#like. three frames and you need to time it so the enemy hits the second frame

[sleaze4sleaze]

I did sooooooo good on my first Logarius attempt until I got him to 20% ish HP and ran out of bullets. Panicked trying to get more, and died .

[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Party?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I called, you know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink hard; you waver. ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

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

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

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

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

“Sounds lonely.” 

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

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask what happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

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

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

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

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

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

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

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

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

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

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

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

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

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

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

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

Bang. Bang. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

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

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

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

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

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that an order?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

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

“Everything ok?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t even look back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I think about it?” 

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

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

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

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

“Truce.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

For what? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

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

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.” 

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

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

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

“Are you flirting with me?” 

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

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

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

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

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

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

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

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

“I thought this was champagne.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it really that obvious?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

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

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

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

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

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

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

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

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The act?” 

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

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

“Oh nooo.” 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[honeydippedfiction]

Can I get with Jack Hughes “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all the noise you were making.” but as enemies?

Whew I looove a good enemies, hate fuck story. I need a cold shower bestie

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all the noise you were making.”

Jack Hughes x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Michigan was warmer than she remembered.

Y/N had barely stepped out of Trevor Zegras’ car when the thick northern Michigan air wrapped around her like a familiar quilt — warm, worn, and stitched with a hundred summer memories. The scent hit her first: pine needles baked in the sun, damp lake water laced with algae and old laughter, and the smoky tang of someone’s charcoal grill drifting in on the breeze.

It was all achingly familiar.

The dragonflies were already out, buzzing lazily above the gravel like drunk fairies, while cicadas screamed their warbled anthem in the trees overhead. The lake glinted between the pines like a secret being kept — wide and shimmering and framed in gold by the dying sun. She could hear the faint splash of someone cannonballing off the dock, followed by hoots of laughter, likely one of the guys already halfway into their third drink.

The lake house came into view, all wide porches and worn wood, wrapped in ivy and that kind of sun-bleached charm that came from years of careless summers. It looked the same as it had three summers ago — untouched by time or consequence. But Y/N wasn’t the same girl who’d arrived that first year, duffel in hand and nerves buzzing in her chest. She caught a glimpse of herself in the car window and paused.

Ink. So much more of it now.

The full sleeve on her right arm caught the light — waves crashing in deep ocean hues, cherry blossoms trailing through them like they’d been caught in a spring breeze, petals curling down the inside of her wrist. It had taken weeks to finish, and it still felt like it was blooming every time someone looked at it for too long.

On her left hand, the bats peeked out from beneath the strap of her bag — tiny, winged silhouettes in flight across her knuckles, surrounded by delicate sparkles like stardust. A nod to her Halloween obsession, etched in permanence. Behind her right ear, the butterflies — one for each sister — danced in soft pastels, half-hidden in her coils. And beneath her tank top, pressed against her sternum like a secret, the cybernetic heart pulsed in angular ink — all sharp lines and electric sorrow.

She adjusted the strap of her duffel, spine straightening despite the pit blooming in her stomach. This place always felt like a time capsule — and he was always inside it.

“You ready for this chaos again?” Trevor’s voice broke through the noise, and a second later his arm was slung over her shoulder, easy and warm like it always had been.

She let herself lean into him for a beat. “I’ve had nightmares that started this way.”

He laughed, full-bodied and infectious, and wrestled his bag out of the trunk with a grunt. “Please. Same lake, same beer, same dumb debates over whether or not I cheated at Settlers of Catan.”

“You did cheat,” she shot back, already smiling.

He held up both hands. “There’s no proof.”

“There was a whole spreadsheet. Luke made a PowerPoint.”

Trevor groaned dramatically. “Snitches. No loyalty.”

They started walking up the gravel path, the lake house looming closer with every crunch of stone beneath their shoes. Her duffel dug into her shoulder, but the ache was familiar — part of the ritual. The walk up to the house was always the same. The nervous flutter of her heart, the smell of wet wood and sunscreen, the thump of bass through open windows.

And the knowledge that Jack Hughes was somewhere inside.

“You good?” Trevor asked, glancing at her sideways. “Still time to fake a family emergency.”

“I already used that excuse last summer.”

“Damn. Should’ve saved it for this year.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “It’s fine. I can go a whole week without committing a felony.”

He smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

But the moment the front door creaked open and that familiar blast of air conditioning hit her skin, all her carefully built composure evaporated.

The living room smelled like cologne and beer, warm pizza grease, and too many guys crammed into one space. Laughter echoed from the kitchen. A hockey game hummed from the big TV. And sprawled across the couch like a throne he hadn’t earned, legs open, curls wild, and smug as ever — was Jack.

He looked up as they walked in, slow and unbothered, thumbs still dancing across his phone screen. His mouth curled into a lopsided smirk that made her want to throw something at his head.

“Well, well,” he said, not even bothering to stand. “The circus arrives early this year.”

Y/N dropped her bag with a heavy thud that rattled the hardwood.

“And look,” she said, sweet as poison, “there’s the clown.”

That got his attention. He looked up at her then, really looked, and the air between them shifted—just slightly, just enough to make the hair on her arms rise. His gaze traveled slowly down her body, lingering like a touch, before dragging back up with a lazy sort of interest that made her teeth clench.

“That sleeve’s new,” he said, eyes narrowing a fraction. “What’s the theme? ‘Tokyo Drift’ meets ‘Moana’?”

She didn’t blink. “Wow, still running with the tattoo jokes? Groundbreaking stuff, Hughes. Truly, a pioneer.”

“I pride myself on brand consistency,” he replied, sipping his beer like this was just another Tuesday.

Trevor breezed past them with a weary shake of his head. “Jesus. We’re not even unpacked and you two are already at it.”

“Consider it foreplay,” Jack muttered.

