#3..2..1.. thank you sun! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidrum · 1 year ago

Text

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy.

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch, you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point.

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured.

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere.

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

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chuxmy · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do advice 3? I really liked the 1 and 2 and i cant get enough

Advice.. III

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: The guys want to find out who got you smiling like that, but they were way too close to find out.

Warnings: physical violence, unwanted touching, harrasment, strong language

A/N: I’m reallyyyy happy that you like it 💕 Enjoooy

☜︎ Prev Next ☞︎

You were barely hearing anything around you.

The guys were talking, joking, throwing half-hearted punches, nudging each other like usual. You were sitting with Sieun, Juntae, Baku and Gotak outside a small convenience store near school. An empty ramen cup steamed at your side. Someone handed you a drink. You nodded, murmured thanks.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Still back in that quiet corner of the hallway where Geum Seongje had kissed you for the first time.

The memory clung to your skin like static

His hand curled behind your neck, the warm pressure of his lips brushing yours, hesitant for only a second before deepening, as if he’d been holding back for too long.

The way he said , “You make it hard to ignore you.”

You were still feeling it. The flush in your chest, the phantom pressure on your lips. You couldn’t stop biting them, brushing your fingers over your mouth like the kiss had left something visible.

“Yo.”

You blinked.

Gotak was looking at you from across the bench. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said too quickly. “I’m fine.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been zoning out the whole time. You look like you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“You smiled at your water bottle just now.”

You froze.

Sieun looked up briefly from his phone. “Is it a guy?”

You nearly choked. “W-What?”

Baku snorted. “It is a guy! Look at her face!”

You covered your mouth with your hand. “It’s not—! No. You’re all seeing things.”

Gotak leaned back with a teasing grin. “Let’s guess who it is. Someone from school?”

“No,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

“Someone we know?”

You stiffened.

Juntae watched you carefully. “Wait… wait a second. Is it… someone you shouldn’t be with?”

You stared straight at the ground, heart pounding.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You pulled it out without thinking.

[Unknown Contact]

Rooftop. 7 PM. Don’t be late.

No name. Just the message. But you knew who it was. Knew that texting you at all was risky for him. Knew that your fingers were already curling tighter around the phone as your stomach twisted with nervous excitement.

You looked up and realized Juntae had seen the screen.

His brow furrowed. “Who’s texting you without a name?”

You locked the phone and slipped it back in your pocket. “Nobody.”

“It’s not nobody if you’re about to pass out blushing.”

You stood abruptly. “I’ve gotta go.”

“All of a sudden?”

“Yeah. Homework.”

“No, you don’t,” Baku said.

But you were already walking away, ignoring their voices behind you, hoping they wouldn’t follow. Hoping they wouldn’t put the pieces together.

Because how could you explain to them that you kissed the last guy in the world you were supposed to?

That Seongje of all people had kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d never done it before.

That your heart still hadn’t slowed down since.

The sky had turned amber, streaked with gold and charcoal as the sun began to set. The air was warm, humming with the lazy energy of a spring evening. You sat beside Geum Seongje on the rooftop of an empty school building, legs dangling over the edge. You’d been there for an hour, just talking. Or more like… he listened to you talk.

Seongje never talked much unless he had something smart to say. But when you were alone with him, he didn’t always need words. Sometimes he just looked at you, his expression softer than the one he wore around others less armor, more curiosity.

You turned your head, catching him watching you again.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked away, lips twitching. “You’ve got something on your face.”

You wiped your cheek instinctively. “Where?”

“There,” he pointed vaguely, then leaned in without warning. He kissed the spot instead light, deliberate his lips brushing just beneath your cheekbone. “Got it.”

You glared at him, blushing. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I know,” he said smugly, but his voice dropped as he added, “but you still like me.”

You bumped his shoulder. “Barely.”

He chuckled under his breath. But then he leaned back on his elbows, gazing at the sky, his face unreadable again.

You lay back beside him, looking up too. For a moment, you just breathed together. Quiet. Peaceful. Like he didn’t have ties to something dangerous.

Eventually, you sighed and sat up. “I should go. The guys are probably wondering where I went.”

He didn’t move for a beat. Then he stood, brushing off his jeans. “Want me to walk you?”

You smiled. “No. Someone might see.”

He nodded slowly, and you knew what he wasn’t saying It’s not safe. But I won’t risk getting you involved.

So you left alone, the ghost of his kiss still lingering on your skin.

You took a shortcut home, familiar alleyways between apartment blocks, the concrete lit by weak orange streetlamps. You didn’t think twice. Not until you turned the corner and realized you weren’t alone.

A group of older boys stood there. About six of them, leaned casually against crates and stairs, smoking, laughing, whispering too low for you to hear. They didn’t look like strangers. Their uniforms were unbuttoned, slouched. And when one of them turned and made eye contact with you, your stomach dropped.

Oh oh.

You tried to back away, quietly. But your shoe scuffed the pavement.

They all looked up.

One of them stepped forward, dark eyes narrowing. “Yo,” he said. “You lost, little thing?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You felt your throat close.

Another leaned into the circle, amused. “She’s cute. You followin’ someone? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I didn’t know,” you said quickly. “I was just walking home, wrong turn, I’ll go back.”

“Not so fast,” the first one said, stepping in front of you. “You heard anything? Saw anything?”

“I don’t even know who you are—”

Wrong answer.

The boy grabbed your wrist roughly. “Liar. You don’t end up here by accident.”

“I swear—!”

Another boy joined, arms crossed. “Who are you? Say your name.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter please, just let me go—”

He raised a hand. Not to wave.

To strike.

And it landed.

The slap cracked across your face, hot and loud. Your head snapped sideways, cheek stinging. You stumbled, nearly falling.

The world tilted. Your eyes watered not from the pain, but the fear.

And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

That voice. His voice.

It came like a growl, low and furious.

All heads turned.

And Geum Seongje was there.

He stepped into the circle like he didn’t care there were six of them. Like it didn’t matter if they were Union or not. His eyes were locked on you, and when he saw the red mark blooming across your face, his entire body tensed like a loaded weapon.

The boy who slapped you looked confused for half a second.

“Seongje? She didn’t say who she was we were just—”

Seongje punched him so hard he dropped.

No hesitation. No words.

Just a fist straight to the jaw, the sound of bone on bone, and then the boy was on the ground groaning. Blood smeared his lip.

The rest of the group moved instantly but Seongje turned, face cold as ice.

“Anyone else want to explain why you laid a hand on her?” he said, voice low and deadly.

They froze.

One of them tried to speak. “We didn’t know she was yours—”

“She’s not property,” he snapped. “She’s off-limits. That should’ve been obvious the second you saw her face.”

You stood frozen, still holding your cheek, your breath shallow and quick. Seongje walked straight to you. You saw the change happen in him again the fury draining into something sharp and quiet as he looked you over. His hand came up slowly, carefully, fingers brushing your chin to tilt your face toward the light.

When he saw the red print, he swore under his breath.

“You okay?” he asked, low.

You nodded shakily. “I didn’t mean to come here— I didn’t know—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, stepping in closer. “It’s not your fault.”

Then he turned back to the boy still groaning on the ground.

But you grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t. Please. You’ve already done enough.”

He stilled.

For a second, it looked like he might fight you on it. His hands flexed, still twitching with anger.

Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and snapped a photo of the guy’s bloody face.

“You tell the others,” he said to the group. “Anyone touches her, they deal with me. Got it?”

They all nodded, dead silent.

Seongje looked at you again. “Come on.”

He led you out of the alley without another word. You didn’t speak until the lights of the main street hit your face, soft and safe.

He finally stopped, pulling you gently to face him.

His eyes scanned you again checking every inch, like he was trying to make sure you were still whole.

“I told you not to walk alone,” he muttered.

“I didn’t know they’d be there.”

“You shouldn’t have had to worry about that.”

Silence stretched between you.

You whispered, “You were really going to kill him, weren’t you?”

“I still might,” he said darkly. Then softer “No one touches you. Ever.”

You looked up at him. “Why do you care so much?”

He stared at you for a second then pulled you into him suddenly, fiercely. His arms locked around you, his chin resting in your hair. You felt him breathe in slow, steady, like he needed to remind himself you were real.

“I don’t know how to do this right,” he whispered. “But I know I can’t lose you.”

You held him tighter.

And for the first time in all the chaos, you felt safe.

#geum seongje x reader #geum seongje #seong je geum #seongje geum x reader #seongje geum #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #geum seong je #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class one

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deadsetobsessions · 5 months ago

Text

Short DPXDC prompt #2, from @stealingyourbones.

