still hoarse from sleeping, as he pulled you back tighter against his chest, calloused hand still cupping your tit.

“You started it,” you mumbled back. Your eyes blinked open as you looked over your shoulder at him to find him lazily smirking at you. “Good morning, my love.” 

“Morning, cyar’ika,” he greeted before touching his lips to yours.

What was supposed to be a chaste kiss before the two of you reluctantly roused yourselves from bed to start the day, quickly became heated. Your lips slid against his and your tongues urgently explored each other’s mouths, seeking the familiar pleasure you’d been denying each other. Din deepened the kiss and your body yielded to his as he rolled you onto your back. You carded your fingers through his dark locks, pulling ever so slightly and eliciting quiet gasps from your partner.

Moving without thinking, your legs wrapped around his waist and you ground up against him, searching for even the slightest hint of friction where you needed it most. Spurred on by your actions, Din reached around you, his rough hand grabbing your ass to hold you in place as rolled his hips in time with yours. A matching pair of sighs resounded throughout the small room at the hint of relief.

But it still wasn’t enough. Not when you wanted each other this badly.

“Whose bright idea was it not to have sex again until we’re married?” Din asked in between messy kisses.

“Mine,” you admitted begrudgingly.

... . ...

“Will you marry me?”

Din’s words, delivered softly and without preamble, pierced your heart even before you could process the simple sentence. You flicked on your ship’s autopilot, letting your old astromech take over, and turned to him. You found him watching you carefully.

You paused to admire him and the little foundling sleeping against his chest, needing to remember everything about that moment for as long as you lived. You didn’t have to think about your answer; the two of them had stolen your heart years ago. “Yes,” you replied easily with a smile, “of course I will.” 

Din beamed at you. You crossed the small cabin to perch on the armrest of his seat. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he quipped as he leaned in to kiss you, careful not to disturb the baby.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to ask.”

“I know. You’ve been patient. That’s not like you,” he teased.

“Shut up before I change my mind,” you threatened playfully even as you pressed a kiss to his temple. “How exactly does a Mandalorian marry?”

“The riduurok is a simple exchange of vows. We can...” –he swallowed hard­– “we can do it right now.”

“Now?” you exclaimed. You grimaced as the baby stirred. Din adjusted his blanket and he settled down. He turned back to you with a raised brow.

You’d been through so much together. Loved each other for so long. Really, marriage vows were just a formality. Nothing would change. But it didn’t feel quite right. Something was missing.

“On my homeworld a marriage is something to celebrate. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I­ haven’t been back in years but I always imagined getting married at home and celebrating with my family. At the very least I always thought I’d take you home to meet them first. I guess that’s stupid,” you shook your head, trying to banish the thought. You had bigger priorities.

“No, it’s not,” Din said firmly. “I– I don’t have that. I’m glad that you do.”

“We can still say our vows in private. Just the three of us. But it would mean the world to me to share this with them.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll go as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” you said around a smile before eagerly sealing your mouth to his.

He made a happy sound before speaking conspiratorially against your lips. “Let me put the kid to bed and we’ll start celebrating.” 

A cold heat ran through you at the insinuation. “Shit,” you cursed.

“What’s wrong?”

“How long do you think it’ll be before we can go to my planet?” 

Din shrugged. “It’ll be at least a month before we can make it to the Tashtor Sector. Why?”

“Well,” you started hesitantly, “it’s tradition for couples not to have sex once a marriage promise is made. Not until the wedding night.”

Din’s head hit the back of his seat as a long exhalation escaped him. “Anything else I should know about?” he grumbled.

“Nope,” you chirped, stifling a laugh. “I mean there’s a whole bunch of other stuff, but that’s the only thing that’s actually important.”

“Of course it is,” he grumbled with a shake of his head as he leaned forward. Except he paused just before his lips touched yours. “Am I still allowed to kiss you?”

“Yes,” you laughed. His mouth matched with yours and when you parted, he was smiling again. He rested his forehead against yours, an unbroken habit from the early days of your relationship, and you felt the weight of your new situation settle between the two of you. “Think you can last that long?” you teased. 

“Can you?” he challenged with a tilt of his head.

“You couldn’t go a whole month without this pussy,” you whispered, hoping to get a rise out of him.

“I’m a Mandalorian.” He said it stoically as if that was an explanation in itself. “You’ll be begging for my cock by the end of the week, cyar’ika. Just like you were last night.” 

“We’ll see about that, Mandalorian.”

... . ...

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. And a month seemed perfectly reasonable. You were wrong. It was supposed to make the night of your marriage special, but so far all it was doing was frustrating the hell out of both of you. Every night you slept next to him unable to touch him like this was fucking torture. You trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck in silent apology.

“How the fuck are we supposed to wait two more weeks?” He asked though heavy breaths, not expecting an answer. Normally, you were the wild spitfire that countered his cool demeanor, but at that moment – cheeks flushed, chest heaving, hair mussed – he looked absolutely wrecked. “I wanna bury my cock in you right now.” 

“I know you do,” you panted. “I want you inside me. Want you to fill me with your cum so bad.”

“Yeah?” He fumbled with your shirt that had twisted around in your sleep before hiking up your sleep shirt. His mouth latched onto your breast so he could kiss and suck and bite your breasts, marking the tender flesh as his own as he continued to rock against you. “You want that?” 

“I miss the way you make me feel so full. The way it drips out of me.” Your cunt clenched around nothing and your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you tried to control your desire. “I need it,” you whined instead.

“I know you do.” He raised his head from your chest to look at you. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re so pretty when you’re desperate for me.”

“Oh, Din,” you mewled, practically on the verge of tears. 

“Are you as wet as I think you are?” He leaned back on his knees to reach a hand between your bodies. He smirked, his brows lifting in amusement, as touched you through your panties. You were drenched. “Take it off.”

“What? What are you–” You placed your hands on his broad shoulders to stop him as he repositioned himself between your legs and covered your body with his. “We shouldn’t–”

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he said as he pulled his briefs down just enough to release his cock, hard and leaking already leaking. “But I am going to fill you. Just like you need.”

Your chest caved in and a broken, pathetic whimper escaped you at his admission. “Really?” 

“Can I?” he asked, brown eyes practically beseeching you. He was always so polite even in moments like that. Even after all that time together.

Your hold on him softened, hands moving to gently cradle his face. “Please, Din.”

He helped you strip. As soon as you were exposed to him, his thick fingers teased your folds, coating them in your wetness, before wrapping around his length. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Ready?”

You nodded and he notched the tip of his dick at your entrance. He started pumping himself, using your slick to lubricate himself.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried when you realized what he was going to do.

The feeling of his hand moving in between your legs as he jerked himself off made your head spin. You felt filthy and you fucking liked it. You arched toward him, hips angled to take more of his dick, but he stopped you.

“No, cyare. Not this time,” he whispered against your cheek. You squeezed his tip as your cunt contracted instead, earning a delirious moan from him. “I missed this pussy.”

You could tell he was close. After weeks of hardly touching each other, it wouldn’t take much. You ran your hands down his bare chest and across his soft sides before gripping his hip, hoping to encourage him and hold in place as he neared his climax.

Eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared, he came with a shout. You felt him cum spurting inside you as he filled you. He continued to stroke himself, drawing out his orgasm as long as he could even as his spend started to leak out.

“Touch yourself for me,” Din demanded gently, placing light kisses on your face. “Wanna watch you cum.” 

He pulled out and leaned back just as your hand replaced him. Watching him watch you sent a fresh wave of arousal to your center. With a devilish smile, you gathered the cum dripping out of you and swirled your fingers around your throbbing clit. Din groaned at the sight. Two strong hands gripped your thighs and spread your legs further as his eyes locked on your cunt.

Every muscle in your body seemed to tighten as you played with yourself, your own climax was right behind his. But just as you were about to cum, Din grabbed your wrist and removed your hand. The noise he made was practically a growl as he leaned down to spit on your pussy.

“Oh fuck, Din!” you shouted, body keening off the bed. When he finally released your hand, you rubbed furiously at your clit, eased by the mix of his cum and saliva.

“That’s it. Cum for me.”

Your vision blacked out before an array of stars burst behind your closed eyes as your orgasm tore through you. Pleasure clouded your mind, but you could hear yourself chanting his name like a prayer.

When you fell back against the bed, Din collapsed half on top of you, his cheek pillowed on your chest. “Fuck, that felt good,” you sighed. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath. “But I think that might be considered cheating.”

“No,” he insisted, “Just... bending the rules a little.” You both laughed and he held you a little tighter. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“So you can finally fuck me again?”

 “No.” He shook his head. “So I can be your husband.” You felt him smile against your skin. “And so I can finally make love to my wife.”

... . ...