Y/N turned on him with a sharp look, but Trevor stepped between them with a laugh that sounded just a bit panicked.

“Okay!” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s remember: no one ends up in the lake this year unless they want to be.”

“Define ‘want,’” Y/N said under her breath, eyeing Jack.

As she turned to head toward the stairs, Jack’s voice followed her like a burr stuck to her sleeve.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice smoother now, like he was enjoying this a little too much. “The snake’s for your venomous personality?”

She looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes dead-on. “No,” she said. “It’s for the venom I save just for you.”

Luke snorted. Cole coughed on his beer and said, “Goddamn,” like this was some sitcom he had front row seats to.

But Jack just grinned — slow, deliberate, annoyingly charming.

His eyes didn’t stop roaming. They flicked to the subtle hint of the heart beneath her tank, the ink that hugged her ribcage and dipped under the curve of her chest. It wasn’t overt, but he caught it anyway.

“That one’s new, too,” he said, gesturing with his bottle. “What’s that vibe? ‘Blade Runner Heartbreak’? ‘Cyborgs Have Feelings Too’?”

“Maybe it’s to remind me not to feel anything when you talk,” she fired back, stepping closer. “Especially when you’re shirtless and three beers deep and pretending you’re not peacocking for the room.”

Jack’s brow arched. “Please. You think I’m showing off for you?”

“You’re definitely not showing off for Cole,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen.

Cole raised his hands. “Hey, don’t bring me into this. I’m just trying to eat my pizza in peace.”

Jack’s smile didn’t fade, but it changed—sharpened at the edges. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you’ve got a lot of ink for someone who hides behind sarcasm like a defense mechanism.”

Y/N stepped in, close enough that the space between them crackled.

“And you’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who’s never had to get to know me past the jokes.”

The room went quiet for half a second too long.

Luke suddenly became very invested in the hockey game. Cole shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth. Even Trevor, now halfway up the stairs, paused and muttered to himself, “Oh, hell.”

The silence snapped when Jack leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, cocky and infuriating as ever. “Well,” he said, “welcome back.”

Y/N gave him a look colder than lake water at sunrise.

“Glad to see your personality’s still as underwhelming as your playoff record.”

She turned and walked up the stairs without waiting for a response.

But she could feel his gaze on her the whole way up. And under her skin, something began to hum — the kind of energy that felt too close to hatred and too far from indifference.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

The rest of the afternoon passed in a sun-drenched blur.

There were half-burnt burgers smoking on the grill, beer pong tournaments erupting on the back deck, and the faint echo of Trevor yelling over the speaker system every time someone skipped his favorite song. A few of the newer girlfriends had taken over the dock for a sunbathing session, their laughter carrying lazily across the lake while someone on the pontoon boat attempted to dock without completely destroying the jet ski tied nearby.

Inside the house, bodies milled through the open floor plan, beer bottles clinked against countertops, and shoes piled by the door like offerings to the gods of summer chaos. The kitchen had become the nucleus of activity — everyone gravitating there between lake swims and flip cup tournaments.

Y/N found herself posted up by the fridge, red solo cup in hand, as the sun dipped low outside and turned the lake into a sheet of molten gold.

The air smelled like charcoal and tequila, sunscreen and summer skin. Somewhere in the living room, someone had pulled up a hockey blooper reel, and now Trevor was mock-commentating over footage of Jack wiping out during practice.

“Tell me you’re a future Hall of Famer without telling me you can’t stay upright on a faceoff,” Trevor snorted into the microphone of someone’s phone. The room erupted in laughter.

Y/N smiled but stayed where she was, leaning one hip against the island as she stirred the melting ice in her drink. Her curls were still damp from the lake, and her tank top clung to her skin in places the sun hadn’t dried. A few errant droplets trailed down from her shoulder, catching the light as they slid over the tattoos inked across her right arm — waves and petals and wind-carved beauty.

She didn’t bother to look, but she could feel him.

Jack had been orbiting her all day. Never directly engaging. Not starting a fight — not yet — but never quite gone, either. Like some cosmic joke, he always seemed to appear in the same rooms she was in, always a few feet away, always with that same unreadable expression flickering across his face.

It was like being haunted. But worse, because he was hot and annoying and real.

She turned slightly to refill her drink from the cooler on the counter, and there he was again.

Leaning in the doorway. Beer in one hand. Silhouette framed by the last streaks of daylight cutting through the windows. His curls were still wet from the lake, pushed back and drying into careless perfection, and his bare shoulders were sun-dusted, tan lines already setting in from a summer spent half-shirtless.

His eyes were on her. Again.

Y/N tried to ignore the flutter in her chest — not attraction, she told herself, just indigestion from the shitty tequila punch someone had mixed earlier.

“You good?” Trevor appeared at her elbow with another bag of ice and a bottle of lime juice that had definitely not been part of the original drink plan.

She gave a one-shoulder shrug, barely glancing toward Jack. “Peachy.”

Trevor followed her gaze and made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon.

“Do you think maybe, just maybe, you two could go one week without threatening each other’s existence?” he asked under his breath.

Y/N took a slow sip of her drink. “That depends. Is he gonna keep breathing in my direction?”

Trevor sighed and started mixing something dangerously green in the pitcher.

“Look, I know you don’t like him—”

“I don’t hate him,” she interrupted. “I just… dislike every single thing that comes out of his mouth.”

Trevor snorted. “Noted.”

But Jack wasn’t saying anything tonight. Not yet. He was just standing there, watching. His gaze flicked to her cup, her hand, then trailed briefly down the tattoos on her arm before settling back on her face.

It was infuriating.

She turned toward the kitchen sink to escape the heat of his stare, rinsing out her cup with a little too much force. Her sternum tattoo — the angular, electric lines of the cybernetic heart — peeked out from beneath the hem of her tank top when she leaned forward, and she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

Jack. His gaze had dropped again, jaw tense, beer paused halfway to his lips.