“It’ll be good for you!” Dick threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he beamed his way through Gotham U’s campus.

“I could have done this online. They have virtual degrees. I could have hacked my way into one.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get the authentic experience!”

The group arrived at the dorm building, one of many, and Damian gave it a dubious once over.

“If this is authentic, I refuse to be a part of the locals.” Damian quietly remarked, before peering cautiously at Dick. “I have obtained my degrees. I do not need this experience.”

“It’s really not that bad, guys.”

“How would you know? You went to Blüdhaven for college.” Tim retorted with the voice of a young man resigned to despair. “You lived off campus and your door pin was Zitka’s birthday, month first then date second.”

“… Tim, why the fuck do you know that.”

“When I knocked on your door, that was just common courtesy. I didn’t actually need you to open it. I could have opened it myself.”

Dick’s smile brightens even further, with the light of an LED bulb instead of his usual sun, and places a hand on Tim’s head. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re careless sometimes, you know that?” Tim groused. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just get this over with. I can’t believe I’m going to have a roommate.”

“It’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, you can always swap roomies. We have enough pull to have that happen.”

“Doubtlessly.” Damian said. “This campus barely passes the bar of acceptability. Why is the campus like this. Why is it incorporated into the city.”

Tim smirked. Even though Damian spoke with formal language only found in the highest of echelons of society, Jon’s influence was beginning to make itself known. Good for him, the little shit. Privately, Tim thought the presence of a Kryptonian brought out the better sides of a bat. God knows Kon did, for him.

“Okay, enough whining you two! Let’s get Tim settled in.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the gut and kept walking into the building as his big brother wheezed dramatically. Damian rolled his eyes- he’s seen Nightwing take harder hits than Drake’s pointy elbows and walk it off- and followed. Unbeknownst to them, Dick all but beamed with joy at their solidarity. His plan was working.

——

Tim settled into the dorm, disgruntled at the small and uncomfortable twin mattress. The dorm smelt of faint mildew, had at least ten safety code violations, and had ventilation that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the last fear gas attack. The vent thing honestly might explain the state of Gotham U’s students and their proclivities to become supervillains. Tim is more tempted to go into villainy than ever before with these conditions.

That is, until his roomie walked in.

Step 1) reboot brain.

Holy shit, his roomie was HOT.

Step 2) notice all the weird things his roomie all showed unconsciously. Too graceful. Walking carefully, like how Kon does sometimes when he’s remembering to be careful with his fragile surroundings. Meta? Too sharp teeth.

Wait. Sharp teeth?

“Uh, hi. I’m Danny. You must be my roommate. Tim, right?” The guy, Danny, had a deep voice. And too sharp teeth. Because he smiled. It was a damn nice smile.

Step 3) bi panic. DID TIM MENTION HE WAS HOT??

“Uh. Hi. Yeah, I’m Tim.”

“Cool. What’re you majoring in?”

“Forensic Analysis. You?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. “Cool, I’m just gonna set my stuff down.”

“You’re not from here, right?” Tim asked and promptly flushed when an amused smile gets thrown his way.

“The accent give it away?”

“Yeah. Uh. You want a tour, man?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

——

It was flashes of things.

“Oh. I don’t go anywhere without my thermos.” Danny smiled, patting the dented thing. Except, Tim’s never seen him drink from it.

Or:

“Oh, woah. Food’s not attacking me.” And the thing is, Danny actually looked apprehensive before poking at the cafeteria food.

What??

And a month passes before Tim realizes he’s one hundred percent absolutely fucked.

Because it’s one thing if it’s an extremely attractive dork with brains and humor.

It’s an entirely different thing if the extremely attractive dork with brains and humor was a complete and total mystery. Tim is an absolute sucker for mysteries. It’s even more attractive than smacking him in the face with a brick!

“Hey, Tim?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tim screamed at himself. He’s dated like fifteen different people! Why the hell is he so awkward with Danny?

(Tim was always awkward. He has that autistic rizz.)

“Tell me more about blood splatters?” Danny asked with a hopeful smile. Tim folded like wet paper. (It helps that he knows a lot- too much- about analyzing blood splatters.)

——

Outside of their window, Nightwing cackled to himself. It was worth using the Wayne name to get Tim the most interesting college kid Dick could find as a roommate. Who said Tim had the market corner on stalking anyways?

Nightwing flipped off of the roof, all but skipping home.

Robin, his patrol partner for the night, grimaced. For all Richard was his favorite, the man unsettled him at times.

#nightwing being nightwing #nightwing is a manipulative little shit #you can not change my mind #DCxDP #dpxdc #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #dead tired #college au kind of #prompt fill #dc x dp writing prompt #danny fenton #they were roommates #oh my god they were roommates

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askkaneethi · 22 days ago

Text

Who’s your future spouse? 🪷

Pick a card reading

Who’s your future spouse? Custom tarot. Ko-fi

Pile 1-🌻

Pile 2- 📸

Pile 3- 💋

Pile 🌻

Your future spouse is someone sharp, agile and they are considered an “old soul.” This is someone extremely intelligent and someone who is more on the introverted side, someone thoughtful, philosophical and spiritual! This person has a very strong masculine energy and is someone stoic, loyal and not afraid to take charge. Someone who has a lot of integrity and morals, someone just. They have been through emotional struggles, and carry that wisdom and experience with grace. Someone mysterious, magnetic, and protective. This is someone with a sharp jawline, symmetrical face, confident posture and his arms are very attractive. They have a lean or athletic muscular body. Their eyes stand out, your fs have very intense eyes, nice shaped eyebrows and a pretty smile. He has a melancholic aura, and it’s someone that people can sense has been through tough moments.

Pile 📸:

Hello there pile 2!! Your future spouse is someone quick- witted, confident and I’m hearing big dck energyyy!!! ❤️‍🔥 lolll. This is someone persuasive, seductive and a smooth talker. Your fs is someone dominant, protective and assertive. When you guys meet he will be the one to pursue you and he will not give up. This is someone who knows what they want. 😉 This is someone goal oriented, competitive and very driven. They possibly work out and are into sports! This is someone that thrives under pressure lolll, the more challenging the better, this is a go getter fr. Regardless, they are someone artistic, who occasionally likes to paint. Someone with a broad build, defined abdomen, noticeable veins, and I’m seeing eyebrow piercing??? 👀🥵. This is someone who walks with confidence, likes to keep their hands in their pockets (that’s how they walk loll), someone clean who maintains themselves well-groomed, clean-ironed clothes, attractive scent. Their energy makes people turn their heads.

Pile 💋:

Your future spouse is someone deeply reflective and artistic pile 3. This is someone that has carried a lot of burdens emotionally, financially or within family dynamics. This is someone who has “done it all alone.” Your fs has battled with anxiety, and intrusive thoughts. This is someone who has had to confront their darkness and challenge their mind. Despite all of that, they have so much love to give pile 3. This is someone romantic, affectionate, sensual, and could be involved with art, design or likes to cook! This person is your wish fulfillment and you are theirs. They’re proud of how far they’ve made it, and they’re abundant, magnetic and healing. This person wants the family that perhaps they never had. They want true commitment and connection. This person takes commitment serious and dates to marry. They’re very passionate, and they do not hesitate to go after what they want. Your fs has big eyes, their eyes could sparkle, warm smile, delicate hands, dimples, someone who takes care of themselves, skin care, could have nice skin, freckles or moles, some kind of beauty mark. I’m seeing a sun-kissed skin tone, honey skin, very specific with their clothing’s fabric, tattoos, could have a noticeable-meaningful scar, I’m seeing eye smile!!

Thank you so much for reading!! Consider checking out my pinned post and booking with me!! 🫶🏻💗

Xoxo💋

#fs reading #future spouse #love reading #tarotblr #free tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a card #askkaneethi #divine guidance

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husbandhoshi · 6 months ago

Text

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

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

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

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

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

"No, he's on duty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks.

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother clears her throat.

"We have arranged for you to marry someone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does Jeonghan know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's me."

Jihoon.

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

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

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

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

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

"I'll be in the foyer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Late spring is kind to Acros.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Didn't know you had a choice."

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

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

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

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?"

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

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's not around, right?"

Jihoon shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate mornings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Save me, red wine, save me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! No. Absolutely not."

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

[10:15 am, race 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likewise, your highness. Likewise.

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

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, did you find anything?”

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

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

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

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

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

If only she knew.

[3:45 pm, race 3]

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be a glutton for punishment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm picking your punishment already.”

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

“Nine is still first, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still beating you, you know.”