Forever Tags: @leo-moon​ @readsalot73​ @frietiemeloen​ @huliabitch​ @jerusomeeno​ @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann​ @scapricciatello​ @liadamerondjarin​ @pedropasscals​ @paintballkid711​ @mistermiraclee​ @honeyand-roses​

Story Tags: @softpedropascal​ @mindless--ramblings​ @disgruntledspacedad​

[chaoticminhos]

maybe i do

--”even at a young age, he knew he wouldn’t be able to choose who he married, but that didn’t stop him from hoping that one day, maybe, you would at least be an option.so imagine his excitement when you were. and then imagine his pain when you told him you wished you were anything but.”

pairing: lee know x reader

genre: angst, fluff, a smut scene 

warnings: none

word count: 16.3k

a/n: arraigned marriage with minho was requested, as was breeding/pregnancy kink with him :) I didn’t make the pregnancy kink a big part bc the smut scene is small but i hope you like it anyway, anon!! I can always write a separate fic, too. there’s never too many minho fics <3

eighteen. that’s when you were expected to choose a partner. you’d just turned of age, and as an adult, you were now supposed to be getting ready to take the throne. with a partner, of course.

a very specific partner, specific to the point that all choice given to you to make you feel like you were in control meant absolutely nothing. 

you needed to find a man, first of all. a single man, one that wasn’t already set to be married. he had to have power, at least as much or more power than you had. he needed to have wealth. you needed to find yourself a handsome, wealthy prince from one of your neighboring kingdoms, and your parents had to like him. as much as your parents said you were in full control of choosing your suitor, you knew you were not the one making the calls. not a single one of them.

there was only one person who matched all of these criteria. there was only one boy you whose name would be on your list of potential suitors and your parents knew it just as well as you did.

you could try just simply not writing lee minhos name down, not selecting a husband at all, but it would be futile. eventually, if you hadn’t selected a worthy candidate to marry, one would be decided for you.

without a doubt, minho would be the one selected, whether you wrote it down or your parents signed his name for you.

you didn’t have anything against minho specifically. he was no more intolerable than any of the other royal children you’d met. if anything, he was actually easier to be around. it’s just that you were expected to be fond of him.

you were ordered by your parents to love him, and that in itself made you want to despise him.

along with your side of the selection, minho also had to choose you. if he didn’t, you would just have to wait until someone else came along. it wasn’t just you looking for a partner, he was in search as well. the difference was that he had been in search for nearly a year and he had willingly selected you.

minho wasn’t the first in line to be king of his home kingdom, his oldest brother was. he was already married and set to be crowned in the coming months. instead, if minho ever wanted to be a king, he needed to find a woman to marry who was set to become queen.

luckily for him, you were the oldest daughter in a family that had no sons.

as the eldest sibling in a family of no boys, you were in line to lead. but according to the rules, you couldn’t lead without a man to stand beside.

in all logic, minho had to choose you just as much as you needed to choose him. of course, if both of you resented each other, the wedding could be held off until you resolved the conflict. or even cancelled. you might be given a few more years of freedom before another man who fits your parents wants walks into their life or ages old enough to marry.

much to your dismay, however, minho did choose you. even before it was brought to his attention that he was your only option, that you would remain single for an unknown amount of time unless he married you, minho chose you. the second he noticed your name on the list of possible brides, which was much longer than your list of possible husbands, he had his mind set on you.

and after finding out that you had no one to choose but him, minho was sure he was going to get what he wanted.

you clenched your jaw and took your place at the table, glancing at the seat beside you that had been saved for minho.

“we want you two to get to know each other more before the wedding,” your mother said, “and he’s such a sweet boy.”

“i haven’t even chosen him as my fiancé yet, mom.”

she sent you an apologetic smile, both of you knew it didn’t matter what you chose.

you sat biting your lip and playing with the frills on your dress for quite some time before minho and his parents entered the room, escorted by four of the palace guards. 

he looked different than when you had last seen him. taller. it had only been a year or so, but you could clearly see changes. his jaw line was more defined and he had finally learned how to tie a tie so it wasn’t crooked. his eyes, though. even from across the room, you could see that his eyes were the same.

you smiled and sent a small wave towards one of the guards as they turned to leave. minho must have thought you were waving at him, and he waved back, a huge smile plastered on his pretty lips.

you were aware that he had already put your name down as his official choice of brides, practically robbing you of any chance you had of not being forced into marriage, and you knew he was probably equally aware that you had yet to write down his name, even though it was the only one you had. 

you held back a laugh at minho waving at you, not having the heart to tell him you were waving to felix and not him as he made his way around the table and to you. you let yourself smile though. no matter how much you wanted him to hate you as much as you hated the idea of marrying him, you couldn’t be downright rude. not when the parents were watching, at least.

you stood to greet him, sending your now-forced smile in his direction. you went to shake his hand, but instead, he pulled you into a tight hug. it was short, so short that you didn’t have the time to return the hug, not that you would have wanted to. 

you sat back down and looked up to greet his parents sitting across from the two of you on your big table. your own parents were sat on the ends of the table, your father to your left and mother to your right. neither your nor minhos siblings were present.

there was no time for conversation before the cook was bringing out the food. it was nothing fancy, per your request. he brought all of the food out at once, minus the desert, instead of in different courses. 

you half expected minho to say something about the way the meal was brought out in a way that wasn’t considered the most elegant, but he didn’t. instead, his eyes went wide as he spotted the roasted chicken set down in the middle of the table.

his mother observed his behavior and laughed, “y/n, how did you know minho’s favorite food? i don’t remember sending a letter containing his favorites.”

you frowned slightly, “i didn’t, i just chose my favorite.”

at your words, your mothers shared a glance, one that said, “they’re perfect for each other.”

your father was the next to speak, “minho, why don’t you cut the chicken for us.”

once again you anticipated some sort of reaction out of the boy. he had been asked to cut the chicken when there were waiters standing all around that could most likely do it much neater than he could. it was another thing you had specifically requested to happen in order to judge his reaction. but again, to your surprise, he smiled, stood up, and began to cut even strips off of it, passing them out around the table.

he turned to you, “how much do you want?”

you ignored the softness in his voice, one that you could see yourself growing fond of if you didn’t resent the idea of loving him so much already.

“i can get my own.”

he didn’t even flinch at your response, chuckling as he cut a piece off of the bird and guided it to your plate. you had to keep yourself from pouting as you looked down at it. he’d given you just as much as you wanted.

he was making it very difficult to keep a bitter attitude towards him when he was doing everything right. how were you supposed to convince your parents he would be a terrible husband when acted like the perfect one?

after serving himself, minho reclaimed his seat beside you. you served yourself to the rest of the food as it was passed around, handing the bowls to minho when you were finished. you took notice of the way he chose food. he took a little of everything, as if he wanted to taste all of the foods you had requested to be made for his visit. you asked him about it.

“trying everything, minho?”

you dropped his formality. you should have predicted that he would take it as a sign that you were comfortable with him rather than a petty disrespect in the way you’d meant.

he nodded, sending a soft smile towards you, “i assume your chose all your favorites, princess, so i want to try them all.”

you would have blushed if someone you were fond of said it, but you weren’t blushing. no, the heat in your face was just there because the room was warm from all of the bodies and hot food.

one of the waiters came around with a bottle of wine and some glasses, offering one to everyone at the table. of course, everyone accepted, it was impolite not to, but you couldn’t help but notice that minho didn’t touch his glass as often as the rest of you.

by the time you were smiling up at the waiter as he poured you a second glass, minho still had yet to finish even half of his first. 

you ate in casual conversation until all of you had your fill. the table was slowly cleared and the meals were replaced with a small array of sweets. 

minho nudged you, pointing at one of the trays.

“what’s this?”

you were caught off guard by his voice. it was soft, timid, almost like he was embarrassed that he didn’t know what the dessert was.

“pumpkin bars.”

he nodded, “are they your favorite?”

you shrugged, shaking your head, “kinda. they’re not my favorite to eat, but i love baking them.”

his eyes widened, “you made these?”

you shook your head again, a small laugh leaving your lips. as much as you tried to stay short and serious with him, you couldn’t.

“no, but i know how.”

he paused for a moment as his eyes scanned the table before he turned to you once more, “can you teach me?”

your brows furrowed, “to make pumpkin bars?”

he nodded.

never mind. you definitely could be short with him. 

what was he playing at? why was he behaving exactly in the way you’d want him to in every obstacle you threw at him? he couldn’t actually be that good. first, he wasn’t offset by the untraditionally casual meal or being asked to serve the main dish himself, and now he was showing interest in something you liked to do. something that was considered low level, something that a princess should never have to do. and now he was asking if you would show him how?

no, he had to be faking. any walls that had been broken down by his timid voice and him making you laugh were thrown back up.

“you don’t want to bake.”

it was his turn to frown.

he reached out to stop your arm as you went to grab a slice of pie.

“what do you mean? yes i do.”

you pulled your wrist from his grip, speaking lowly so only he would hear. 

“well i don’t want to teach you.”

you missed the expression that crossed his face as you reached across the table to grab the dessert you wanted.

he didn’t say anything more. he just reached for the pie spatula as you went to set it down. his fingers grazed yours as he took the tool from your hand and you were violently aware of it, of how his fingers against your skin seemed to send a shock through your body.

he set a piece on his plate and took a bite, glancing at you. you hadn’t even registered that you had been watching him until he did. 

“how is it?”

he nodded in approval, “it’s good. do you know how to make pies, too?”

“yes. i can make most every dessert our cooks can.”

he held your gaze as he smiled at you.

you frowned, averting your eyes from his and back to your plate, “what?”

“nothing.” he began, “i just think it’s interesting that you’re so into baking now. last time we spoke you were crazy about the gardens.”

you shrugged, “who says i can’t love both?”

there was a pause before, to your surprise, you kept the conversation going.

“do you still practice archery?”

he nodded, swallowing a bite of his pie before responding.

“i can out shoot almost all of our archers.”

you raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at your lips, “who says they’re not letting you win?”

he playfully shoved you and you laughed.

“fine, then you go against me.”

you shook your head, “anyone could beat me in archery.”

he seemed to think for a moment before softly nudging you, “i could give you some tips?”

you almost found yourself accepting his offer before you caught yourself. you were not supposed to be enjoying his company.

“i don’t need your help. if i wanted to learn i would have one of my guards teach me.”

the way his expression fell made something in your chest ache and you hoped his parents hadn’t heard the remark. you felt bad for a moment, it wasn’t his fault that you were being forced to marry him.

then a thought crossed your mind- it kind of was.

he played by their rules and pretended to be excited to marry you, but that’s not what he wanted. he knew the perks that came along with marrying you. it wasn’t you he was excited for, it was the power and status that came along with marrying you. how could he be excited to marry you when he barely knew you? he couldn’t. all he wanted was to be king, and you gave him that option. he didn’t try to fight it. maybe if he fought it like you did, you wouldn’t be forced into it. or at least not so soon.

the fact that his cooperation was only securing your unwanted future was enough to wipe that sting from your chest.

you finished the rest of your dessert in silence, listening in on your parents conversations and trying not to scream at every mention of the upcoming wedding you didn’t want to have.