“You got a staring problem or just trying to burn my skin off with your eyes?” she asked, not bothering to hide the sharp edge in her voice as she turned to face him.

The room quieted for half a second.

Jack’s mouth quirked, slow and amused. “Just trying to figure out if that new ink glows in the dark. Feels like it should.”

Y/N tilted her head, smile biting. “Don’t worry, Hughes. If it did, I’d use it to light up the parts of your brain you clearly never developed.”

“Ouch,” he said, grinning now, stepping just slightly into the kitchen. “You rehearse that one on the drive here?”

“Nope,” she said sweetly. “I’ve got a whole file of comebacks just for you. It’s alphabetical.”

Trevor, halfway through refilling his cup, muttered, “Swear to god, it’s like watching foreplay between two angry raccoons.”

Jack didn’t even flinch. “I think she just likes having an excuse to talk to me.”

Y/N raised a brow. “I think you just like pretending I want to.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Not yelling. Not teasing. Just looking.

The air was thick between them. Tighter than it had been earlier. The energy was wrong—no, not wrong. Complicated. Familiar. Like a song you’ve heard too many times to admit you still like.

A beat passed.

Another.

Jack took a slow sip from his beer, eyes still locked on hers, then tipped his head just slightly toward the door. “You gonna keep watching me from the corner all night, or do you actually want to come talk shit on the dock like old times?”

Y/N blinked.

The invitation was casual — delivered with that same lazy, careless tone he always used — but it felt loaded. Come talk shit. Like it wasn’t really about the talking. Or the shit. Or the past.

“I’d rather jump into the lake with rocks in my pockets,” she said, brushing past him, shoulder grazing his as she moved.

But she didn’t miss the way he turned to watch her go.

Or how his fingers tapped slowly against the neck of his beer bottle, like he was counting the seconds she stayed in the room.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Later, when the firepit was roaring outside and the sound of someone’s Bluetooth speaker warbled into the night, Y/N sat with her legs curled beneath her on one of the Adirondack chairs, a hoodie thrown over her tank, the scorpion tattoo on her thigh just visible in the flickering firelight.

Jack sat across from her, beer in hand, his expression unreadable.

Neither of them said a word. But their eyes met across the flames, heat rising between them like smoke.

And in that moment — between the hiss of embers and the echo of laughter in the trees — something shifted.

Something old.

Something new.

Something dangerous.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

​​By the third day, the tension wasn’t just under the surface anymore. It was floating in the air—palpable, charged, visible. Like heat rising off asphalt, or ozone before a thunderstorm.

Jack and Y/N couldn’t exist in the same space without some form of combustion. Whether it was a quiet stare that lingered too long, or a whispered insult sharp enough to draw metaphorical blood, the two were stuck in a loop neither seemed capable—or willing—to break.

So when someone, probably Quinn, suggested a full boat day out on the lake, everyone agreed with a little too much enthusiasm. Fresh air. Open water. Distance.

A chance to reset the energy—or at least drown it in sunscreen and Bud Light.

The Hughes family boat, a loud, sun-bleached beast built for speed and noise, launched into the lake with a roar of horsepower and bravado. Trevor was behind the wheel first, shirtless, backwards hat on, yelling “DJ rights are mine, don’t even try me,” while a rookie defenseman from Anaheim who had no idea what he’d signed up for clutched the side railing like it was a life preserver.

Y/N sat near the front, sunglasses on, long legs stretched over the seat cushions. The mesh of her black pants clung damp to her thighs from where she'd dipped her legs in earlier, and the triangle lines of her bikini top peeked through the gauzy white tank she’d thrown on to keep the sun from baking her shoulders raw.

She was fine. Or at least, pretending to be. The lake shimmered in every direction, and for a moment, she almost managed to forget Jack was on the boat.

Almost.

Until he wasn’t just on it—but directly across from her.

She caught the movement before she heard his voice: the way he eased into the seat, all lazy limbs and careless confidence, water still drying along his collarbones. His skin was tanned from the last few days, chest still damp from a dive off the side, and his hair—wet and curling—was pushed back just enough to show off the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

It was annoying how good he looked. Even more annoying that he knew it.

“Running out of places to put ink?” Jack asked, his voice all casual bite as he tilted his chin toward her exposed thigh. “Or is the goal to become a living museum?”

Y/N didn’t even blink. “Wouldn’t you love to buy a ticket.”

Jack smirked, beer balanced in one hand. “I’d probably get bored halfway through the tour.”

“I’d kick you out in the lobby,” she said flatly.

Trevor’s laugh burst from the back of the boat. “God, I missed this energy. So relaxing.”

But it was different this time.

It wasn’t just the usual sniping. There was an edge to it now—one they’d been circling since the start of the trip. A weight behind the words neither of them wanted to name.

Jack leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. “Serious question. Do you ever get tired of acting like the world owes you something?”

Y/N stiffened. Her sunglasses slid down just enough for him to see her eyes.

“You want to try that again?” she asked, voice deceptively calm.

“I’m just saying,” Jack continued, like this wasn’t the verbal equivalent of lighting a match in a gas station, “it’s exhausting watching you walk around like you’ve got something to prove to every person you meet.”

Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears. “And you walk around like you’ve never had to earn a single thing in your life.”

That hit.

Jack’s mouth tightened. Just barely.

“You think I haven’t worked for this?” he asked, low. “You think being in this league is easy just because of my last name?”

She didn’t flinch. “No, I think you’ve never been told no. Not once. Not in any way that actually mattered.”

His jaw twitched. “And you think being difficult makes you deep? That lashing out is some kind of personality?”

“It’s called having boundaries,” she snapped. “Try developing some instead of coasting on charm and goals-per-game stats.”