“Not for long! Come on!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t spare us the details.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

I guess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do top?” you announce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks anyway.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your family needed our help too, remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You ready to get stuffed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your party?”

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

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

“You’re coming in an hour, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

#mine #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen smut #joshua smut

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f1amour · 8 months ago

Text

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 BED CHEM

pairing | charles leclerc x singer!reader

face claim | olivia rodrigo

content warnings | some social media au, birthday sex, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, praise kink, soft dom!charles, edging, dirty talk, public sex, restroom sex, car sex —18+ only, minors do not interact

authors note | another belated birthday story but hope you guys enjoy!! maybe this’ll bring good luck for todays race :))

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liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lilymhe, and 1,938,733 others

yourusername my everything. my world. all in one. i will always be thankful to be so lucky that i have found a love that will last a lifetime. meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be my favorite. it’s you today and tomorrow, forever and always, in another world and universe; it’ll always be you. happiest of birthdays my charlie. i love you. 💌🧸

view commmets below…

user1 your honor i love them

user2 “meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time knowing it would be my favorite.” FUCK I WANT A LOVE LIKE THEIRS

charles_leclerc mon amour. mon soleil. ma lune. mon étoile. merci de m'aimer et d'être mon meilleur ami. tu es le meilleur cadeau que je puisse jamais avoir. je t'aime maintenant et dans tous les univers. [my love. my sun. my moon. my star. thank you for loving me and being my best friend. you are the best gift i could ever have. i love you now and in every universe.]

yourusername charlie🥹🥹 i love you so bad, baby. (thank you google translate🤞🏼)

user3 the best gift i could ever have…i aspire to have someone love me like this one day

arthur_leclerc you guy make me sick.

yourusername applications open someone please date my brother in law so he could stop third wheeling with us!!

arthur_leclerc fuck you i got 200 message requests now because of this🖕🏼

yourusername ur welcome 😙

user4 the relationship she has with his family is so cute and hilarious😭 the fact she calls them in laws🥹

lilymhe alex is crying after seeing your post.

yourusername mission accomplished 🫡 thank you and alex_albon for setting us up 🫶🏼

alex_albon okay so when is the wedding?

charles_leclerc soon😉

yourusername YOU HAVENT EVEN ASKED ME?!

charles_leclerc i know but soon…i know you’ll be my wife

lilymhe great he’s crying again

user4 i can’t believe they’ve been dating four years now it’s CRAZY

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yourusername posted three stories!

slide 1/3 surprise!! my new single bed chem is out now dedicated to my favorite libra

slide 2/3 bed chem music video out at midnight, can you guess who the special guest is?

slide 3/3 the day that we met he was wearing this white jacket and now four years later he wore it once again for the music video…hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did ;)

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AUSTIN, TEXAS. 2024.

“what if someone hears us?” you breathe out shakily while charles’ lips are attached to your neck. his hands digging into your hips giving it a soft squeeze before he spins your around almost bending you over the counter and facing the mirror.

“has that ever stopped us? come on, baby. it is my birthday after all and you said i can have whatever i want. what i want is you,” his fingers slip under your skirt, pushing your panties to the side, “i think you want it too. you’re soaked for me.” charles kisses your shoulders as he adds two fingers, slowly stretching you out with your eyes connected to his through the mirror.

“remember our first date? you were practically begging for me to fuck you on the table right there in front of everyone. but only i get to ever see you like this, a mess for me,” he taunts, fingers moving deep inside of you, curling against your g-spot as he pushes your face to the side pulling you in for a deep kiss until you were both gasping for air.

“charlie, wanna cum…please,” you choke out, already feeling close with your walls fluttering around him. you push yourself against him already feeling his cock through his pants, you needed him.

"uh uh, baby," he purrs, "tonight is my night so i want you to cum all over my cock. before that i wanna come in your pretty mouth. on your knees, cherie.” he slowly pulls his fingers out and you moan at the loss of fullness before he’s tapping your ass signaling to kneel on the cold tiles.

charles’ eyes grow darker as you sink down on your knees and pull his pants down, his cock springs free. without notice you wrap your lips around the tip of him and his pre-cum coats your tongue as you take him further.

“mon dieu bébé, ta bouche est tellement parfaite. merde,” his hand tangle in your hair and around the back of your neck. your hand wraps around whatever doesn’t fit in your mouth and you speed up your movements, “shit. ‘m gonna cum mon amour.” he groans as you hollow your cheeks around him.

with just a few more strokes before thick ropes of cum fill your mouth, charles’ head thrown back in pleasure catching his breath before helping you up. he wipes the tears off your face gives you a sweet kiss teeth clashing as you both smile, “i love you so much.” laughter now fills the restroom as you jinx each other with the sentence.

his hand intertwined with yours after fixing each other’s appearance you walk out of the restroom and go back to sit down at the dinner where some of the other drivers and their partners were seated.

“fucking finally! you filthy whores we’ve been waiting 20 minutes for you guys. couldn’t you wait until after dessert!” max curses at the two of you and you give him the finger before sitting next to charles and lily right beside you,

“i got my dessert already.” you chuckle leaning your head on charles, his hand resting on your thigh. the rest of the group doesn’t mind, seeing the two of you with a smitten smile obviously enjoying yourselves but their faces turn sour at max’s next comment, “yeah, a salty one.”

“max!”

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after dinner you all headed out to your own cars and to the club where the real birthday celebrations would start for charles. however, you had one small wish to make on your behalf despite it not being your day. “don’t pout at me, baby. what’s wrong?” charles rubbed his thumb on your knee as he drove to the next destination.

“what’s wrong? you didn’t let me cum! i gave you a fucking blowjob with my knees on a filthy floor and i don’t get to cum? it’s your birthday but…i’m mad. i gave you a song, an entire album this year, i gave you leo, and what do i get? nothing!” you cross your arms and push his hand away.

“my love, is that why you’re upset? fine,” he takes a quick turn into an empty parking lot and you look at him confused because this certainly wasn’t the club you had booked. “charles, this isn’t the—.” you stop when he undoes your seatbelt and places you on his lap.

“have your way with me, ma chérie,” he leans in pulling you into a kiss, his hands on your face as you deepen the kiss and roll your hips against his causing him to let out a groan. clothes are quickly shrugged off to where your aching pussy rubs against his hardened cock.

his cock slipping in as you let yourself moan as he stretches you, “you take me so well," he grunts. "that’s my girl, just relax for me. gonna give you exactly what you want.”

now fully seated on charles, cock deep inside of you as he holds your face in his hands, “j'aime toujours à quel point tu es jolie quand je t'ai comme ça. [always love how pretty you look when i have you like this].” he grunts letting you rock your hips against him.

“still don’t know what you’re saying but i love how you talk to me in french,” you press your lips to his as he squeezes your hips. he thrusts up meeting your movements as well causing you both to let out loud moans as the car shakes, “tu me prends si bien, chérie. [you take me so well, sweetheart.]”

"don't stop, please, don't stop." you whimper feeling one of his hands pull away from your hip but gasp when it goes to your clit adding pressure to it, “charlie,” your moans coming out loud and needy, grabbing onto his shoulder and fucking yourself harder on him.

charles can’t help but let out a string of curse words mixed in french and italian. you have no idea what he is saying other than his usual pet names for you but it has you close to your orgasm and he could tell, “that’s it, baby. taking my cock so well give me a little more and you can cum.” he grabs you close to him your chest pressed against his as he forces himself up into you hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“cum with me, pretty girl.” a small nod and you capture his lips in yours letting out a moan against his soft lips as you reach your orgasm. a loud groan escapes his chest as he empties himself inside you.

you let a few minutes pass as you both catch your breaths and share a few sweet kisses, “best birthday ever, from my favorite gift ever. i love you,” charles smiles at you, his cock still buried deep inside you making the moment much more intimate for you, “i you, charlie.” you kiss his nose which makes him let out a low chuckle.

“we should probably get going before—.” as charles speaks up about heading to the club some bright car lights shine in your faces causing you to wince. you jump up startled when you hear a knock on the window, “fuck! mon amour…still inside you,” charles groans feeling your walls clench around his cock.

“you guys have been gone for an hour! we get it you like to fuck but we couldn’t get into the club until you arrived. i need a fucking drink!” max yells through the window stressed as if you had missed an importat meeting. in his eyes, you did.

however, his little tantrum caused the two of you to throw yourselves into a fit of giggles as he curses in dutch the only words you can understand are gin & tonic. “best birthday.” charles repeats, his loving smile directed at you. his best gift ever.