“has he picked out a ring yet?” 

“no,” his mother responded, “he wanted to get to know her better first. he wants it to be perfect.”

you finished your food and pushed the plate away from you, letting the waiters know they could collect it. all of the adults were already done eating. minho finished soon after, having taken longer as he savored every bite. this left the table without food and full of conversation. 

minho only spoke again when your mother addressed him.

“is there a specific type of flower you want at the ceremony?”

he spoke softly, kindly. you could see exactly why your mother loved him so much. even without him being the only choice, he probably would have been her first choice for you.

“yes. i love lilies.”

you took a deep breath to keep yourself from blowing up, it couldn’t be a coincidence that he kept having the same favorites as you. someone told him so he could better bond with you. 

your mom knew how badly you didn’t want this wedding to happen, she probably send his family a letter of ways to win your favor.

“it would be the perfect time to have the ceremony outside,” minho’s mother gushed, “the green suits them both.”

your dad laughed, “every color suits our y/n.”

“what color were you thinking, dear?” your mother turned to you.

your eyes shot to her. you were about to snap that you didn’t care about colors because you hoped there would be no wedding to coordinate colors to, but minhos parents were in the room. you couldn’t risk upsetting them and throwing off the good relationship your kingdoms had simply because you didn’t want to marry their son.

cutting off the marriage would be one thing. if it was mutual, it wouldn’t harm any relationships between the kingdoms. it would just stall your transition to power until you were forced against another possible husband. insulting him in front of his parents, however, might.

instead, you opted to look over at minho and pull a false smile onto your features.

“i think purple would suit him well.”

his parents didn’t catch the falseness of your cheerful tone or the way the smile on your lips was obviously forced, but minho did.

“oh, you’re so right!”

you asked one of the servants for the time and stood up.

“mom, i need to water my plants. may i?”

she nodded gesturing to the boy beside you, “take minho with you.”

you nodded, turning to leave the room without waiting for him. you heard your mother mutter something about your own little garden that you refused to let the staff tend for instead of  doing it yourself.

minho caught up as you were partly down the hallway. 

“y/n, is something wrong?”

you stopped, nearly causing him to crash into you.

“is something wrong? minho, this whole thing is wrong.”

he frowned, following again as you made your way to the garden entrance, “what do you mean?”

you opened the door to the garden a little harsher than you probably needed to and began filling a watering jug, “people should be able to fall in love before marriage.”

he shrugged, “there’s plenty of time for you to fall in love with me before the ceremony.”

you sent a glare towards him, “i want to choose who i love, minho.”

“then choose me.”

you shook your head, choosing not to respond. he followed you across the garden and to a small, fenced off patch that he assumed to be your personal garden.

you could feel his eyes on you as you went around and checked the soil around each plant before watering the ones that needed it. he wasn’t saying anything, he was just watching you. you let him stand in silence.

he followed you back to the entrance where you sat your watering can down and to a small bench where he took his seat beside you.

you put some distance between the two of you when he sat down right next to you and he noticed, just as he had noticed every other less than loving way you’d reacted to each of his attempts to show affection.

his chest tightened, why did you hate him so much? he thought you two were on good terms. the last time you saw each other, you laughed and joked with him. what was different now? was the idea of marrying him really that bad? 

maybe you were just nervous. 

people handle nerves differently, he reminded himself, maybe yours just made you snappy. it wasn’t anything to worry about. plenty of people had second thoughts before their weddings. you just had to get used to him was all, since you hadn’t seen each other in so long. then you would go back to joking with him and your he happy to have him as your husband.

he was shaken out of his thoughts by your voice.

“you don’t drink much?” you were referring to the glass of wine he had barely finished during dinner.

he shook his head, “it makes my mind foggy.”

you chuckled. he liked the sound. somehow, it was sweeter knowing that it was because of him.

“isn’t that what alcohol is supposed to do?”

he smiled, “i guess. but i wanted to be able to see you clearly.”

something akin to butterflies woke up inside your stomach. you ignored them as you stood abruptly, heading immediately for the door. he followed you out of the garden and back to the dining room where your families were seated. they turned as you stepped through the door.

“mother, it’s getting late and they have a long ride home.”

minho said nothing, standing at your side like it’s where he belonged, once again too close for comfort.

his parents agreed, standing along with your parents and thanking them for having them over. his mother hugged you goodbye at the front door before stepping into a carriage with her husband and son.

you were thankful that minho hadn’t tried to hug you goodbye. or much worse, kiss you.

he spent the carriage ride home wishing he had.

it was only a matter of days before his family was visiting again. since minho would be living in your castle with you, your parents decided it was best to have him visit you again rather than you go to his kingdom.

“y/n, the lees will be here soon, get dressed!” 

“i am dressed.”

“then get out here!”

you groaned and chan laughed beside you.

“stop laughing at my pain.” you scolded him, “i’ll have you fired from the guard.”

he laughed again, “you would never. who would protect you then?”

you grumbled as you straightened your dress and opened the door, “felix. woojin. seungmin. literally any of the other guards.”

he pouted, coming to stand next to you as you walked down the hallway and to the front where you would be greeting minho.

he was going to complain, but you cut him off when you saw minho and his family standing near the doorway.

“go join the others.” you told chan, “but be on watch. you might need to save minho from me if he acts like he was last time.”

chan laughed, heading to stand with the rest of the guards.

minho noticed the friendly interaction and smiled. he liked how you were always so nice to the servants. he noticed it during the meal too, when you smiled and joked with the waiter.

“sorry to keep you waiting.” you bowed politely to his parents.

you turned to minho, “hello.”

a big smile spread across his features, “hi again, my love.”

he had taken a risk with those being the first words out of his mouth. he thought that maybe seeing him again and time to adjust had gotten you used to the idea of him. he thought maybe your attitude would have changed towards him.

he was wrong. although you couldn’t make a point of showing it in front of his parents, he could see by the slight change in your eyes at the choice of the name that he was definitely wrong.

“would you kids leave the adults to talk for a while?” your mother spoke.

she placed one hand on your shoulder and the other on minho’s, “you can go wherever you’d like, just stay clear of your bedroom.”

your face flushed red and glared at your mom as minhos parents laughed. was she trying to embarrass you? did she think you’d laugh at the joke? it wasn’t funny.

knowing you wouldn’t last long without blowing up with teasing like that, you took a hold of minho’s hand and drug him away from your parents. you allowed him to walk beside you this time instead of rushing to be in front of him, but you dropped his hand practically as soon as you’d taken it.

he’d assumed the garden was your destination, so when you walked past the doorway to the giant greenhouse, he spoke up.

“where are we going?”

“i don’t know yet.”

you ended up at the base of a staircase that lead to the roof of the castle. without questioning you, he followed you up the stairs and to the open roof. you were immediately met with a burst of cold air, but the longer you stood in the wind, the easier it became to handle. 

you followed minho as he made his way across the roof and towards the edge, throwing his legs over and sitting with them dangling down as he took in the view.

he probably expected to go sit with him, so you did. that in no way meant you were going to begin complying with everything, it just meant that you were choosing to be civil in that moment.

he noticed as you glanced back at the door you’d entered the roof from.

“what is it?”

“my mother must have told my guards not to follow us.”

he shrugged, “why would you need guards when you’re with me?”

you huffed, “in case i decide to bite your head off.”

he laughed at the remark, and even though you hadn’t intended it as a joke, you laughed along with him. something about his laugh made it impossible to sit there with a scowl on your face.

“tell me what’s so bad about me, then.”

a teasing grin spread across your face as you looked at him, “god, where do i start...”

he gestured for you to continue, but your mind ran blank. what exactly was so bad about him? the majority of your issues weren’t with him in specific.

then one thing popped into your mind like a big red flag.

“you’re forcing me into marriage.”

he frowned, “i don’t think so, not really. if i refused to marry you, you would simply wait another year or two as a princess until your parents were able to find another prince for you.” he paused, “in some ways, i actually think i’m saving you.”

“saving me?” you scoffed out.

“yes. from some creep you might be forced to marry instead of me if i decline as harshly as you are.”

“who says you’re not a creep, lee minho?”

his face morphed into faux offense, “my mother says i’m quite the gentleman, thank you very much.”

you let out a small chuckle before responding. he did have a point, you were going to be forced into a marriage eventually, whether it be this one or not. at least you knew him. was a couple extra years of freedom worth marrying someone you didn’t know at all? or would it be wisest to settle for minho? 

either way, you still didn’t understand why you needed a man at all to lead.

“why can’t i just lead alone? i don’t need a king.”

“there’s two thrones for a reason.”

he saw the confusion across your face and continued.

“two leaders is safer than one. it requires compromise and thought, not just one person making the choices according to their opinion only.”

you nodded, and you hated how much his explanation of everything was making sense. 

“it’s the same reason they make a king marry before taking the throne if they can help it.”

there was a short pause before he spoke again, “i mean, technically, if both of your parents died right now, there would be no option other than to send you to the throne alone. and as the queen, no one could tell you to get married. but unless you want to assassinate your parents,” he brought his hand to rest on top of yours, “you’re stuck with me.”

ignoring the searing heat of his skin touching yours, you narrowed your eyes up at him as you spoke.