That made Trevor finally sit up from where he’d been messing with the aux cord. “Okay, okay, Jesus—are we gonna have to put you two in separate flotation devices?”

But neither Jack nor Y/N looked away.

It wasn’t just about tattoos now. It wasn’t even about the past three days. This was something older. Something that had been growing for years. Since that first summer when they’d met and instantly hated each other without even knowing why.

And now, it was boiling over.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Jack said finally, quietly.

Y/N met his stare. “You never wanted to.”

“Y/N,” Trevor called sharply, finally catching the tension. “Hey—hey. Let’s all chill.”

But Jack was already pushing to his feet too, lips twisted into a mocking smile. “I don’t have to get it. You’re loud enough to make sure no one misses the message anyway.”

That did it.

Trevor stepped between them, palms out like a referee. “Jesus Christ, can you two go five minutes without dragging each other through the mud?”

“Tell your boy to keep my tattoos out of his mouth,” Y/N said, glaring past him.

Silence.

The boat was still moving, but slower now. The lake stretched endlessly around them, blue and glittering, the horizon sharp against the sky. Quinn was steering from the back, his face unreadable behind dark sunglasses.

Y/N stood, brushing past Jack without touching him. She walked toward the edge of the bow, pausing at the railing.

Jack watched her go.

Then he stood too.

“What are you doing?” Trevor called from the back.

“Apparently ruining the trip,” Y/N called, climbing onto the ledge.

Trevor looked at Jack, who didn’t say a word—just gave that same infuriating half-smile, like he’d won something. Y/N wasn’t sure what that something was, but it made her skin crawl.

“Luke, I’m swimming,” she called over her shoulder, already stripping off her mesh pants. “Coming?”

“Always,” Luke said, popping up from where he’d been sitting at the edge of the boat.

And then she jumped.

No hesitation. Just a clean dive into the glassy water, a burst of white spray behind her. A few seconds later, her head surfaced several yards from the boat, curls plastered to her cheeks, expression unreadable.

Luke immediately launched in after her. “WATER BREAK.”

Cole hesitated, then tossed off his shirt and jumped in after them, following Y/N as she dove clean into the lake.

Trevor rolled his eyes and followed. “Better than a fistfight, I guess.”

Jack didn’t move.

He just stood there, watching the spot where she’d disappeared, still hearing her voice in his head.

“You never wanted to.”

The rest of the group was laughing again now. Splashing. Play-fighting. Someone tossed a foam football into the water. But Jack couldn’t shake the feel of that moment—of her words landing like punches he didn’t know he’d earned.

He sat back down, hard.

For once, he had nothing to say.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

The water was cold, a slap to her overheated skin, and she welcomed it. Let it wash away the fury clinging to her like sweat. She broke the surface with a gasp, flipping her hair back and blinking against the sunlight.

“God,” she muttered, swimming a few feet away from the boat. “He is unbearable.”

Trevor bobbed nearby, treading water. “Yeah, well… he’s Jack.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

Luke snorted. “It’s not. But it’s also not not an explanation.”

Y/N floated onto her back, letting the waves cradle her. Her fingers trailed along the water, tracing invisible patterns.

“He just talks like my tattoos say more about me than I do,” she said quietly, mostly to herself.

Trevor swam beside her and gently splashed water toward her face. “You know that’s not true. You say plenty. And anyone with eyes knows those tattoos mean something.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. Her fingertips grazed the spot behind her ear where three tiny butterflies fluttered beneath her skin—one for her, and one each for her sisters. Anchors, reminders.

“You know what the serpent means?” she said after a moment.

“No,” Cole said. “But I’m guessing it’s not just there to look badass.”

She glanced toward the boat, where Jack had disappeared from view. “It’s for resilience,” she said. “Rebirth. And beauty, even when it’s dangerous.”

Trevor looked at her. “Sounds like you.”

Y/N didn’t smile. But her expression softened.

Then she dunked Trevor beneath the water.

“You’re still annoying,” she called as he surfaced, sputtering and laughing.

She swam away from the boat, heart still pounding, anger not quite gone—but at least now, the sun was warm, the water was cool, and Jack was on the other side of it all.

For now.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

The ride back to the lake house was uncomfortably quiet.

The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting the water in shades of fire and bronze. The wind had chilled slightly, the kind of temperature shift that whispered the day was ending — that whatever had been said, done, or felt would settle like silt once the light faded.

Quinn steered the boat in a wide arc toward the dock, Luke beside him fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker but not playing anything. The silence was intentional now, a mutual truce after the earlier blow-up. Even Cole had stopped his usual stream of chirps and commentary, nursing a Gatorade and keeping his eyes on the shoreline.

Y/N sat alone at the bow, towel wrapped around her torso, skin still damp from the lake. Her curls were tied back, little droplets clinging to the tips. The towel was pulled snugly across her chest, but Jack’s comment about her back tattoo still burned just beneath the fabric — a phantom heat worse than sunburn.

She could feel the serpent along her spine tighten. Coil. Hiss.

She hadn’t even looked at Jack since climbing back onto the boat. She didn’t need to. She could feel him watching her from the opposite end of the boat, behind his sunglasses, posture deceptively relaxed — stretched out like he didn’t have a single regret.

Typical.

He was sitting near the rear bench, beer can in one hand, his other arm slung lazily across the backrest. From the outside, he looked like someone enjoying a perfect summer day. But from the few times she caught a glance out of the corner of her eye, his jaw was tense. His fingers tapped restlessly against the aluminum of his drink. And he wasn’t talking. Not even to Luke.

Not even to chirp her.

Which somehow annoyed her even more.

Trevor, diplomatic as ever, kept casting glances back at her, as if waiting for a cue — some kind of signal that she was okay or not okay or might be okay by the time they got back to the house. But Y/N didn’t give it. She just stared out at the water, watching the wake behind them fracture the lake’s surface into a mirror of splinters.