#f1 amour works #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc texts #charles leclerc #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x singer!reader

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ariestrxsh · 7 months ago

Text

olderbrothersbsf!matt x innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡ content warning: smut, innocence corruption, masturbation, public fingering, praise, sneaking around, mentions of sex and virginity loss, small age gap (both characters are adults)

જ⁀➴ ♡ summary: your brother's childhood best friend, matt sturniolo, takes your virginity, and the two of you begin sneaking around in plain sight.

dividers by @/roseraris

Young God

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Matt woke up in a cold sweat, his chest covered in a thick layer of perspiration, laying on the floor next to your brother's bed in his dark room. He had heard your brother's voice so clearly in his dream that he was sure it was real while it was happening.

He had taken your virginity earlier in the night, and his conscience was already nagging at him in the form of vivid nightmares that the interaction had ended in your brother walking in on the two of you.

In reality, he was thankfully a heavy sleeper, and it was a running joke in the family that he could sleep through a car accident, and he actually had once. It was a minor fender bender, but still. So even as Matt woke up in a panic, gasping for air, your brother was snoring loudly, the same way he was when Matt had snuck back into the room after he'd cleaned you up.

It's not that Matt regretted having sex with you. In fact, he was already plotting how he could get you alone again. But he knew he was playing a dangerous game. Your brother was bigger than he was, stronger than he was, and he'd seen him beat the shit out of people for less. Matt really believed him when he told him he'd kill him if he had sex with you.

But how could he have walked away from you after finding you like that, pleasuring yourself and moaning his name? He really thought it would have been more cruel to have left you all alone to your own devices when he knew that what you really wanted was between his legs, and he knew he could make you feel better than any toy could.

He started pawing at himself through the soft fabric of his underwear while he replayed the encounter in his head. He recalled the way he had stumbled upon you with your vibrator, softly moaning his name from one room over. He remembered how vulnerable and fuckable you'd looked.

His curious hand wandered into his waistband, and he wrapped his fingers around his thick shaft, fervently tugging at his cock while he recounted the shocked expression on your pretty face while he'd breached your entrance. He couldn't stop thinking about all the lovely sounds you'd made while he'd deflowered you, stretching you out for the very first time.

He started pumping faster, his mind flooded with images of you, getting closer and closer to the finale. He remembered how you'd clenched around him while he played with you and the way your breasts had jiggled while he had pounded into your sweet little cunt.

You were no longer pure and virginal, and it was all thanks to him. He had tainted your innocence with his dark desires.

He threw his head back and shut his eyes as a few strangled moans filled the room. His stomach dropped, and his muscles tightened as he finished himself off, milking his throbbing cock for all of its worth. He came all over his hand while he pictured your hole dripping with his seed after he'd filled you up.

He remembered the way you had softly begged him, "Please, don't tell my brother," while peering up at him with your big eyes, your lip caught between your teeth as his cum was still dribbling out of you. "I wouldn't dream of it," he had panted in response before leaning down and pulling you into a deep kiss.

A satisfied smile formed on Matt's face as he slowly brought his strokes to a halt, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He couldn't wait until the next time he got to have his way with you.

Finally, Matt was able to drift off again and sneak in a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep before the sun began to rise.

જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴

The next morning, you woke up smiling and satisfied from what Matt had done to you the previous night. You galavanted into the long hallway, tiptoeing past your brother's door. You floated down the staircase, running your hand along the smooth banister like you did every morning on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning Boots!" You greeted the family dog, ruffling his fur, and he wagged his tail in response. You let him out the back door to do his morning business.

You were humming to yourself, rifling through the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs when Matt appeared out of the corner of your eye at the bottom of the steps. "Shit," you muttered as you lost your grip on the carton of eggs, sending the last six in the container crashing to the floor about your feet.

"Sorry, sweet thing. I didn't mean to startle you," Matt chuckled, watching you forget how your motor skills worked just because he was in your presence. "Hi, Matt," you timidly greeted him.

For a moment, you glanced up at him and then back down at the shattered eggs beneath you as you remembered the vulnerable position he'd seen you in the night before. You knelt down on the ground and started scooping up the broken shells.

"I make you nervous, don't I?" Matt smirked, slowly walking towards you. You innocently looked up at him with a flushed expression and your big, doe eyes. You didn't have to respond for him to know he was right. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look on your knees?" Matt cooed quietly, bending down and softly brushing his thumb against your smooth, pink cheek.

You felt your stomach drop as Matt looked into your eyes, caressing your face and saying all the right things to you. "You were such a good girl for me last night," Matt whispered, smiling deviously and running the pad of his thumb along your plump bottom lip.

Suddenly, you heard heavy foot steps descending the stairs, and Matt quickly pulled his hand away as your brother materialized at the bottom of the staircase. Matt started to help you pick up the broken egg shells, but you couldn't will away the pink shade your face took on after Matt had spoken so sweetly to you.

"That's okay. I'll just have cereal for breakfast," your brother rolled his eyes, approaching the pantry after witnessing the mess. "It's my fault," Matt said, winking at you as he stood up, disposing of the eggs shells and rinsing off his hand. You avoided eye contact with them both, cleaning the rest of the egg off the tile.

You appreciated that Matt took the attention off you by taking the blame. You were paranoid that if your brother looked at you for too long that he could see it written on your face that you weren't a virgin anymore.

"You know, why don't we all go out for breakfast?" Matt suggested, smirking over at you once he picked up the nearly empty carton of milk out of the fridge.

જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴ ♡ જ⁀➴

You, Matt, and your brother found yourselves at a nearby local diner with a bit of a 50's vibe to it - classic checkerboard floor, a vintage jukebox, and vinyl pink booths. I Only Have Eyes For You by The Flamingo's played quietly through the speakers as a woman in bright red lipstick and a poodle skirt greeted the three of you and led you towards your table in the back of the empty restaurant.

Both you and your brother sat down across from each other, and Matt made the bold move of taking a seat next to you, earning a curious look from your brother that Matt quickly brushed off.

The waitress poured fresh, hot coffee into each of your ceramic mugs and set off in another direction to give you all a few minutes with your menus.

You decided on French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Matt got the biscuits and gravy combo, and your brother got steak and eggs. Shortly after ordering, the server came back around to top off everyone's coffee.

"So what do you guys like the most about being away at college?" You asked Matt and your brother as you stirred a couple sugars and cream into your mug. "Definitely the fact that our overprotective mother isn't always asking where I'm going," your brother chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.

"How about you, Matt? What do you like the most about college?" You asked, batting your lashes at him. "Probably how loud I can fuck now that I don't live at home with my parents," Matt said, smirking over at you.

"Wow. How inspirational. Maybe tone done the sex talk in front of my little sister, huh?" Your brother snorted, dipping his fingers into his water and flicking it at Matt. Matt did the same in return. You blushed and giggled at their rapport.

"What have you guys missed the most about being home?" You wondered, glancing between the two boys. "I missed Boots the most. We can't keep pets in our dorm rooms," your brother stated, excited to be around the family dog again.

You turned your attention towards the boy to your left to hear his response. "I missed you the most," Matt said in a seductive voice, staring into your eyes, nudging you in the knee with his, and secretly placing his hand on your thigh. You smiled and blushed at him.

"Did you miss me as much as I missed you?" He cooed, gently drawing circles with his fingers just inches from your heat. You bit your lip and nodded. "Hey, Matt. Could you stop hitting on my little sister in front of me?" Your brother asked nonchalantly. "No. Look at how much she likes it," Matt sneered at him, and your brother kicked him under the table.

It was a small price to pay in order to watch how embarrassed and flustered you'd get around him.

It was around this time that the waitress returned with your steaming hot breakfast. The smell of maple syrup and bacon wafted through the air, and you each thanked her as she placed your plates in front of you all. There were a few moments of silence while everyone dug into their meals.

You felt Matt's hand that was resting on the inside of your thigh as he started hiking up your sparkly pink dress and inching towards your pussy. Your eyes widened, and you slowly looked over towards Matt as he casually pulled your panties to the side.

He shot a subtle smirk in your direction as he slipped a finger between your folds, gently stroking up and down and just barely grazing your clit. You bit down on your lip to suppress a whimper. With one hand between your legs and the other gripping his fork, he nodded at your brother while he recounted his least favorite teacher his first semester of his freshman year of college.

"Hopefully, you don't get him next year, sis. Basically had to teach myself trigonometry because he refused to dumb down the information. Pretentious bastard," your brother mumbled under his breath. "Yeah, and he was a real hard-ass for no reason," Matt added, gesturing with his fork while he rubbed your sensitive button underneath the table.

"Just because you never showed up to class doesn't mean every single one of your teachers is a hard-ass, Matt," your brother snarked at him. Matt chuckled at your brother's comment while he inserted a finger into your drooling hole as you were taking a sip of your coffee.