“you make it tempting.”

he laughed again, and this time you had intended for it to be humorous. 

it was cleared now why things were the way they were. it would have been so much easier if your parents took a second to explain it in the way minho had. he was very good with explaining things, a talent a good king needs to have.

maybe he wouldn’t be so bad to lead with.

still, you didn’t resent the situation any less than you had before understanding it.

you turned from the view of the mountains to find minho already staring back at you. it wasn’t until you noticed the way the sun framed his face that you noticed how quickly the sun had been setting, had you really been outside with him that long?

you traced the lines of his face with your eyes, admiring the way the sun sat on his skin as if it was made for the purpose. 

you frowned in confusion as the shapes across his face began to grow, and before you could register it, his lips were only moments away from yours. you reacted quickly, thankful that he had paused to give you the option to do so.

he didn’t seem surprised as the palms of your hands connected to his chest, pushing him away from you. 

you stood from the edge, dusting off your dress and motioning to the door.

“i’m not supposed to be outside at dark without my guards.”

you knew that that didn’t matter, your parents trusted minho to keep you safe, that’s the whole reason they didn’t feel the need to send guards with you in the first place. you figured he probably knew that too, but he didn’t comment on it. instead, he nodded, following you to the staircase and opening the door for you, walking with you around the castle as you looked for your parents.

you found them in the first place you looked, the lounge. you waited for a pause in their conversation before making yourself known.

“it’s getting dark, shall i ask for the carriage?”

your mother sent you a worried smile as your dad spoke.

“sweetheart, they’re staying the night. we’ll have a carriage sent to take king and queen lee home in the morning.

you frowned, glancing at minho. he shrugged.

“the king and queen? what about minho?”

“he’ll be living here from now on. he might as well get used to his new home.”

your face fell.

“what about my things?” minho questioned. he seemed much more calm about the news than you, but he didn’t seem to know any more about the situation.

his mother waved the question off, “i sent for some carriages with your things as soon as we made the decision for you to remain here. they’ve already arrived and are waiting to be unpacked.”

“where are they?” he questioned.

his mother laughed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“your bedroom.”

“where is that?”

your dad cut in, “y/n can show you.”

that’s when it hit you- his bedroom was your bedroom. that’s why your mother had told you to stay clear of it. she had anticipated the conversation about minho staying and wanted the area to be clear if they chose to move his things in. your mother hadn’t meant it as a joke at all, she said it as an order.

trying to hide your frustration, you grabbed minho’s hand and turned to leave.

“we’ll start to unpack now!”

you ignored both your and his parents calls as you dragged him down the hallways and to your bedroom. 

the first thing you noticed was that some of your personal items were being carried out of the door as you watched. things that made your bedroom yours. stacks of books you loved to read and even piles of papers containing words of your own were being handled by random personnel. not even your own guards, staff you had never met was handling your personal things. it would be one thing if it was chan or one of your friends moving things out, but it wasn’t. you hadn’t even seen chan or the rest of your guard since you greeted minho when he arrived.

their soul job was to protect you, and they had been relieved of duty while you were with minho, so why couldn’t they have been the ones to handle your things? it would still have upset you, obviously, but it would have been far less intrusive to have people you know and trust doing it.

you felt tears brimming in your eyes. your parents knew how much you valued privacy, and yet they let people you’d never even seen on the property handle everything you valued. 

minho’s eyes were just as attached to the scene ahead of you until he heard a soft whimper leave your lips. immediately, he had his arms around you and your face buried in his chest.

you wanted to pull away, to shove him and curse at him for coming into your life like this, but instead, you gripped the fabric of his button up shirt and let him hold you close.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, “i didn’t know.”

and then he did something you would never have expected.

“excuse me!” he called, his authoritative voice echoing down the hallway, “you can stop now. put whatever is in your hands down and leave.”

the movers hesitated, not knowing whether or not to follow his commands yet, but they ended up obeying. he stopped one of the men as he moved to walk past the two of you, you still secure and crying into his chest.

“where did you put the things you moved?”

the worker gestured to the things in the hall outside your bedroom, “everything we moved is in this hallway, your royal highness.”

“and my things?”

“waiting for you further down the hall.”

he nodded and let the man leave before slowly pulling you off of him. he felt a squeeze in his heart as you looked up at him with red, tear filled eyes. 

he led you into your room, “let’s get you to your bed.”

you let out a small sob at his words, “that’s not my bed.”

he was confused for a moment before it registered in his mind. they must have switched out your old bed in favor of a larger one to suit the both of you, even though the one you had before would have no doubt done the job fine. you’d probably had a queen at the smallest.

the longer minho held you, the less you wanted to push him away and blame him for everything that was happening.

he walked you over to the bed and sat you down, taking a seat beside you so you could remain attached to him.

he knew that it wasn’t him you found comfort in, but rather just a warm body to hug. still, having you so close to him felt so right, he couldn’t bring himself to care. it felt like you were finally responding to him like a woman should to her fiancé. you were letting him take care of you.

truth be told, if he could have scooped you up in his arms the day he first saw you after learning you were to be his wife a few days prior, he would have, and he never would have let go. 

when he saw your name on the piece of paper handed to him, he didn’t even read the rest. even before opening the letter, your name had popped into his mind. he’d always had a childish crush on you. even at a young age, he knew he wouldn’t be able to choose who he married, but that didn’t stop him from hoping that one day, maybe, you would at least be an option.

so imagine his excitement when you were. and then imagine his pain when you told him you wished you were anything but.

as he moved you up the bed and snuggled himself in beside you before pulling the covers up to keep you warm, he wondered if maybe tonight would change that.

maybe you would realize that you liked the feeling of being in his arms, of having him hold you close. as your sniffles became softer and eventually stopped, he wondered if you’d realize that falling asleep next to him was something you could get used to.

because oh goodness, after falling asleep with you in his arms, even though the both of you were still in uncomfortable cloths and had fallen asleep upset, he didn’t ever want to go to bed without you again.

you were woken up only a little while after falling asleep to the sound of soft knocking on your door. minho stirred beside you and you both sat up to see who it was.

both of your mothers were standing in the doorway with adoration in their eyes at the sight in front of them. 

“and here i thought you’d be upset over the room.” your mother cooed as she made her way into the room.

you shifted yourself away from minho and you could have sworn you heard a whine of complaint come from him as your body lost contact to his. or maybe it was you.

his mother approached the bed as well, taking hold of his collar and straightening it out.

“goodness, you two didn’t even bother to change into sleep clothes.”

minho responded before you could, “we hadn’t meant to fall asleep.”

“what time is it?” you added.

“not late,” your mother responded, “it was still only 10:30 when we headed up to check on you.”

you nodded, and as the sleep wore off, the anger kicked in. before you burst, you stood and ushered them out of the room.

“i’ll get changed now, then, and then we can organize and unpack a little tonight.”

“we can help!” his mother chimed.

before you could deny the offer, minho did.

“no mother, we want to set up our bedroom ourselves, please.”

happy with the response, she nodded and followed your mother out of the room and back to wherever your fathers were waiting.

minho stood from the bed and looked into your closet.

“it doesn’t look like any of my clothes are here yet, so i’ll leave you to change. i can find something in a box and i’ll find a place to change.”

you nodded as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

you sat on the edge of your bed for a moment before standing up and grabbing the same sleep clothes you wore every night. they had already been washed in the morning and pressed dry, ready for you to use again.

you tried to undo the buttons on the back of your dress, but you couldn’t reach. chan had helped you do them earlier in the day. you reached your arm over the opposite shoulder in an attempt to reach the buttons, straining the fabric of the dress in a weird way. you heard the sound of stitches coming undone and pulled your arm back into a normal position, inspecting the place the noise had come from. sure enough, there were little pieces of thread hanging around a small tear in the arm of your dress.

defeated, you sat down on your bed and waited for minho to return. it wasn’t long before he did, signaling his presence with a couple soft knocks to the door. you called for him to come in and he did, pausing in surprise when he saw you still in the dress, your night clothes bundled in your hands.

“i can’t reach the buttons.”

he threw his head back in understanding, taking a few steps towards you as you turned your back to him, moving your hair out of the way of the buttons. 

you didn’t know what you’d expected, but the gentle touch of his fingers against your neck as he undid the top button sent a shiver through you. you hoped he didn’t notice, but by the way his movements stopped for a split second before continuing, you knew he had.

he undid the buttons until there were none left, leaving the top half of your back exposed to him where your dress fell open. his eyes ghosted over your shoulder blades and the smooth skin of your back. he wanted to place his palm there, to feel the warmth of your skin in more than just the tips of his fingers. he actually might have, despite his best judgement, if you hadn’t spoke up.

“are you done?”

he muttered a soft word of confirmation as you turned to face him again, hands holding the fabric to your chest to pretend it from falling off. 

he stared at you for a moment before reality seemed to flow back into his head.

“let me know when you’re done.”

you nodded, waiting until he pulled the door closed behind him to let the dress fall to the floor. you took your time changing. it felt nice to be alone. after a few minutes, though, an unexpected feeling built up in your chest. it was nice to be alone, but you missed minhos company. or maybe you just missed company.

that was it, you told yourself, you just missed having someone around. your resolve was not breaking this quickly. you were upset and frustrated with how things were going and he was just as good as anyone, except maybe chan, to keep you company.

you called out for him to come back in and he did, immediately taking the clothes you’d just changed out of and setting them in a bin outside your door where they would wait until someone came and took them for cleaning. 

you followed him to the door, heading right for a pile of books that had been taken off of your personal bookshelf. luckily, they hadn’t moved the shelf out of your bedroom yet, so you only had the books to carry back in.

you did the same for a few other things, things that you couldn’t imagine not having in your room, before turning to minho.

“what do you want moved in next?” he asked.

“something of yours.”

he was shocked by your reply, almost as if he had expected you to return your bedroom to the way it was before he arrived and pretend his things didn’t exist.

sure, you didn’t like that you had to remove your things from your room to make room for his stuff, but there wasn’t anything you could do about it right then. it wasn’t your room anymore. it belonged to the both of you.

at least until you could convince your parents to cancel the wedding, that is. that was still the plan.