The boat jolted slightly as it hit a small wave, and instinctively, Jack reached out and gripped the rail.

Y/N’s head turned, sharp and automatic.

Their eyes met. Only for a second.

But in that second, something passed between them — something that neither of them had words for, and probably never would.

Regret? Maybe.

Guilt? Doubtful.

But something.

She turned back to the water first.

He exhaled, barely audible over the hum of the motor.

“Y/N…” Jack started.

It was the first time he’d said her name in hours — said it without sarcasm, without venom. Just said it.

She didn’t turn around.

“Don’t,” she said flatly.

A pause.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Jack.” Her voice was steel now. Still not loud. But enough to shut him up.

And he did.

The rest of the ride was a quiet surrender.

Quinn finally docked the boat with practiced ease. Quinn hopped off to tie the ropes, and Luke jumped to the dock with a loud splash as he stumbled over a rope coil. The boys scattered in pairs, grabbing bags and towels, filing off the boat like a rowdy camp trip breaking for dinner.

Y/N didn’t move right away.

She stood slowly, towel still clutched tight, and reached down to grab her mesh pants and speaker. Jack was still on the boat behind her, watching.

This time she turned. Just slightly. Not enough to be vulnerable. Just enough to let him know she felt his stare.

“You don’t get to treat me like a punchline and then backpedal because you got quiet,” she said, low and precise. “Figure out what you’re doing.”

Then she stepped off the boat and onto the dock.

The walk up from the dock was a long one. Not in distance, but in mood.

The gravel path crunched underfoot, the sound too loud in the hush that had settled over the group. Twilight was bleeding across the sky in long streaks of lavender and smoky rose, the golden-hour glow having faded into something softer, cooler, and far more uncertain. The kind of light that made everything look like it belonged to memory.

Y/N trailed behind the others, towel wrapped tight around her frame. Her skin was still damp, her hair beginning to dry into soft coils that framed her jaw and stuck to the back of her neck. She felt the weight of the day clinging to her more than the water. Her body was sore in that post-sun, post-salt, post-exhaustion way—but her mind was louder. Buzzing.

The house loomed ahead, lights glowing through the windows like a welcome she didn’t fully believe in. From inside came the muffled sounds of music—someone had finally put something on, something low and moody, maybe The War on Drugs or Bon Iver—and the faint clatter of dishes. Dinner was probably already half-prepped. Someone had lit the citronella candles on the porch, and their flickering glow danced across the faces of those who’d already claimed chairs.

She could feel Jack behind her. Not close. Not touching. But there.

Every step he took echoed somewhere beneath her ribs.

Inside, the air conditioning hit her skin like a slap, and she shivered as she stepped through the door. Trevor peeled away toward the kitchen, offering her a fresh towel and a bottle of water without saying anything. He knew her well enough to know when not to ask.

“Shower’s open upstairs,” he said instead. “Cole’s next, but you’ve got time.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

She disappeared down the hall and climbed the stairs without looking back. The second her bedroom door shut behind her, she exhaled—long, shaky, silent. Then she dropped the towel, stripped off her clothes, and turned the shower up to near-scalding. She needed heat that didn’t come from anger. Needed steam to fog up the mirror and blur the edges of the day.

The water rushed over her like an avalanche, and she stood there beneath it, eyes closed, letting it wash the lake and the tension and Jack Hughes out of her pores. Or trying to.

But even with her eyes shut, she could still hear his voice. You ever get tired of acting like the world owes you something?And worse— Do you think being difficult makes you deep?

She ground her teeth, fingers gripping the edge of the tiled wall.

He doesn’t know you.

And yet somehow, he knew just where to strike.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Downstairs, the boys had regrouped.

Dinner was a casual thing—burgers again, someone reheating leftover ribs, Luke scavenging through the fridge like a gremlin. Cole was back to his usual banter, though it was a little more subdued than usual. Quinn was slicing limes with surgical precision, and Trevor was manning the grill while half-watching a preseason baseball game on mute.

Jack stood at the edge of it all, leaning against the railing of the back deck, beer in hand. The bottle was sweating in his grip. He wasn’t drinking it.

“Are you gonna say something?” Quinn asked, stepping up beside him.

Jack didn’t look at him. “About what.”

“You know what.”

A pause.

“I was an asshole,” Jack said, the words like gravel in his throat. “I just… didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Quinn gave a soft huff. “You never do. But it always does.”

Jack flexed his jaw. “It’s not like she doesn’t give it right back.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.” Quinn took a sip of water, gaze still fixed on the tree line. “She defends herself. You provoke. There’s a difference.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. Just stared out at the lake, now rippling silver in the growing darkness. The reflection of the moon danced across the surface like something delicate and impossible to catch.

He wanted to say that she made him angry. That she infuriated him. That she always had this way of getting under his skin—smirking like she knew something he didn’t, standing there with tattoos that made no apologies and eyes that saw right through him. He wanted to say it was easier to poke at her than to actually ask her who she really was.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he murmured, “She was right.”

Quinn gave him a sidelong glance. “About what?”

Jack finally looked down at the bottle in his hand. “I don’t know shit about her.”

And it bothered him more than it should.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Upstairs, Y/N emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel and silence.

She stood in front of the mirror, wiping away steam in a slow, deliberate swipe. Her eyes were puffy from the heat, her skin flushed, but it wasn’t the kind of red that came from sun or soap. It was anger. And something else underneath it. Something she didn’t want to name.

She dropped the towel and dressed slowly—black tank, loose cotton shorts, her usual necklace with the tiny opal charm her sister gave her before she moved across the country. She towel-dried her hair just enough to keep it from dripping, then braided it loosely over one shoulder.

As she passed the mirror again, she caught sight of the serpent along her back.