You inhaled sharply, sputtering on your hot drink and nearly spitting it out onto the table. "You good?" Your brother asked you, and you nodded while you placed your mug back down with a trembling hand. "Lay off the coffee. You're shaking," he pointed out before cutting into his steak.

Matt slowly thrust his finger into you while you tried to remain as composed as possible. You loved the feeling of him moving in and out of you while your brother was across from you, unaware of what the two of you were up to on the other side of the booth.

Thankfully, after a few more minutes, your brother excused himself to use the bathroom, and he walked away without paying any mind to what Matt's fingers were doing under the table.

The second he disappeared around the corner, Matt grabbed ahold of your leg and rested it on his knee to open you up further. He spread your lips and stared down at your wet, juicy cunt. "Such a pretty pink pussy you have," Matt admired, hungrily wetting his lips.

He lined two of his fingers up with your entrance and started fucking you hard and fast with them under the table. "If the waitress or your brother start coming this way, be a good girl and let me know. I don't think this will take very long, though," he whispered, seductively smiling at you.

A few strangled moans escaped your lips as you gripped the edge of the table. "Good girl. You're so wet," Matt softly commented as his digits slipped in and out of you with ease. You could feel your stomach dropping, your core tightening, and your whole body quivering as Matt brought you to the quickest climax you'd had in your life.

There was something about the risky factor and the publicity of it all that sent you plummeting over the edge while Matt passionately finger-fucked you.

"That's it. Cum all over my fingers. Come on, sweet thing. I know you can do it," he urged you. His praise sent a current of pleasure through you while you started rhythmically clenching around his digits, your hips bucking as he finished you off.

"Good girl," he lustfully commended you as your jaw fell open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He pumped in and out, slowing down his pace as your orgasm concluded. A wave of tranquility washed over you, and Matt gave you a mischevious smile as he pulled his fingers from your slick hole that were covered in shiny layer of your juices.

"Mmm," he hummed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them clean, cherishing your flavor. "I can't get enough of you," he whispered as you pulled your legs shut again, smoothing out your dress, and going back to eating your food as your brother came into view from around the corner on his way back from the bathroom.

You almost couldn't believe you'd let Matt do that to you in such a high-risk situation, but you fucking loved the rush you got from it, and Matt could tell due to how quickly you came.

When your brother returned to the table, you could feel how flushed your face must have looked as your brother's eyes traveled between you and his best friend. Matt couldn't hide the guilty smirk from his face, but he tried to cover it with his hand as he propped his elbow up on the table.

He got a sort of sick satisfaction out of sneaking around with his best friend's little sister right in front of his face. The only problem was that he was too smug and arrogant for his own good, and his God complex would quickly have him falling from good graces if he wasn't careful.

"You guys are acting weird today," he commented, narrowing his gaze. "If one of you did something to my food while I was gone, you're both dead," he laughed, skeptically looking at you and the boy beside you.

"Nah, nothing like that. Don't worry about it," Matt replied in a conceited tone. "If you're playing some kind of prank on me, I'm gonna figure it out, Sturniolo," your brother responded, laughing and pointing at him with his fork.

You sat uncomfortably in your soaking wet panties, silently finishing your coffee, unable to look at either one of them. Your heart was still beating quickly, and you were still trying to subtly call your breath back to you. Luckily, the subject changed, and the boys started talking about something unrelated.

You couldn't bring yourself to add to the conversation, so you listened quietly while you picked at your french toast and eggs, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.

You couldn't keep your eyes off Matt the whole ride home, studying his profile and swooning every time he turned around to wink at you or lick his lips while he peered between your legs. Every silent exchange between the two of you felt like a little secret that only the two of you were privy to.

You liked concealing the sexual nature of your relationship with Matt. As far as everyone else around you knew, he was just your brother's best friend. However, behind closed doors (and under the table in empty diners), he was the manifestation of your fantasies, the embodiment of your wildest wet dream, and the boy who had popped your cherry.

All you could think about was the next time you'd get to be alone with him. Behind his hauntingly beautiful blue eyes, he was wondering the same about you, daydreaming about the next time he could fill you with his cock.

part three here ❣️

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seekingserenity333 · 3 months ago

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Astrology Observations - 2

Thanks for the big love and people who's given me input in the replies in my other posts! I'm an amateur so take what I say with a grain of salt and take what resonates!

1- Aquarius risings tend to have big foreheads, if not diamond shaped faces. They can alienate themselves during intense situations like an argument and may find it hard to take stuff seriously once they're out. This is not a bad thing as they can be an objective observant and make sound decisions

2- Gemini risings/dominated people usually have small noses and very youthful faces. Also tend to look very mischievous. They also usually learn a second language by themselves at a young age and grasp internet culture early on. There isn't much they already haven't heard of

3- Moon - Pluto hard aspects might make it harder for the native to accept their feminine side, they might feel ashamed of their own feminine qualities and also shame other people who have them. This can also manifest as intense relationship with mother, mother figures or women/feminine people in general. This isn't all bad as these experiences might transform the native to identify and accept their feminine qualities and have better relationship with women/feminine people.

4- Mars in the 1st house can manifest as having an athletic body and gaining muscle mass easily. Likely to have upturned, intense eyebrows. Their sex appeal is most likely off the charts but depending on other placements this can be bothersome as constantly being sexualized might take a toll on them

5- Speaking of being sexualized, Lilith in the 2nd can be a victim of that. They might get sexualized by people they had never thought of in random places

6- Neptune/Pisces dominants might look past a lot of red flags in people. They almost may create a persona for people around them and pretend that's the reality. Neptune blurs the boundaries and that might make the native give out too much of their energy to people around them while receiving much less back

7- You can't fool a Scorpio dominant easily. Their minds can subconsciously pick up many little details and present them as intuition, so once they have a gut feeling it's might be their subconscious telling them to catch up, which they do. Great for anything that requires research and problem solving. This can be a curse in disguise as trying to automatically predict the future or knowing secrets can be very overwhelming

8- Leo dominants usually thrive on attention that is constant. Their playful personalities tend to allow them to achieve just that. People will feel wanted and seen by them and keep giving them their attention. If they don't receive it they may see this as energy wasted and feel unwanted easily after

9- Venus dominated/Taurus sun/rising people might have very melaninated lips, it can look like they're wearing a subtle lipstick.

#astro observations #astrology observations #astro community #astro posts #astro notes #astro placements #natal chart observations

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randompiecesofwriting · 1 month ago

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Coffee Snob (pt 4)

Summary: The reader ends up in the Pitt threatening to break as she goes through the aftermath of a mugging leaving Robby to pick up the pieces

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Reader gets mugged but she’s 1000% physically fine, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff, this is the angstyist one so far!

Author’s note: Back again because I cannot be stopped! Again I do not have the words to convey just how much all of the feedback I have gotten on this series thus far it is absolutely what drives me each and every time to write another part I cherish every one of them!

Also tagging @li22ie2017 because they asked! Thank you so much!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

There was a woman in his spot.

A very familiar woman. A very familiar woman in a very familiar spot at a rather unfamiliar time.

It was early, too early for even the sun to have risen yet, so early he had expected the spot to be empty, for even the city below to posses an unnatural stillness.

He couldn’t say he was upset to see you there though, legs dangling over the edge, familiar coffee cup in hand.

“Caffeine and heights?” You whipped around at the sound of his voice breaking the silence of the city suddenly, eyes just wide enough to show that he had caught you off guard, thankfully not bad enough that you were in any real danger that close to the edge.

Still you adjusted quickly, a warm smile growing on your face at the sight of him, the scene sending warmth through his chest “thought I’d mix it up”

He came up to sit beside you, the scene so similar to how everything had started and yet still so vastly different, a coffee instead of two beers, a familiarity in the air instead of a cautious approach, a much smaller distance between the two bodies than before. “And the verdict is?”

You hummed as you thought about it, wordlessly handing your mug over to him without any real thought behind the gesture, as always sharing your creations with him. He took an eager sip before handing it back “It’s too quiet”

He nodded at that, looking out over the city around him “too empty”

You took a sip of your coffee and hummed in agreement, setting the mug down between the two of you. A silent invitation, one he took up happily “What are you doing up this early?”

“My chef de patisserie is out for the week so I’m doing their prep” you shrugged.

“Their prep starts at four in the morning?” You smiled at that and he couldn’t help but appreciate the ease he always felt with you, the ease at which you gave out smiles, the ease with which he returned them.