“uh, okay,” minho began down the hallway, scanning his things as he did. he finally settled on a pretty, dark wooded desk. it had drawers along the side and it looked very used. you were surprised his parents let him keep it with how old it looked. it must have been important to him.

he insisted that he could carry it alone, but eventually he let you help. it fit perfectly in the room, almost like it was meant to be there. you placed it a couple feet away from your own desk, which was a similar color. it was a similar build too, with drawers on the sides.

back in the hallway, minho sighed as he attempted to move a large bookcase of his.

“we can’t move this alone. it can wait until morning.”

you nodded, thought for a moment, and then spoke.

“there’s room on mine, if you want. we can put this in storage and you can put your books with mine. there’s no need for two bookcases in one room.”

he was slightly taken aback by your offer, but nodded. he liked that you were getting used to sharing. getting used to it being not just your room, but his too. maybe you had changed your mind about him already.

“okay,” he agreed, “then we can take some books in.”

you grumbled, “but only one load. then we’re done for tonight.”

he laughed, assuring you that it was the last load of the night and walking back to the bedroom beside you, books in hand.

you helped him organize the books on the shelf, interlocking them with yours when it looked best to do so. the bookshelf was still quite empty, but that was fine. you had more books somewhere in the hall that you hadn’t bothered to search for and he had more, too.

you sat down on the bed, still messed up from your little nap, and sighed, but you didn’t say anything.

instead, minho did. after a few minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, he sat down beside you and spoke.

“why won’t you let me kiss you?”

you were surprised by the sudden question, “you only tried once.”

“you’d only push me away again if i tried another time.”

“you gave me the chance to push you away.”

“because i knew you would.”

“then why try?”

“because i want to kiss you. why don’t you want to kiss me?”

you faltered at the confidence in his words. sure, his earlier actions had made it clear he wanted to kiss you, he wouldn’t have tried to otherwise, but hearing him say it out loud felt different. it made it click in your mind that he meant it, that it was real.

“i don’t- i already told you.”

“no you didn’t.”

“yes, i did.” you insisted, “i told you. i don’t want to be in a relationship that’s forced.”

and there it was. despite the progress he thought he’d made with you, there it was. that same angry, bitter attitude towards whatever relationship you two had. 

he shoved the disappointment down his throat and replied, “then don’t force it. i’m not.”

he said it casually, just like he said and did everything else he did around you. his laid back demeanor gave the illusion that maybe his words were honest. maybe he wasn’t forcing anything he felt for you, maybe he genuinely did look forward to the wedding, and not only for the power. you shoved the thought from your mind, looking forward to marrying you and looking forward to taking control of your kingdom were not the same thing.

as had become common for you, you chose not to respond, instead scooting yourself along the bed until you had your head on a pillow, pulling the blankets over yourself. you felt the bed shift as he did the same, reaching out to shut off any lights in the room before crawling under the same blankets as you. 

as badly as he wanted to pull you close to his chest and hold you while he fell asleep like he had hours before, he knew he couldn’t. everything in the way you were responding to him now told him that you would just push him away, maybe even change your mind about sleeping in the same bed as him and make him move to the floor. or worse, move there yourself.

no, minho didn’t want you to sleep on the floor and he didn’t want to upset you further than he knew he already had, so he stayed to himself. with your back to him, he listened to the even sounds of your breathing as you fell asleep. that would have to be enough for him for now.

the next morning was a repeat of the night before, minus minhos thoughts that you could be finally accepting him, maybe even growing feelings that didn’t involve resentment and anger.

after sending his parents off with a promise of them returning soon, just like the night before, you spent the day rearranging the room with him. you refused any help from your parents or anyone else, partially because you didn’t want anyone to touch your things again and partially because you couldn’t stand to be around them at the moment.

unlike before, though, your comfort and coziness to minho had worn off. you were no longer showing him any form of physical affection. 

you still kept the room fair, although it didn’t feel like it was half you and half him. it felt like its own place. it wasn’t partially him, the other half you- it was 100% the two of you, together.

you actually quite liked the way the room turned out. you weren’t being as snappy to him as you originally had been, but the atmosphere wasn’t anything close to before, when you’d looked to him for comfort from the pain rather than looking at him like he was the source of it all.

minho hated seeing you cry. when he noticed your state the night before and pulled you into his chest, he could have sworn his heart broke, like it would have fallen right out of his chest if you hadn’t been there holding it in. that reason exactly is why he felt so bad now.

he didn’t want you to cry, he didn’t want you to be sad, but he almost wished you would again, if it meant you would let your walls down for him again. anything to put you back in his arms.

you were walking back to your bedroom after dinner and tending to your garden, exhausted from life and redecorating your room. you were growing used to spending nearly every waking, and sleeping, moment with minho, even beginning to enjoy his company, but that didn’t mean small moments alone weren’t appreciated.

you knew it would only be a few minutes, but walking alone to your shared bedroom while minho was speaking to your parents felt like heaven. 

you didn’t remain alone for long, but it didn’t bother you. not when the person breaking the isolation was your best friend.

you jogged down the hallway and to your bedroom door where chan was standing, waiting for you. you hadn’t seen him since minho had arrived days prior.

you threw your arms around him the moment you reached him, happy to finally see him again. it hadn’t been that long, but considering he was usually with you constantly, a few days felt like forever. he pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss to your forehead as you smiled up at him.

you were about to ask him why he hadn’t been around when someone interrupted you.

“i thought you didn’t have brothers.” minho’s voice.

“i don’t.” you payed no attention to chan’s arm around your waist.

he nodded, “then this is?”

chan stepped away from you and reached his hand out to minho, “ah, i’m sorry! i’m chan, head of y/n’s personal guard.”

minho nodded again, taking chan’s hand and gripping it firmly.

“minho. y/n’s fiancé.”

releasing minhos hand and stepping back to you, chan laughed, “i know that, you’re all anyone is talking about recently.”

minho raised an eyebrow, locking his eyes to yours.

“am i?”

“of course!” chan babbled, “everyone’s excited for the wedding.”

minho scoffed, eyes still glued to yours.

“not everyone.” 

he didn’t bother to excuse himself before he shoved past you and chan, an action that could have easily been avoided with all the space the hallway held, and into your bedroom. 

a confused expression plastered on your face as you turned to chan.

“i know i complain a lot, but he’s usually not that bad. not even near it.”

chan frowned, lowering his voice. minho was right inside the door, after all.

“did you get into a fight or something?”

you shook your head, why did it actually bother you that he seemed upset with you?

“maybe you should go talk to him?”

you debated it in your mind. you probably should go check out what was bothering him, he was fine not even twenty minutes ago at dinner, but you also wanted to stay and talk to chan. you wanted to catch up, to vent.

as if reading your mind, chan turned you to face him.

“hey, go. we’ll see each other plenty now. your mom wanted us to give you space for a while, but the guard is back on full duty.”

you nodded, eyes trained on your bedroom door. you walked away from chan practically the moment he gave you the good to go, stepping into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you. 

it didn’t take you long to find minho. he was sat in his desk chair, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. he didn’t look up until you addressed him.

your voice was soft, “minho?”

if he hadn’t been so frustrated, he would have celebrated at your caring tone.

instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“what?”

your frown grew, “what happened? are you okay?”

“yeah,” he stood from his seat, mumbling as he crossed the room to the closet, where he pulled out his sleeping clothes and began to unbutton his day shirt, “i’m fine.”

maybe he expected you to leave it at that. it seemed that’s what he wanted, considering his choice to suddenly switch to his night clothes. whenever he started to undress, you hurried out of the room. this time, though, you were worried about him. actually worried about him.

so you stayed put.

“minho, i can tell that’s not true. you’re upset.”

he scoffed. as if your words had broken some dam inside of him, he let his frustrations free. his hands flew into the air, completely abandoning his shirt, which he had barely begun to unbutton.

“pardon me for not cheering when i see another man kissing my fiancé!”

“you- chan? you’re upset because i was speaking to my best friend.”

you said it more as a statement than a question.

“no,” he took a couple steps towards you, abandoning his sleep it’s clothes over the foot of the bed, “i’m upset because he kissed you.”

“on the forehead.”

“you wouldn’t let me do that though, would you?”

he was right in front of you now. you stuttered before replying, and it clicked in your mind: he was jealous. your demeanor softened.

“you’re mad that i let him kiss me and not you?”

he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as he nodded, a small pout on his lips.

the sight triggered something inside of you. he looked so real, so sad. he looked, for a lack of better words, genuinely hurt. it put the notion in your head that maybe he did care more about marrying you than just taking control of your kingdom.

you sighed, walking past him and to the closet, grabbing your change of clothes before stepping off into the bathroom to change. you heard him let out a soft sigh as you shut the door behind you, he must have assumed you dropped the topic. you didn’t know if he was glad that a fight hadn’t escalated or if he was upset that the conversation didn’t get to the point where he could kiss you and blame it on a flurry of emotions and jealousy.

you got into your sleeping clothes and, trusting that he had changed as well, you stepped back into the bedroom without asking if it was okay. you went straight for the bed, wordlessly finding a comfortable position as he slid in beside you. he reached out to shut off the lights and lay flat on his back, taking deep breaths and trying to get himself to calm down enough to sleep when he felt a weight on his waist followed by a warm presence pressing up against his side. he made a small sound of surprise as he looked down.

there you were, arm draped over his torso, cuddled into his side. your eyes were shut and your head rested against his chest.

any frustration he’d felt towards you far gone, he took the chance to wrap his arms around you, securing you to his body as if you were going to run away at any moment. he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. it was so light you wondered if he’d meant for you to feel it at all.

you shifted slightly, keeping your arm around his waist as you offered a small smile against his chest.