The tattoo shimmered faintly in the soft bedroom light, coiled and regal. It looked like it was breathing. Like it had something to say.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered to her reflection, lips twitching despite herself. “We’re not having a self-growth moment.”

Still, she held the gaze in the mirror for a moment longer, then turned off the light.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

Dinner passed with minimal tension. Y/N sat at the far end of the table beside Luke and Cole, laughing at their antics, pretending not to notice that Jack was directly across from her. They didn’t speak. But they didn’t snipe either.

It felt like… detente. Not peace. But a pause.

After dinner, most of the group gravitated toward the fire pit at the edge of the backyard. Someone lit a bonfire, and soon there were marshmallows and Bluetooth speakers and lazy conversations under a canopy of stars. The air had that perfect Michigan chill—warm enough to be barefoot, cool enough to justify a hoodie.

Y/N stood at the edge of it all, sipping from a cider can, her hoodie zipped halfway up, shorts peeking out beneath. The flames flickered in her eyes, and the butterflies behind her ear caught the light when she tilted her head.

Jack saw her from across the fire.

He was talking to Quinn, or pretending to, but he wasn’t listening. Not really. His eyes kept drifting back to her.

She hadn’t spoken to him since the boat. Hadn’t even looked his way.

But when he finally gathered the courage to move around the fire and approach her, she didn’t walk away.

She just looked at him—neutral, unreadable.

The fire was crackling now, settled into that steady rhythm of glowing embers and occasional pops that made it feel almost comforting. Almost.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cider can still cool in her hand. The warmth of the flames licked at her calves, but her spine felt cold. A familiar kind of cold—the one that came when Jack Hughes was within five feet of her.

And now, here he was.

Standing at the edge of the firelight, just close enough to make her aware of him. Just far enough to make her wish he’d turn around and walk back into the shadows.

He’d been watching her all night. She knew it. Felt it in the hairs at the back of her neck, the low thrum of tension that hummed beneath her skin like a faulty wire. She didn’t have to look to know he was doing it again.

He made her tired. Not just emotionally—viscerally. The kind of tired that settled in your bones and refused to leave.

He stepped closer, uninvited. Of course.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But the smile she’d worn while laughing at one of Cole’s stupid jokes cooled instantly, fading from her mouth like breath on glass.

“You always gotta be on?” Jack asked, low enough that only she could hear. His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it. There always was. “All performance, no pause?”

She turned, eyes sharp.

“You always gotta be underwhelming?” she replied flatly. “Can’t help it, or just trying to impress your own ego?”

Jack’s mouth curled—not quite a smile. Not quite not.

“You think you’re so unreadable,” he said, voice soft and cutting. “But you’re not. You wear everything like armor, then act surprised when someone sees the cracks.”

“And you wear your mediocrity like a badge,” she snapped. “So congratulations—I saw you. Happy now?”

Someone tossed a new log onto the fire. The sparks flared, briefly lighting both their faces. For a moment, their expressions mirrored the flame: bright, angry, wild.

Neither of them moved.

“I was trying to be civil,” Jack said finally. “Figured I’d try something different for once.”

Y/N laughed. Just once. A sharp, bitter sound.

“Why start now?”

His jaw ticked. “Maybe because every time we talk, it’s like standing in front of a damn mirror.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You throw punches before anyone can get close. So do I. That’s not chemistry, that’s just damage control.”

She blinked. That… hit closer than she expected.

But instead of letting it land, she shifted. Tilted her head and gave him a look that was all glass and steel.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hughes. You and I? We’re not mirrors. We’re gasoline and matches. That’s all.”

Jack didn’t respond.

For a moment, he looked at her like he was going to. Like something sharp and unfiltered was about to rip out of him—but then he stopped. Bit it back. Let it rot inside his mouth.

He nodded once. More to himself than her.

“Right,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your whole tortured lone-wolf thing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Jesus. Do you practice this nonsense in the mirror or are you just naturally this exhausting?”

Before he could answer, Trevor appeared at her side with perfect timing—offering her a marshmallow-topped skewer like a peace treaty, oblivious or maybe willfully ignorant of the fuse that had just burned out between them.

“You okay?” he asked lightly, eyes flicking between her and Jack.

She smiled. Tight. Controlled.

“Peachy.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Just turned and walked back toward the other side of the fire, where Luke and Quinn were deep in some half-drunken debate about the best hockey movie of all time. Y/N didn’t watch him go, but she felt every step like a nerve flaring up.

Trevor handed her the skewer.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.

She stared into the fire. “I’m fine. He’s just… Jack.”

Trevor exhaled like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

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Later that night, the house had quieted. Most of the guys had drifted off to bed or disappeared into video games and beer pong inside. The backyard was mostly still—except for Y/N, who sat alone on the porch steps in one of Trevor’s hoodies, the sleeves too long, her curls loose and slightly damp again from another quick rinse.

The crickets were out. The cicadas had gone quiet. The lake was black and endless.

Behind her, the screen door creaked.

She didn’t turn.

“Still following me?” she asked, voice low.

“Nope,” Jack replied. “Just came to grab my hoodie. Thought it was in the kitchen.”

She turned halfway, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’m not wearing your hoodie.”

“I know.” He paused. “Didn’t say you were.”

Silence stretched between them like string, taut and unwilling to break.

Finally, Y/N stood. Brushed off her shorts. Walked past him without a word.

And just like always, Jack turned as she did, watching her go like he was trying to figure her out.

He wouldn’t.

He never would.

And she didn’t care enough to help him try.

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇•❣•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•❣• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

The lake house was too quiet.

Y/N had convinced everyone she was feeling a little “off” that morning—blamed it on sun exposure, maybe mild dehydration, whatever excuse made people stop asking questions. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Her head was pounding. But the source of the ache wasn’t the sun.

It was Jack freaking Hughes.