“Pastries take time. You have to let dough rise, let creams cool, bake. It’s a labor of love”

He hummed appreciatvily at that, stealing another sip of coffee, looking out over the city, a sense of peace washing over him despite the weight of the world he had felt crushed under just an hour ago.

“What about you; why are you up this early?”

“Couldn’t sleep” and he decided to leave it at that, hoping you wouldn’t pry further, not quite ready to scare you off with his full answer.

But as you always did you seemed to know when to not push it, to not ask quite yet. He could feel your eyes on him, looking him over for a brief second, assessing him before nodding slowly, making a dramatic showing of checking a watch he knew you weren’t wearing “well since you don’t have to be at the hospital for a few hours. Want to come to work with me?”

He furrowed his brow at the invitation, asking the obvious question silently.

You shrugged in response, grabbing your mug and cradling it against your chest as you stood “It’s four in the morning, restaurant will be empty, come keep me company” you stated it like it was obvious, as if there was no better answer to his lack of sleep than hanging out in an empty restaurant kitchen “I’ll even make you breakfast” personally Robby couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.

And that was how he found himself wide awake at nearly 5 in the morning, sitting at a stool in a restaurant he has never been in, looking out over an open kitchen as you carefully weighed out ingredients into a giant bowl, eating what was undoubtedly the best omelet he has ever had in his life.

There was a small array of soft lights that illuminated the kitchen before him, all other lights in the restaurant remained off creating a soft ambiance in the space, an almost intimate look that highlighted how it was just you and him here, your laugh echoing slightly off the walls as you recounted a story.

“You should’ve seen his face when he realized he’d been chopping cucumbers for the last hour instead of zucchini”

He tried to listen to your story, he really genuinely wanted to. But his sleep deprived brain refused to focus on one thing for too long. Jumping from how good the food was, to how warm the coffee felt, to how beautiful you looked as you worked, ot how at peace he felt in the space.

It contrasted so greatly with his world he almost felt on edge within it, waiting for that other shoe to drop, for something to ruin it.

Then you’d look at him from over your shoulder and smile softly, naturally, and everything for a second would be okay.

“And you said this kid went to culinary school?”

You snorted at that and he felt almost proud, of being able to make you laugh, of saying the right thing, of deserving in that moment to be here.

“He’s just nervous. So eager to prove himself. Reminds me of myself when I first started”

And god could he relate to that. To starting out after school and desperately trying to prove that he deserved to be there, to solve a patient’s every issue, to be good.

“What’d you do with all the cucumber?”

You hefted the bowl with a small huff and poured it into a giant mixer, flicking the thing on and coming back to stand on the other side of the bar from him, leaning casually on the countertop on your elbows “let him come up with a way to use them for dinner service. He came up with-“ you suddenly cut yourself off, standing up straight and looking at the fridge along the back wall “actually…”

Trailing off you started across the room before he could say anything, opening the fridge and grabbing a deli-container. As you made your way back to him, you grabbed a fork from a cup on the counter and scooped up a bite from within “try this”

Without question he took the fork from you, taking a bite and looking back up at you with wide eyes “wait that’s delicious”

“Right” you laughed at him, grabbing a second fork and taking your own bite from the container “basically a spicy quick pickle, went perfectly with the braised beef I’d already had going. We turned it into sliders and served it with this. Shit I wish I still had some to give to you it was so good” And Robby, to be honest, didn’t mind at all that you didn’t, listening to you talk about it, seeing the way you practically melted onto the counter as you recounted it, that was more than enough.

You packed back up the container and put it back into the fridge, stopping on your way to grab the dough from the mixer and a container of flour, grinning at him rather maliciously as you made your way back over to the space in front of him. “Now how’s your kneading Robinavitch”

He chocked slightly on a laugh at the question, watching you spread flour out on the counter and place the dough on top of that, giving it a small slap as you smiled back at him.

It was five in the morning, he had to be at work in two hours, you had him doing manual labor in the kitchen where you worked, and there was nowhere else Robby would rather be.

You’d been holding yourself together rather well all things considered.

You weren’t sure if it just hadn’t hit yet, if you were bound to break later, if you were unhealthily shoving every feeling too far below the surface, but to be honest right now you didn’t care. You were tucked into an empty room in the Pitt and you would be damned if you were going to cry at Robby’s place of work.

Then he walked in.

No matter how many times you had been in this hospital without it being an emergency he came with the same expression every time. Brows furrowed in concentration, eyes soft with concern, hands reaching out to softly prod, desperate to figure out what was wrong before you could tell him, desperate to solve your every issue. It was strangely comforting as he did it this time.

He was asking you questions, bent down slightly to stare directly into your eyes, looking for any sign that would tell him what was wrong, why you were here.

And you cracked.

A single tear slipped out and you couldn’t stop it. Your breathing picked up and stuttered as you fought against the lump in your throat, fought to keep everything under control, fought to swallow it all back down.

But Robby noticed it, of course Robby noticed it. There was a brief look of panic that flashed across his face before the mask was yanked back into place, a hand coming up before you could pull back to wipe away the tear with his thumb, leaning even closer, dominating your field of vision “Honey please, tell me what’s wrong”

You were worrying him. That’s what made you get it under control, what sparked you to tamp everything back down, to take a deep breath. You were worrying him and you didn’t like that expression it put on his face.

“Nothing it’s-” you pushed his hand away from your face, tilting it up to look at the ceiling as you blinked back the tears, taking a deep breath before speaking “nothing it’s stupid”

His hand dropped without issue from your face down to your hip, his thumb rubbing slow, soft circles into the area “It’s not stupid” and he said it so simply, so conclusively that you couldn’t help but start to believe it “now tell me what’s going on”

You watched him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes never once strayed from you, before you cast your gaze across the room, finding yourself unable to look at him as you said it “On my way back from the restaurant I-“ another pause, a slight break in your voice, a deep breath “I got mugged”

And because you weren’t watching him, weren’t totally paying attention to all that was around you, you didn’t notice the way he went still at your words, the way his entire body tensed, the way his expression went completely blank, before you were talking again.

“He took by bag it’s got, fuck, it’s got everything: my wallet, my phone, my keys” you could feel yourself starting to spiral again, could feel the grief and the panic start to swell before you looked back at him to see the almost blank stare, the way he seemed to look through you rather than at you “I’m sorry I didn’t know where else to go”

That seemed to snap him out of it. His entire expression softening as his hands came up to capture your face in them, cradling your head between them as he shook his slightly “no no no you did the right thing, you come here. You always come here okay?”

You nodded numbly, barely processing the words as he spoke.

“Good okay now I really need to know are you hurt anywhere”

You sniffed quietly, shaking your head before you could properly think about the question “I don’t think so he pushed me down and kicked me in the side but it doesn’t-“

He was reaching down for your shirt before you could finish your sentence, stopping himself forcibly as soon as he grabbed it, eyes flicking back up to yours for permission “please can I-“ he didn’t finish the question, didn’t need to as you were already nodding.

You looked away as he lifted your shirt, didn’t want to see the damage that had been done, didn’t need to based on the sharp inhale that Robby let out at the sight of it, the way his jaw clenched visibly, his hands tightening their hold on your shirt as he looked it over.

Swallowing, you watched him as he lowered a hand to probe softly at the area, eyes flicking up to meet yours at the hiss that left you as soon as he touched it. His voice gruff but soft “I know I’m sorry”

You felt like a child the way you sat on the bed, your lip wobbling as the confession escaped you “Robby I want to go home”

His expression fell at your words, the professional mask fully dropping as he nodded and let go of your shirt “It looks like your ribs are just bruised but I’d really like you to get a chest x-ray”

And to be frank you were too tired to fight him on it in that moment, no matter how badly you wanted to. A thought that must have shown on your face as Robby sighed, crumpling slightly on the spot as an anxious hand came up to run through the hairs on the base of his neck. “You shouldn’t stay at your place until we can change the locks” he finally conceded “let me talk to Dana about getting Jack here to cover for me and I’ll take you back to mine”

You smiled softly at that, looking up at him gratefully and only upon seeing the corners of your mouth tick up did Robby start to relax, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly at the sight as he moved back just enough to give you space to step down, placing a comforting hand at your back as he led you back to the nurses’ station.

Dana was nothing but a force of pure sympathy the second she connected eyes with you. Up and out of her chair before you were fully at the desk, engulfing you in a warm hug before you could get a word out, a “Oh sweetheart I’m so sorry” whispered softly into your hair.