“there. even.”

things got easier from then on, although you wouldn’t admit it. you’d dropped your attempts  at hating your new fiancé, how were you supposed to dislike him? you hadn’t dropped your hard feelings towards the situation and you definitely hadn’t agreed or started complying to the wedding, but you could bring it upon yourself to keep trying to be cold to minho. not even when the day was filled with wedding planning and dress fitting.

you’d woken up still in minho’s arms, even more so than you’d been when you had fallen asleep. your back was flat against his chest and one of his legs was sprawled over yours, practically trapping you as his arms held you around the waist. 

maybe you should have been surprised to wake up that close to him or tried to pry his hands off of you, but you didn’t, and you didn’t want to. you hated yourself for it, but you were beginning to really consider the idea that he was your best bet. maybe complying and marrying him would be safer and more pleasant than anyone else your parents might throw your direction in the future if this wedding got called off. 

minho shifted beside you, groaning at the light and removing an arm from your body to rub his eyes. the instant he did it, he dropped his arm back around you and held you close, as if he’d made a mistake by letting you go in the first place.

you laughed, and that’s always a good way to start a day.

it amazed minho how much your attitude towards him could change overnight. granted, you weren’t holding his hand and offering him kisses everywhere you went, but you had started actually initiating conversations with him. you joked with him and allowed yourself to laugh at his jokes, you didn’t even ignore him that much anymore. you weren’t treating him like your soon to be husband yet, but still. you treating him like a friend was better than you treating him like an enemy, even if it’s not what he really wanted.

“oh my god.” you groaned, “if i have to look at one more fucking shade of purple that looks exactly like the last and say which looks better i will absolutely lose my shit.”

he laughed, “you’re the one who said i would look hot in purple.”

you sent a glare his way, but it wasn’t like the ones you used to show him. it was joking, friendly.

“i did not say you’d look hot.”

“i think you did.”

“i can promise you i didn’t.”

“no, i’m pretty sure i remember you saying it. i think your exact words were, ‘oh, how lucky am i to have this treasure of a man as my future husband, i think purple-‘“

he was cut off by a call from the doorway of the room the two of you had been in practically all day, helping choose colors and getting fit for your wedding apparel. 

“y/n, prince minho, dinner’s done.”

you knew immediately by the choice of laid back words that it was chan. no one else, not even your other friends, spoke to you like that outside of private.

you turned to the door, “one of these days i’m going to have you tarred and feathered for disrespecting me, bang chan.”

he laughed, “i’m sure you are.”

you met him at the door before minho even had the chance to stand, shoving him lightly.

“i am! watch, i’ll bring it up at dinner.”

he laughed, walking beside you as the three of you made your way to the dining room.

“isn’t it impolite to discuss executions during meal time?”

minho walked silently beside you, it was like you’d completely forgotten his existence once chan showed up.

“i might just break etiquette to speed up your punishment.”

another small laugh from him and then you were walking through the doors and into the dining room. you and minho took your seats at the table and chan took his standing along the wall with the rest of the guard and staff.

you turned to minho, “do you think we’re done for the day, then? or do we have more purple to look forward too?”

he shrugged your attempt at a joke off, trying not to show how bothered he was. so that’s how it was going to be? the second chan leaves, then he’s interesting enough to talk to again?

“maybe they’ll finally start making decorations and the suit and dress.”

either you hadn’t noticed his attitude change or didn’t care enough to react.

“i wonder how quickly they’ll pull things together.”

you really didn’t know. they could rush and work their butts off and you could be getting married within the next week, or they could take as much time as needed for preparations. you didn’t know. and if your parents had any clue, they didn’t bring it up.

their chosen dinner conversations were the same as they had been for the past many nights. talk about the wedding, who was going to be invited. was it bad manners to invite the brides minho had rejected? or was it polite? a good portion of the time not eating was spent with your mother trying to convince you to care more about the wedding. she was wholeheartedly convinced that you’d changed your mind and fallen in love with minho because you were being friendly now. she expected you to care more about the planning now that you didn’t seem so against it.

hurrying away from the dining room as soon as possible by claiming you’d had enough wedding talk for the day, which wasn’t a lie, you and minho made your way back to your bedroom. his earlier frustrations were forgotten as the two of you sat on the bed and talked about various books across the bookshelf. 

as it turned out, some of the books ended up having to be put in storage. not for a lack of room, but simply because two copies were not needed. you shared a lot of the same interests.

“i told you,” he said, only half joking, “we’re meant for each other.”

you shoved him, pulling the book from his hands. before you could reply, he was speaking again.

“be careful! that’s my copy!”

you laughed, clutching the book to your chest and turning away as he reached for it.

“not anymore! it’s ours.”

“it is not. that is very much so mine.”

“no,” you insisted, moving again to keep him from grabbing it, “nothing in this room is yours. it’s all ours. or mine.”

he laughed, stopping his useless attempts at grabbing the book. 

“yours?”

you nodded, “my stuff is still mine. but yours is ours now.”

with that, he jumped on you, tackling you onto your back. you dropped the book somewhere during the attack and it made a loud noise as it fell to the floor.

“what about you?” he asked, easily keeping you from struggling, “you’re mine, aren’t you?”

you stopped struggling, showing him the game was over.

“i don’t belong to anyone.”

you easily shoved him off of you in his stunned state. he hadn’t meant to offend you.

“y/n, that’s not what i meant.”

you cut him off as you shut the bathroom door behind you, night clothes in hand. you took significantly longer to change than you needed, both you and him knew that. he would have had time to crawl into bed and fall asleep three times over as he as waiting for you, but he didn’t. truth be told, he wasn’t sure if he was capable of falling asleep without you beside him anymore. he might have to test that theory, he didn’t know if you would let him hold you that night after he unintentionally upset you.

just as things were beginning to work, he messed it up. he really hadn’t meant to imply he owned you in any way, he was only trying to be cute, maybe get you to say yourself that you were going to marry him, maybe even that you wanted to.

he didn’t know the exact rules of falling in love, but if he could say anything for certain it would be that he was in love with you. maybe it was when he saw your name on that paper and his fantasy became a possible reality that he really fell, or maybe it was when he saw you face to face for the first time after learning you’d be the one he’d marry, he really didn’t know. he had no clue when it changed from some childish crush into fill blown love, but it did.

was it even possible to be in love with someone you’d only met a handful of times and were only paired to marry a few weeks prior? it must have been. otherwise, how would he explain the feeling in his chest whenever he saw you?

when you finally came out of the bathroom, you silently put your clothes in the basket and crawled into bed. like always, minho switched off the lights and secured the covers over himself, shifting until he found a comfortable position. he was debating in his mind if he should reach out and try to hold you or if that would just make everything worse when you scooted so your back was to his chest, not outright cuddling him but giving the invitation.

he obliged immediately, wrapping his arm around you while the other went to play with your hair. he placed another one of his gentle, barely-there kisses to the side of your head as he muttered a soft, “i’m sorry.”

he didn’t know whether you replied or not, he fell asleep as the last syllable fell from his lips.

you didn’t go as easily. if your internal clock was at all accurate, you’d been laying there for  at least two hours, wide awake. you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was keeping you up, probably the wedding, maybe the small fight with minho. either way, you could think of a better way to spend the time as long as you weren’t going to fall asleep.

carefully, you pulled minho’s arms off of you and slowly crawled out of bed, trying your hardest not to wake him up. you stood at the side of the bed for a moment, watching minho to make sure you hadn’t disturbed him, before creeping over to the door. you opened it as quietly as possible and peaked out. neither of the guards stationed outside your room were chan.

felix was on duty though, and he sent you a confused look as you stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind you. 

“where are you going? if you need something i’ll get it for you.”

you shook your head, “just can’t sleep. is chan in the bunks?”

felix nodded and you started off down the hallway towards the rooms the guards slept in when they didn’t have night duty. 

“hey, wait,” felix called after you, moving slightly as if he were going to follow, “i’m not technically supposed to let you go alone.”

you frowned at him, “it’s literally two minutes away and i’m headed to a room full of guards. i’ll be fine.”

he thought for a moment before moving back to stand in his original position, “fine. but if some hallway demon kills you on the way there that’s on you.”

you chuckled at his joke and made your way through the halls and to the wing that houses all of the staff that lived there. you weren’t technically supposed to go there at night, you weren’t really supposed to even leave your room at night, but none of the guards in the halls tried to stop you on your journey. it wasn’t uncommon for you to visit chan at night, especially not when you were younger. the both of you used to have trouble sleeping and it was much easier for you to sneak out and into his room than the other way around.

you gently opened the door and stepped into the room, heading right for chans bed. there were a dozen other sleeping guards, not all of them from your personal guard, also asleep on their own beds. you tapped chan awake, stifling your laugh when he flinched awake.

you used to wake him at least half of the nights he didn’t have duty, yet he still flinched every time you woke him up.

he looked confused to see you there but he didn’t hesitate to stand and follow you into the hallway.

when there, you went down away from the doors so you could talk freely without disturbing anyone and slid down the wall. chan did the same, seating himself right next to you.

“what’s up? you haven’t woken me up in the middle of the night for a while.”

you laughed, “yeah, i don’t know. i couldn’t sleep. plus, i’ve missed you. even with the guard back, i haven’t been able to spend time with you recently.”

he nodded, leaning to rest his head on your shoulder, “i know. i’ve missed you too.”

there was a brief pause before he spoke again.

“what’s on your mind?”

you scoffed lightly, “i don’t think there’s room for anything other than thoughts about the wedding right now. i can’t even breathe without someone mentioning it.”

chan chuckled, “it is kind of a big deal.”

you ignored him, “i don’t want to marry minho, chan.”

he took a deep breath, “why?”

“why?”

“why? tell me exactly what’s so bad about him.”

you didn’t hesitate before answering, “i’m being forced into it! i didn’t even get a choice, chan!”

he ignored your words, “no, what’s bad about him? not the situation, not the wedding, minho.”

you thought for a moment, wracked your brain for answers, but you couldn’t think of one genuine issue you had against him specifically.  you’d actually began to enjoy being around him.

chan waited for a while before he decided you weren’t going to answer.