Every summer she came here, every year she told herself she’d be mature enough to handle his bullshit. That maybe he’d grow up, evolve past the smug, sarcastic douchebag routine. And every year, he proved her wrong.

So no, she wasn’t on the boat today. She wasn’t playing third wheel to testosterone and tequila. She needed quiet. Space. A single breath that wasn’t laced with tension or his cologne or the sound of his voice.

She padded downstairs just past eleven, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, hair pulled into a loose puff. The house was still—no shouting, no speakers, no Trevor stomping around in flip-flops.

Perfect.

She rounded the last step and turned into the living room—and froze.

There he was.

Sprawled out on the couch like he owned it—hoodie and shorts, one leg propped up from resting against the coffee table, phone in hand, earbuds hanging loose around his neck. Hair messy. Barefoot.

Jack looked… comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Y/N’s stomach dropped, then twisted, then flared into irritation like a flare gun.

He didn’t even glance up.

She crossed her arms slowly. “What are you doing here?”

Jack didn’t blink. “Last time I checked, I own the place.”

Her nostrils flared. “Yeah, whatever. You’re supposed to be with the others on the boat.”

He tapped something on his screen. “Didn’t feel like going.”

“Wow,” she said dryly. “And here I thought they banned you for being insufferable.”

He smirked—finally looking up, his gaze slow and assessing. “Funny. I could say the same about you.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it made her dizzy. “Don’t flatter yourself. I stayed behind because I needed a break. From the noise.”

“From me, you mean.”

“If the shoe fits…”

Jack sat up now, stretching slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “So let me get this straight. You lied to everyone to avoid being around me, only to end up alone with me anyway.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re not clever, Jack. You’re just exhausting.”

“And you’re not mysterious. You’re just loud.”

“Loud?” she repeated, voice rising. “Oh, you’re one to talk. Mr. Look At Me I’m the Franchise.”

Jack stood now too, phone forgotten on the coffee table.

“Yeah?” he said, stepping toward her. “At least I don’t hide behind tattoos and attitude like they’re some kind of personality.”

Y/N took a step forward herself, eyes burning. “You don’t have a personality. You have a brand.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jack snapped. “Do I not live up to your little rebel-with-a-backstory fantasy?”

She was in his face now, close enough to smell mint and lake water and him.

“You’re a walking caution sign, Hughes.”

“And you’re just looking for something to hate so you don’t have to admit you’re not satisfied with yourself.”

The words hit like static—like something too true, too fast.

They were breathing hard now. Close. Too close. His chest brushed hers with every inhale. Her hand itched to shove him, slap him, something—

Instead, she grabbed his hoodie.

And kissed him.

Fierce. Sharp. Like a fight with no winner.

Jack responded instantly—like he’d been waiting for this exact moment, like every snide remark had been a rope pulling them toward this inevitable fire.

His mouth was hot, demanding. Her fingers curled in the fabric at his chest. His hands slid to her waist, gripping tight like he didn’t trust himself to stop.

She bit his lip.

He groaned into her mouth.

And then just as quickly—she pulled back, breath ragged, eyes wide.

They stared at each other.

“What the hell,” she whispered.

Jack blinked. “Don’t look at me like I started it.”

“You—You’re infuriating.”

“Then why the hell are you still standing that close?”

Y/N shoved him back—palms on his chest, firm.

“Don’t,” she said, voice shaking. “Don’t act like this means anything.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move.

“It doesn’t,” he said finally, voice low.

She nodded once.

“Good.”

Y/N’s hand was fisted in his hoodie still. Jack was staring at her mouth, dark eyes intense.

She kissed him again.

This time, she pushed him down.

Into the couch cushions. He fell back, a little too slow, like he didn’t realize she was pushing him down. She straddled his lap, hands on either side of him as they kissed. Hard, and angry, and burning.

His hands slid up her waist—rough and desperate—and then, he pulled back. “Wait,” he breathed. “Wait, wait—what are we—”

Y/N didn’t know either. All she knew was the way his fingers felt against her skin and the way her heart was racing and the way he looked beneath her. All she knew was she hated him. Hated him—so she kissed him harder, just to prove it. She kissed him until he stopped pulling away.

Until his hands moved to her thighs, thumbs brushing against the edge of her shorts, pulling her closer. Until she could feel the hard line of his dick against her stomach. Until he was kissing her back, biting at her bottom lip and she bit his in return. Until his hand slid over her ribs, fingers splayed out against her sweatshirt, pressing into her skin—

And then his thumb slid under her breast. And she gasped against him.

His hand paused. “Fuck,” he whispered against her mouth. “Can I—”

She nodded, once, her mouth finding his again.

His hand slid up, fingers finding her nipple through the fabric. She moaned, and he swallowed the sound. His other hand followed, and soon she threw her sweatshirt off, it landed onto the beer pong table in the corner, just so he could touch her, so he could keep his fingers there—pinching and teasing until she was breathless and shaking.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whispered against her throat. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this—”

She gasped as his thumb rolled over her nipple. “God just shut up Jack.”

She grabbed his hand and pushed it down between her legs. His fingers brushed over her, just above her clit—and then he pulled back. She tried to follow his fingers, but his free hand gripped her hip, stopping her.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he growled. “Just sit there and take it.”

And then he pushed the fabric of her shorts to the side. Her hips jerked as he touched her again, his fingers so close to her clit, teasing over her entrance, just light enough that it drove her mad, that she was squirming against him. His mouth found hers again, hot and desperate, and his fingers started to circle over her clit, slow and steady and too fucking good.

He groaned against her skin. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

She shivered, his words and fingers and voice all combining in a dizzying cocktail of sensation.

His thumb traced her clit and back down—again and again until she was shaking and breathless. Until her hips were following his fingers.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, please, please—”

And then, he slid two fingers inside her.