A slightly warmer than hollow chuckle left you at that as you melted into her arms, rocking her back and forth slightly before letting her go, giving her arm an appreciative squeeze as she let it fall back “thank you Dana”

The corner of her mouth ticked up at that as she put her hand over yours to give it a soft reassuring squeeze before nodding back at Robby who immediately stepped in to take her place, standing practically at your hip as a large hand ran comfortingly up and down your back “Dana can you give Jack a call see if he can cover for me”

“Called him the minute she walked in” she answered easily, making her way back around the desk “he’s leaving as soon as he can, should be here within the hour”

He frowned slightly at the news but still nodded appreciatively, head snapping across the floor with a huff as someone called out his name asking for him in one of the rooms. He sent Dana a look, silently asking her a question she answered without having to think about it “go I got her”

Still he turned to you with a frown, another question sent silently you were already nodding at, taking a step back from him and wrapping your arms around yourself “go I’m good”

Still he stayed rooted on the spot, an internal debate playing out on his face making the corners of your mouth tick up again, nodding back towards the room that had asked for him in response “really I’ll be okay here”

With a sharp exhale he conceded, finally seeming to make up his mind. Taking a second, he shed his stethoscope followed by his hoodie, slipping it around your shoulders without asking, helping you shove your arms into the holes and zipping it up for you, hand resting on the zipper for just a bit too long as he looked you over once more “you need anything-”

“Dana will know where to find you” you answered for him with a small smile, watching one grow on his face in response as he nodded, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze before shooting Dana a silent look and heading off across the floor.

“Come on kid I’ve got a chair back here for you” Dana called you back from watching Robby disappear through the doors, directing you to a roller chair behind the desk with a pat on the seat.

“Am I allowed to be back here?” You asked hesitantly, perching yourself on the seat next to her.

She shrugged in response, eyes glued on to the screen before her as she typed something rapidly “Sure just if Gloria asks you’re a nursing student”

A laugh huffed out of you at that as you nodded, relaxing further into the seat burying yourself deeper into Robby’s sweatshirt in response “Nursing student got it”

The hour came and went slowly, you feeling more and more useless and in the way with each new emergency that came through the doors.

Robby visited whenever he could, never able to stop by the desk for longer than a second or two but always carrying a new snack each time he did. The pile of sandwiches, protein bars, apples, and cups of water was growing to a nearly hazardous size on the table before you as you took each from him without complaint when you realized how relieved he seemed to get each time you did.

Rounding the counter this time you were a little relieved to see his hands empty for once, forearms resting on the countertop before you as he leaned on it casually, giving you one quick check before turning his attention to Dana. “Any word on Abbot?”

The woman shook her head with a frown “Not in the last few minutes” She confirmed what you already knew “though there’s supposed to be an accident blocking the interstate he’s likely caught in that” and you tried not to deflate further at the news, tried not to make everyone pity you even more.

Robby, however, seemed to notice, he always did.

Seeming to debate something with himself for a second Robby hesitated as his eyes scanned you, taking a moment before speaking “if I give you the key to my place are you okay getting there on your own?”

You perked up at the question, straightening in your chair “are you sure?”

He nodded easily “I’ll be right behind you”

And you tried to tamp down your excitement, but truthfully you were more than ready to get out of the ER by this point “I’d really like that”

He chuckled softly at your answer, seeming to note just how happy the proposition made you as he motioned wordlessly for you to follow him back to a row of lockers, opening up one of them and rooting into his familiar backpack for his keys.

“Go back, take a shower, help yourself to whatever you need, just be careful yeah?” He asked you purposefully, dipping his head slightly to properly catch your line of sight “And call me if you feel anything off with your ribs I’m not joking”

You nodded gladly at that, grabbing the keys from him carefully, giving them a quick inspection.

“My cars parked in the third row, left side” he instructed with a soft smile making you furrow your brows.

“I’m not taking your car”

And for once his smile didn’t drop at all when you argued with him, instead his face stayed exactly the same, the corners perhaps ticking up even further, as if he had been expecting it “yes you are”

“What about-“

“I’ll walk” he interrupted you before you could even ask with a small chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning one shoulder against the locker next to his, settling in.

“Robby I can walk”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to be okay with letting you walk back alone after what just happened”

“I’m fine” the protest sounded weak even to yourself.

He only raised a brow at that, silently daring you to double down on that, before he released his posture with a sigh, taking a step closer to you, dipping his head slightly to better meet your eye “please, can you just for once let me take care of you”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, shaking your head softly “I’m not great at that”

“Really I hadn’t noticed”

You smiled at the sarcasm, at the familiarity of the tease, at the man who seemed beyond willing to greatly inconvenience himself for your sake “Fine I’ll take your car”

A smug grin grew on his face at that, nodding appreciatively as he straightened and took a step back “good text me when you get back” You nodded at that, watching as he began to take small steps away, dragging his feet as he returned to the ER, throwing back one more comment before he disappeared “and if I find out you filled up my tank on your way back there will be hell to pay”

You snorted at that threat, biting down your smile as you watched him disappear without comment, shaking your head as you looked down at the keys in your hand.

You had a least a few days before he would notice that anyways.

It was a sight he wasn’t even aware he had been missing, coming home to the lights already being on. There was a new warmth permeating the space he wasn’t used to greeting him as he opened his door. In that moment he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do without it from now on.

Standing in the doorway the smell hit him first. Citrus and fat cooking, fresh herbs and spices mingling in the air. Soft music playing from the Bluetooth speakers he barely remembered owning.

He shut the door behind him as he entered and you spun around at the sound of it, sending him a smile over your shoulder he found himself already returning.

His mind was completely fixated on the fact that you were here, in his apartment, cooking at his stove, wearing his clothes.

Your wet hair told him you’d done as he suggested and took a shower, the familiar looking sweatpants and shirt telling him you had raided his dresser too. He couldn’t help but wonder if he refused to let you return them was there a chance he’d get to see you in them again?

“What’s going on here?”

“Recipe developing” you answered eagerly, Robby spotting the dozens of pages of hastily scribbled notes he had long since learned to associate with your development process. “We have pan seared duck over a citrus kale salad”

He couldn’t help but frown slightly down at the dish, furrowing his brows as he asked “where’d you find all this?”

“Over at mine” You answered simply, avoiding his gaze as you started to assemble a plate “stole the spare I gave you and popped over to raid the fridge”

And god did he not want to let that go, to tell you how unnecessary, how dumb it was to risk something like running into the guy who has your keys for some ingredients. To tell you that if you wanted food he would have gladly sent you back with his credit card.

But for the first time since his shift had started you seemed lighter. There was more ease in each of your smiles, a soft sway in your hips to the music, a happiness in your expression as you carefully arranged the food on the plate. He realized that he couldn’t ruin it.

Instead, he just watched as you assembled a bite for him. A ritual he was more than used to every time he was recipe testing for you. You always took the time to gather a bit of each component meant to go together in what you declared to be the perfect bite on a fork for him to try, always wordlessly passing the utensil over and looking up at him eagerly.

And every time he delayed taking that bite just a little. Taking the time to appreciate the way you looked up at him, eyes blown wide in anticipation, a small proud smile on your face as you waited patiently for him.

Taking the fork from you he brought it to his mouth. Biting down on your so-called perfect bite and finding himself completely unable to stop his entire expression from souring immediately.

Your face fell instantly, sending Robby into a tailspin as he desperately tried to quickly do damage control, speaking around the food still held in his mouth as he tried to force it down.

“no no it’s good” He chocked through the words, each coming out through a coughing fit as the food stuck to his throat.

He heard you snort loudly at that as you reached for a glass from the cabinet beside him and moved to fill it up with water “are you seriously trying to lie to me right now”

He gladly took the water from you, draining the glass quicker than he thought he was capable of, taking a deep breath once he finished, trying to force the memory of the dish from his palate as he forced a smile “I swear it’s not that bad”

You shook your head at him, lips still tilted up in amusement he was counting as a win “You are a dirty liar Michael Robinavitch”

He opened his mouth to respond, getting just a little too hung up on the way his name sounded in your voice, how soft, sweet, organic is sounded even as you teased him.

But you beat him to it, taking the fork and assembling a bite for yourself

“No I wouldn’t-“ he tried to interject but the utensil was in your mouth before he could stop you.

Immediately your face was puckering just as his did, wasting no time in bending over the sink and spitting the food out as he wordlessly filled a glass of water for you.

“Oh god what was that” you gasped out as you took the glass from him, downing the water in seconds and grimacing.

He couldn’t help but laugh at your expression, taking the now empty glass from you and putting it back on the counter.

“Oh my god and you swallowed that are you okay?” You were reaching for him before he could react, hands coming up to his forehead to check his temperature only making him laugh harder as his hands came up to encircle your wrists, holding them there rather than pull them away.