“it seems to me like you two click really well.”

you shrugged.

“i think you should give him a chance, y/n.”

your brows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“i mean i think you’re upset because you don’t want to get married, not because you don’t want to get married to him. and i think he might be changing your mind whether you know it or not.”

your frown didn’t lift.

“have you ever thought that maybe it’s fate that he ended up being your only option?”

not only did your frown once again not lift, it got deeper.

“i’m telling you y/n, a best friend knows. no matter how much you say you hate him, you’re falling for that boy.”

you cut in without hesitation, “no, i am not.”

his eyes widened and a grin spread across his face, “you are! no one is that defensive when they’re not lying.”

you hit him lightly and he continued, “for real, y/n. i think you like him more than you realize. just play nice for a while.”

“i am playing nice.”

“no,” he said, “you’re acting nice. actually let your guard down around him. let him in. let yourself feel the things you’re feeling for him.”

you grumbled. if anyone was going to be able to talk you into this marriage, it would be chan.

“okay.”

he followed your actions as you stood up.

“do you want me to walk you back?”

you shook your head, “i’ll be fine. go back to bed.”

he chuckled at your grumpy attitude, pulling you into a tight hug before letting you go. he watched until you turned a corner and he could no longer see you before stepping back into his room.

felix greeted you at your bedroom door.

“no hallway demons?”

“no hallway demons.”

“you’re lucky.”

you laughed at the boy and sent him a weird look to which he smiled in return. just as you had earlier, you carefully retraced your steps until you were back in bed with minho. taking chan’s request for you to try to warm up more to the idea of marrying minho, you secured yourself next to him, wrapping an arm around his torso. although, you probably would have done that even if minho’s name hadn’t even come up in your and chan’s conversation. you were finding that being in minho’s arms while you slept felt good. the thought that being held by anyone while sleeping would be comforting, it wasn’t just minho, crossed your mind before chan’s words echoed in your head.

“let yourself feel the things you’re feeling for him.”

maybe it was that it was minhos arms that made it so gentle and caring. if you thought about it, you couldn’t make a list longer than what you could count on one hand of who you would let sleep in the same bed as you, let alone cuddle you while sleeping. you’d only ever fallen asleep in minho of chans arms. and your parents, of course.

maybe you did feel deeper for the boy than you let yourself realize. maybe, despite every word coming out of your mouth insisting that you didn’t, you wanted to marry him.

several days went by, several wedding preparations were made. it turned out that they’d decided to go the rushed route, planning to hold the wedding ceremony as soon as possible. it was only two day’s out now. even though you still hadn’t even officially stated your acceptance of the wedding, preparations were in full force.

as you studied your reflection and took in the details of the gown you’d be wearing as you walked down the isle, you wondered how hard the seamstress’ must have worked to produce such a gorgeous piece of art in only a few days.

it was the traditional white color and it wasn’t anything overly fancy, you’d made it clear you wouldn’t wear it if it was. despite how quickly it had been made, it was clear it wasn’t rushed. every stitch looked perfect.

there were small embroidered designs along the fabric, popping out against the white of the base. the designs were a beautiful lilac purple, and although you knew that you and minho had chosen the exact shade, you wouldn’t have been able to decipher the shade from any of the other light purples that the seamstresses had in stock.

you assumed that minho had the same purple accenting his suit, but you had no clue what it looked like. your mothers were very adamant about neither of you seeing each other in the wedding apparel before the big event.

you bet he looked amazing.

you continued to admire yourself and the dress as several people checked the fitting, making sure the sizing was perfect and didn’t need any more alterations. when they decided it was, you found yourself not wanting to take the dress off quite yet. you couldn’t help but be excited for the next time you’d get to wear it.

minho was waiting for you when you stepped out of the room and into the hallway. apparently his fitting had taken less time than yours. suits did tend to be easier to size.

you let him take your hand as the two of you made your way to your bedroom. you’d taken chan’s advice and stopped shoving down emotions, and it made you realize how much you genuinely enjoyed minho. as much as you hated the way things worked and the way you got put together, you were beginning to think that maybe it had some sense to it. chan might have been right when he said that minho being your only choice was fate.

you dropped his hand to pick up the watering jug and fill it. he insisted on carrying it to your garden. you made no attempt to take it back when he held it out for you.

“no,” you laughed, “i showed you how to tell if they need watered yesterday. you do it.”

his eyes widened, “y/n, i seriously don’t think you want me to do that, i’ll kill them.”

“you will not,” you giggled, “but fine. i’ll help you.”

you approached the first plant along with him. it was a large basil plant. you didn’t use it for cooking or baking, the garden had plenty of basil that was used to harvest, but this one was just for show.

“check the soil.”

he did as you instructed, pressing his fingers into the dirt to check for moisture.

“i think it’s okay?”

his words came out as more of a question than a statement.

you reached forward and double checked, smiling and clapping your hands together when you realized he’d gotten it correct.

he did the same for the next plant, a lavender bush, claiming more confidently now that it didn’t need watered yet either. you checked, letting out an exaggerated gasp.

“i can’t believe you’re trying to kill my lavender plant. how could you?”

he sputtered, “i’m not! i really thought that it was fine!”

you huffed, taking the water from his hand and watering the plant.

“i can never trust you again.”

you started to check the other plants, watering a few of them. he complained and promised he’d learn better, but you continued to ignore him.

“my own fiancé... trying to kill my babies.”

you only stopped teasing him when he wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you tight and promising into your shoulder that he didn’t want to hurt your plants.

you turned to face him, his hands still resting on your hips.

“okay, i’ll give you one more chance.”

you gestured towards the last few plants you had yet to check, a couple flowers that minho couldn’t what you said were named.

he walked up to them, taking his time to check them before turning to you.

“the yellow ones are okay, the purple and blue ones need watered.”

you eyes him suspiciously as you went to check his claim, breaking out in a smile when you found that he was correct.

“technically, the yellow ones could use a little water, but i’ll say you passed.”

he laughed and watched you water the last plants before reaching out your free hand and taking hold of his. you set the watering can by the door and made your way back to your bedroom where minho dropped your hand and headed to his desk.

he’d grown confident enough in your comfort towards him that he wasn’t afraid to do things like that anymore, drop your hand or break away from a hug. he knew you’d let him hold you again. it wasn’t like less than a week earlier where he felt like you might run away if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

he leaned down and shuffled through some papers on his desk. you recognized them as archery point sheets. he hadn’t been lying when he said he was good, he scored nines and tens easily from distances you wouldn’t have even been able to get close to hitting the target at, even after letting him give you some tips on aiming.

you snickered as you pulled out one specific scoring sheet that caught your eye. it was an insanely long distance round, the longest he’d ever tried yet, and he’d managed to score two nines and an eight.

you laughed as you help the paper up, “an eight? you suck.”

he tried to glare at you, but a smile poked through. you saw him made a move and dropped the paper, darting to get away from him.

he caught you quite easily, tackling you onto the bed. he held you loosely as he straddled you.

“take it back. say i’m the best archer you’ve ever seen.”

you shook your head, smile plastered on your lips.

“take it back!” he whined.

you shook your head again, trying not to laugh.

“whatever.” he released you from his grip, crawling off of you, “this is why i tried to kill your plants.”

you gasped, “i knew it!”

he laughed as he reached for his pajamas, stepping into the bathroom and pulling the door lightly shut. it didn’t close all the way, there was still a small crack. he wasn’t as shy as you were, you’d learned that all too well. you were surprised he even went into the bathroom at all.

he waited until he heard you drop your day clothes into the bin before coming back into the bedroom. he put his dirty clothes next to yours and crawled into bed beside you, following his same routine of shutting off the lights before pulling you into his arms.

as he always did with you there beside him, he fell asleep easily.

you had fallen into a deep sleep as well before something woke you up a couple hours later. you couldn’t say what it was that had woken you, maybe it was nothing at all. regardless, you sat there for a few minutes before realizing you weren’t going back to sleep any time soon. you looked at the boy beside you.

you considered waking him up to keep you company until you could fall asleep again, but decided against it. he looked too peaceful. chan, however, you had no issue waking from a peaceful sleep.

sitting a few yards from any doors leading to people sleeping, you spoke to your best friend.

“am i going crazy, channie?”

he hummed, “probably, but why?”

you sent a light glare towards him before answering, “being kind of excited for the wedding.”

he broke out into a huge grin, “i so called it.”

you frowned in confusion and he continued.

“i said you were in love with him and you so are.”

you shook your head, “i’m not... in love with him,” 

why did the words seem foreign? 

“i just think i might, i don’t know, actually see us working out, and not just as a royal couple, together to rule. like as a genuine pair.”

he made a sound of understanding, “you’re totally in love with him.”

you didn’t deny it a second time.

you frowned as you approached your bedroom door. there was a faint light peaking out from under the crack in the door. you inched it open to find minho awake, sat up on the bed reading with a single lamp on. he looked up when he heard you enter.

“hey,” you greeted him, “why are you awake?”

he shrugged, “guess i got cold without you next to me.”

you got back into bed with him, pulling the blankets over your legs and leaning over to see what he was reading.

“what are you reading?”

he shut the book momentarily, marking his page with his finger and showing you the cover before flipping it back open and resuming where he left off.

you frowned. it wasn’t like him to ignore you like this.

“is something wrong? did you have a nightmare?”

he shut his book, tossing it to the ground beside his side of the bed. he pressed his lips together.

“yeah, i keep having these dreams that my fiancé is leaving in the middle of the night to secretly meet up with some guy. it’s weird.”

you raised your eyebrows, “who told you that?”

he shrugged, “asked the guard outside the door one night after you left what you were doing, he said you were visiting chan.”

you nodded, “yeah, i do that sometimes, is that an issue?”

he scoffed, “no, i just brought it up for fun.”

you pursed your lips, “really, minho? why does it bother you so much?”

there was no hesitation in his next words, almost as if he’d been itching to say them for a while now.

“is there something going on between you two?”

you scoffed, “seriously? you really think that?”

by now he had stood from the bed, “it doesn’t seem so crazy.”

you stood as well, challenging him as you stepped around the bed and in front of him.

“yeah, it does. it sounds insane.”

he looked you straight in the eyes, “does it? because it makes perfect sense to me. you won’t let me kiss you, you won’t sign the marriage contact even though you know you’re stuck with me, you’re so comfortable around him and you keep leaving in the middle of the night to meet with him in secret. it literally screams affair, y/n!”

“you seriously believe that i would cheat on you?”

“i don’t even think you see it as cheating since you don’t take a single fucking part of our relationship seriously.”

he took a step forward and you instinctively stepped back.

“i do take it seriously.”

he continued to close in on you until your back was pressed to the wall.

“then act like it.”

without thinking, you did just that. you acted.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, crashing his lips to yours. it wasn’t what you’d expected your first kiss to be like, you’d actually imagined it would be at the altar, but you weren’t complaining.

he reacted immediately, hands finding their way across your body. he slid one down your leg, stopping at your thigh and tapping it. you got the message, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. your back collided with the wall and the paintings hung there shook a little, but  you couldn’t be bothered to care. not when he tasted as good as he did.

one hand secure on your thigh to hold you up, the other found its way under your night gown and up your bare leg to the bare skin of your torso. he broke away for a moment as his fingers inched higher up.

“is this okay?”

you barely had time to mumbled a yes before your lips were back on his. you hadn’t realized you wanted to kiss him so bad until you finally did.

he let you breathe for a second as he peppered kisses along your neck, his hand exploring your body under your gown. his fingers found their way to your breasts and he squeezed one, causing a soft moan to fall from your lips.

he cursed at the sound, attaching his lips back to yours and turning to walk you to the bed. he easily sat you down, back to the mattress, and hiked up your night dress. you let out another soft moan when his hands finally made their way to your core. he ran his fingers over your clothed folds.

“you swear this is only mine?”

you nodded, “yes.”

“you promise?” he spoke between kisses, “tell me you promise.”

“i promise.”

that seemed to be enough for him as he growled against your lips, slipping his hand down the waistband of your panties.

you struggled to keep quiet as he finally made direct contact to your dripping core.

he cooed, “what, baby? no need to be quiet. who’s gonna hear? the guards?” you could feel his breath against your neck, “is chan on duty? is he right outside the door? let him hear you.”

you could only whine in response as he toyed with your clit.

you made a sound of annoyance when he pulled his hand from your panties, but your disappointment didn’t last for long. he pulled you to sit up so he could remove your night clothes, tossing them god knows where on the ground. he let out a deep groan as his eyes came on contact with your bare chest.

he brought his hands up to cup them, one in each hand.

“you’re gorgeous.”

he let one of his hands fall back to caressing the rest of your body and replaced it with his lips, taking your nipple into his mouth. despite his earlier demands not to try to silence yourself, a hand flew to your mouth as you let out an embarrassingly loud moan for how little stimulation you were getting.

he popped off your breast and licked a long stripe down your stomach until he reached the waistband of your underwear. he glanced up at you to make sure you were still on board before looking his fingers on them and pulling them down your legs. immediately, you tried to close your legs in embarrassment, but he easily held them open. 

he placed sloppy kisses to your neck as his fingers teased your entrance.

“has he ever seen you like this?”

“no.”

“you really expect me to believe that?”

“it’s true.” your words came out strangled as he slowly began to slide a finger into your heat. it was unusual and uncomfortable at first, but you got used to it, nearly screaming when he curled his finger and a line of pleasure shot through you.

he hummed, “i can tell you’re not lying, baby. no one is this sensitive if they’ve been fucking their royal guardsman behind their fiancé’s back.”

you whined as he added another finger, “haven’t- haven’t done this before.”

he hushed you, “i know, angel. you’re doing so well, just relax.”

you gripped tightly onto his shirt as he continued to work his fingers inside of you. with a particularly rough curl of his fingers, you felt something inside of you let go and a wave of pleasure flowed over your body. you let out the most heavenly sounds as minho worked your through your orgasm and he felt a swell of pride knowing that he was the only one who had ever made you feel so good. he was the only one who would ever make you feel this way.

he rode you through your orgasm before placing a gentle kiss to your lips. you tugged are the bottom of his shirt.

“are you sure, baby?”

you nodded, far too worked up to let out coherent words. he complied, slipping his shirt over his shoulders and ridding himself of his pants. you stared at his chest, reaching out to touch his skin before you even realized you were doing it. you slid your hand down his body until you came in contact with his hard length. he hissed as your hand wrapped around him, slowly stroking him. you couldn’t keep your eyes off of his cock as you basked in the sounds he made. the sounds you made him make.

he reached down and grabbed your wrist, “baby, i won’t last much longer if you keep this up.”

you nodded, reluctantly letting him guide your hand away from his length. you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your fingers in his hair as you felt him like himself up with your entrance.

the noise you let out when he began to sink into you could only be described as divine. minho had to stop for a moment and recollect himself, he really wouldn’t last long if you sounded like that at every move he made.

after a few moments, he was fully buried inside of you. he waited for you to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out, only to roughly slam back into you.

he had every intention of going slow and being gentle for your first time, but everything, from the way your pussy felt wrapped around him to the way you moaned out his name was too much for him.

despite his previous remark for you to let yourself be loud, he guided your face to his shoulder when he became genuinely concerned you may wake the entire castle.

“bite down.”

you did as he said, sinking your teeth into the flesh of the junction between his shoulder and neck. he let out a sound that made you think for a moment that you’d bitten too hard, but when you released your grip he groaned out, asking you to do it again.

he brought his hand between your bodies and began running slow circles onto your clit as his cock worked magic inside of you.

“im close. gonna fill you up, is that okay?”

you barely managed to get out a yes through the pleasure you were feeling. 

“fuck, gonna let me fuck my babies into you, huh?”

he adjusted your legs and the new angle plus his fingers working expertly on your clit threw you over the edge. 

“you’re going to be a great mother one day.”

you bit down hard on his shoulder as you came, only releasing the grip to tell him how good he was making you feel.

he came soon after, muttering praises and gushing about how good you did. he groaned as he gave a last few thrusts, watching as his and your cum leaked out with every thrust of his hips. the sight nearly made him hard again.

he pulled out, grabbing his discarded night shirt and wiping his length off before tossing it to the side again. he leaned back over you, connecting his lips to yours to swallow the whine you let out when his fingers connected back to your core.

he collected the cum that had dripped out and spread itself along your thighs and onto the sheets, pushing it back into you with his fingers.

he hushed you as you whined from overstimulation, “i know baby, i know, but we don’t wanna waste any, do we?”

you shook your head.

“no, we don’t. that’s my good girl.”

he connected his lips back to yours, “you’ll look gorgeous with my baby in your belly.”

you were honestly too fucked out to process anything that was happening, just laying there and letting him do what he wanted. despite the discomfort the overstimulation brought, you couldn’t help but complain when he pulled his fingers out of you, wiping them on his night shirt and slipping your panties back onto you.

needless to say, you slept easily after that.

you were beyond sore the next morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. the achy legs and raw throat were worth it.

you hurried to get dressed and shower off the sweat and other substances on your body the next morning before hurrying down for breakfast. minho had showered with you, insisting that since he made the mess, he should clean it up.

although your parents had already been confident that you’d changed your mind about the wedding, if anyone had doubts, including yourself, they were long gone.

a drastic change from even just the day before, you and minho stole kisses nearly any time you could. leaning over to grab the salt? kiss. walking past him to grab a book? kiss. sitting down waiting for more orders on how to help prepare for the wedding that was only a day away? kiss, kiss, kiss.

you’d been so caught up in your newfound love for kissing your fiancé that you didn’t even notice as chan snuck up to talk to you.

instinctively, minho’s arm tightened around your waist. he believed you when you promised him that you and chan were just friends, but he was still protective.

“so... hyunjin tells me i was right.”

you frowned in confusion, “what?”

“hyunjin said i was right. he had guard duty outside of your room last night and he told me you really warmed up to minho overnight.”

you nearly choked on your own spit at the realization that not only had your guards, your friends, heard last nights events, by the sound of it, they’d told everyone else.

minho didn’t even try to his hide proud smile has you blushed, covering your face in his chest.

chan turned to minho, “i knew she’d fall for you eventually. she used to gush about how cute you were when we were kids.”

you opened your mouth to protest, “that is not true.”

it really wasn’t. maybe you’d mentioned that he was easier to be around than many of the other royal, stuck up kids, but you had never said anything close to what chan claimed.

chan turned to minho, nodding his head as he scratched his nose, “it’s totally true.”

“it’s literally just not.”

he made a sound of disagreement.

“that is a big fat lie and you know it!”

you reached out to hit him and he dodged it, making a scene out of saying felix called him before hurrying away. you turned to minho.

“it’s not true.”

he shrugged, “it’s probably true.”

“it’s not!”

when you walked down the isle, minho could have swore his heart stopped. you looked gorgeous. the dress framed you perfectly and the delicate flower crown placed on your head looked just on you. he made a mental note to compliment whoever had planned your full outfit.

the closer you got, the more minho worried that your vows would be droned out by the sound of his heart beating against his rib cage.

you finally stepped in front of him, letting him get a clear view of you in your dress for the first time. you weren’t much better, speechless as you took in how handsome he looked. your felt your eyes began to well up at the realization of what was happening. who would have known you’d be crying from happiness, not disappointment or fear?

your eyes met minho’s own glassy ones and you let out a small laugh, speaking so only he could hear.

“i was right when i said you’d look hot in purple.”