“I think I’ll pull through”

You pulled your arms from his grasp with a snort, turning back to your pages of notes. “I just don’t understand why it was so acidic. What the fuck kind of lemons do you keep here?”

“Here?” He asked “you found a lemon here?”

You furrowed your brow up at him, pausing your search as you answered “yeah. Lemon in your fridge”

He simply shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t think I’ve ever bought a lemon before”

You didn’t seem to know how to answer that for a second, your mouth opening and closing as you processed his words “you and I are going to talk about your lack of citrus appreciation at some point, but better question right now is if you didn’t buy the lemon how’d it get there”

He thought back briefly, the only logical answer coming to him and making him regret having to admit it “I think I bought a lime once”

“Michael”

The way you sighed his name like that almost made it worth it. The subtle uptick in the corners of his mouth spurring you on.

“Michael how long ago”

He chuckled at that, running a sheepish hand through his hair as he grimaced.

“Michael no”

“I mean it couldn’t have been that long ago”

“It was yellow!”

“I feel the bigger issue here is you can’t tell the difference between a moldy lime and a lemon”

“I thought it was just an old lemon!” and you were laughing again, Robby happily drinking up the sound as the two of you turned to glare down at the admittedly beautiful duck that was now ruined. “Are we going to die?”

“No” he scoffed, taking the plate off the counter and making his way over to the garbage “probably not”

“Oh that’s reassuring”

He could only shrug in response, sending you a cheeky wink before dramatically tossing the whole dish into the trash.

You glared at him at that, crossing your arms over your chest even as a twinge of amusement danced over your expression “This is why Gloria is on you about your patient satisfaction scores just so you know”

He groaned at that, returning the plate to the sink to be washed “I knew putting you next to Dana this afternoon would be a mistake”

“Eh you’ll get over it fruitcake”

The pizza Robby ordered instead of your carefully prepared duck was delicious but you couldn’t help but note the theme of the day seemed to be you screwing things up and Robby swooping in to fix it. Always without question, always without judgement, always without any expectation of anything in return.

A petty part of you wanted to be annoyed about it, to keep score in your head of all the things he did for you so you could do something of equal value in return. A part of you wondered if that was why you felt the need do those small things for him today, fill up his car with gas, make him dinner, you already had a mental list of all the things he was starting to run low on in his cabinets for the next time you went grocery shopping.

But another part of you relished being taken care of like that. Relished being able to let go of the reins for just a little bit and trust someone else to steer you in the right direction. Another part of you knew that you liked being that person for him in return, liked making him smile as you did little things to make his life a little easier, liked knowing you knew him well enough to have that kind of impact.

You were glad now more than ever that Robby had never returned the book you left at his place from back when he was sick. Being able to curl up on his couch with a blanket and a cup of tea he had made you without even asking first was an exceptionally comfortable place to be.

There was no awkward tension between the two of you as he sat on the other side and read his book as well, no need on his part to try and host you and no need on yours to provide any sort of conversation. There was no expectation in the air, simply two people existing comfortably tangentially to one another.

You honestly weren’t sure how you were supposed to go back to your empty apartment after all this.

Robby hummed softly from the other side of the couch before closing his book, setting it on the coffee table, running a tired hand over his face as he sat up a little straighter.

“Bedtime?” You asked with a small smirk, watching him over the brim of your cup as you took a sip.

“Bedtime” he nodded affirmatively, pushing himself to his feet and giving his back a big stretch.

“Goodnight Robby” you hummed at him as you went back to your book, hearing a small huff of a chuckle escape him as he slipped past the couch back towards his room.

“I’ll let you have the room after I change” You paid no real attention to the words as he disappeared, letting your eyes skim over the words with no real thought before you heard the sound of his door open again a few minutes later, looking over your shoulder too see him standing in the doorway clutching a pillow and blanket he didn’t seem like he was giving up anytime soon.

His expression alone told you exactly what you needed to know “Absolutely not”

He chuckled at that, softly shaking his head as he made his way over to the couch “I knew getting you to agree blindly to it was too good to be true”

“Go sleep in your bed you psycho I’m fine on the couch”

He seemed to ignore the statement entirely as he set his pillow on the side of the couch he had been sitting earlier, “I’m turning off the lights in five minutes so I can sleep, it’ll be much easier to read if you’d just go in my room”

“It’d be much easier to sleep if you’d just go in your room” you countered, watching as Robby arranged the blanket over the part of the couch you weren’t sitting on with a small sigh, still refusing to acknowledge your words.

And a part of you felt a little guilty for fighting back, for always fighting back. He’d just gotten off a shift, a rather busy shift you interrupted by going to the Pitt without really needing to, the poor man needed sleep and though you weren’t willing to throw him out of his bed he clearly was just as unwilling to let you take the couch. This was a stalemate plain and simple.

“We could share?” You nearly cringed on the question as it came out, face starting to run hot as Robby froze on the spot as he processed the words, gaze snapping up suddenly to meet yours.

And maybe he could read just how stubborn you were going to be about this as well, maybe he came to the same conclusion as you did, because instead of pushing back like you almost expected him to he spoke “are you sure?”

“Yeah” you willed yourself to be normal about it, to be chill, to ignore the eagerness that edged your tone as the word spilled out of you “I’ve always wondered if I snore, be nice to have a witness”

He snorted at that with a fond shake of his head, taking a moment before bending down and picking back up his pillow and nodding back towards his bedroom “If the answers yes then I’m coming right back out here”

You smiled back at him as you set down your book, moving in front of him to his bedroom “oh that’s much nicer than what I’d do”

Chuckling as he placed his pillow back on one side of the bed, the two of you moved in a strange tandem, the ritual of pulling back the covers and getting ready beside one another feeling strangely familiar “and what does that mean?”

You sent him a cheeky wink as you got into bed and settled down on the pillows, watching as he made his way across the room to the light switch “don’t snore and you won’t need to find out”

With a shake of his head he took a second by the light switch, giving you a onceover from across the room with a soft smile before turning off the light and making his way back, the mattress dipping slightly as you felt him settle in beneath the covers.

And you couldn’t help but acknowledge how awkward the situation was starting to become even with how smoothly it had started. The two of you sharing a bed that easily fit you, a good amount of empty space between your two bodies, both of you terrified of breaching the others personal bubble.

You became cognizant of your very breath, sure that even performing that necessary bodily function could be felt by him.

“We should start at the DMV tomorrow”

The statement pierced through the silence suddenly, taking you so much by surprise all you could do was hum in response.

“To replace your license” his answer came simply, as if it were obvious “bank should probably be next. We can stop by your place in the morning to grab all your documents before we go”

And you couldn’t fully process his words in this moment. Couldn’t get past the one pronoun he had opened with “we?”

“Yeah I mean” You could feel him shrug more than see it in the dark “I’ve got the day off tomorrow”

“You’ve got the day off tomorrow?” You asked in genuine surprise “Since when?”

“Jeeze you have my whole schedule memorized?” Yes. The answer was yes. “Abbot owes me one, it’s no big deal”

You were pushing back before you could even think the words through “you don’t have to-“

“I want to”

A tense silence permeated the air. An unnatural stillness the words settled into. “They’re basic errands, it’ll be boring”

“Not if you’re there” and again the answer was so simple, so natural, so obvious.

You were moving before you could talk yourself out of it, acting purely on instinct rather than logic, on want rather than restriction.

Robby reacted on instinct as well, arm coming up and out of your way as you pushed yourself into his side, tucking under your neck as you slotted your head on his shoulder, placing one arm over his stomach and entangling your legs with his, giving the man a small squeeze in appreciation.

He froze as soon as you came into contact, muscles tensing beneath your touch as you settled into him, remaining like that just long enough to make you worry.

“I’m sorry is this-“ You started to pull away as you spoke, worried you had crossed some sort of line, worried you had ruined everything for yourself.

“No” the word left him quickly and maybe a bit to loud for the otherwise silent room, the arm under your head snapping into action to curl around you and pull you back into him, pressing your face softly into his chest “no it’s okay-it’s good”

Accepting that you tightened your hold on him and buried yourself a little further into the comfort, whispering into the dark room “Thank you Robby. For everything”

“It’s nothing” you could feel his voice rumble within him beneath your head, could feel yourself rise and fall with his chest with each breath.

“It’s not nothing” you protested softly, rubbing soft patterns into his side with your fingers “not to me”

There was nothing but silence in the air for the next few seconds, a weird feeling of vulnerability around you that you didn’t feel the need to shy away from, before you felt a soft kiss being placed onto the crown of your head, the arm wrapped around you tightening its hold.

“Anytime honey”

Final

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