Y/N gasped, hips bucking against his hand. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her skin.

He curled his fingers—hitting all the spots that had her seeing stars. His thumb found her clit, and she felt like she was burning alive.

“God,” Jack’s voice was low. “For someone who hates me so much, you’re sure soaking my fingers, aren’t you, princess?”

His voice was smug and annoying and the only thing keeping her grounded as she felt herself spiraling higher and higher with every stroke of his fingers against her.

“Shut up,” Y/N choked out.

He laughed against her throat as his fingers sped up, hitting that same spot every time, the other hand gripping her hip, holding her down as her body jerked. “I can’t believe you’re letting me touch you like this. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“You’re such an ass,” she hissed. “You’re such a fucking—” she cut off with a moan. She was so close, she was so—

And then—his thumb paused.

“What the fuck,” Y/N gasped.

“Aw, did I stop?” Jack said, voice light and mocking and cruel. “I’m so sorry, princess. But I really can’t let you finish until you admit just how much you love it.” He pressed his fingers inside her, not moving, just enough to tease. His thumb stroked her clit once, and she nearly fell apart.

“Admit it,” he demanded, his voice low, fingers still inside her.

She wanted to scream. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

His fingers stilled.

“Wrong answer, princess.” He pulled his hand out from her shorts. “It’s okay if you can’t say it out loud. I know I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

She shoved him—hard—and he laughed, catching her hands. “What?” he mocked. “Are you mad because I made you come or because you didn’t get to come?”

He pressed his fingers inside her, not moving, just enough to tease. His thumb stroked her clit once, and she nearly fell apart.

“Admit it,” he demanded, his voice low, fingers still inside her.

She wanted to scream. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

His fingers stilled.

“Wrong answer, princess.” He pulled his hand out from her shorts. “It’s okay if you can’t say it out loud. I know I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

She shoved him—hard—and he laughed, catching her hands. “What?” he mocked. “Are you mad because I made you wet or because you didn’t get to come?”  He was smirking. “Oh my God, you’re still shaking.” His smirk deepened. “I knew you wanted it.”

She hated him. She hated him so much.

So she kissed him.

She bit at his lip—hard enough to hurt—until his smug little smile faltered.

Until his fingers were back against her clit—until she was moaning into his mouth—until she was gasping against his lips, eyes squeezed shut, nails biting into his shoulders as his fingers sent her higher and higher.

“You hate me,” Jack said, his voice a dark whisper as he pressed his fingers deep inside her. “But your body doesn’t care, does it?”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. “Say it.”

“I hate you.”

His thumb stroked over her clit. “I know, I know. But you love my fingers.”

Y/N choked on a moan. “Fuck you.”

“You love the way they feel inside you.”

“I hate you.” Her voice was breathless, desperate.

His fingers curled. “Such. A. Fucking. Liar.”

She moaned. Louder now. Her hips were moving, following his hand, and her head fell forward as his thumb found her clit again.

“Say it,” he said, fingers relentless. “Say it and I’ll let you come. I’ll make you feel so good.” His fingers pressed deeper and she moaned again—breathless, desperate—so close.

“I hate you,” she gasped. “I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you—” she choked out a sound. Her hips snapped forward. Her fingers twisted in his sweater. Her eyes squeezed shut.

And then she was coming—falling apart on his fingers as the world went bright white, as the only sound she could hear was her own moans. He whispered against her throat, voice rough and dark and needy, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of her own heart pounding. She couldn’t think—she couldn’t—she was spiraling, she was—

Jack’s fingers slowed, but didn’t stop. Not yet. His mouth found hers. She kissed back—desperate and shaking and breathless—and his fingers curled and she was seeing stars again—again and again and again.

Y/N was tired of his teasing and decided to take matters into her own hands. She pulls back and throws Jack's hoodie off of him and then begrudgingly pulls his fingers from her.  She slips from his lap, her knees landing on the soft carpet, and looks back up at him.

"You want to be a jerkoff about me loving this? Well, how do you like it when you are being sucked off by someone that hates you?" She asks as she pulls back for a second. His eyes are wide as he stares down at her.

"Your turn." She says as she leans down to lick up the outline of his dick through his shorts. Her spit soaking the fabric.

 Jack's breathing was getting heavier.

"Fuck, that's hot. But you can do better than that." He says as he lifts her back up to eye level and grabs the back of her head and shoves her back down, grinding against his hard cock against her face. He smirked at her glare. Her hands traced the sides of his thighs, feeling him tense every time she got close to his cock. “Take them off,” she demanded.

He stood, kicking out of his shorts and boxer briefs, and Y/N’s mouth went dry. He was big. Long and thick and so fucking hard. Her eyes flicked up to his. He smirked.

“Like what you see, princess?”

She shoved his chest, and he fell back onto the couch, cock jutting up against his stomach. He was staring at her with those dark eyes, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. She could read it in the way he looked at her, like this was just another fight. Another thing to win. But she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. She wasn’t going to let him think he’d won.

She glared, and then she gripped his thighs and pulled him closer. His breath caught as her lips brushed his cock—and then her tongue followed. His hand fisted her hair.

So Y/N leaned down and licked him—just a stripe up the side of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut, and his hips jerked. She grinned and did it again, her tongue following the vein up the side before she pressed a kiss to the tip. His hips jerked again, and when she looked up, his eyes were dark. “Fucking tease,” he muttered, and she laughed, the sound vibrating against the head of his cock.

He swore, hips trying to buck, but her hands held him down. “Stop being such a baby, Hughes.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” he warned.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Shut up.” She took him in her mouth—just the tip at first, tongue swirling around him, her hand gripping him at the base. He groaned. “Fuck—Y/N—fuck—”

Jack groans and leans his head back, his hands tangling in her hair as she starts to suck. He hits the back of her throat and she gags a little bit, but then she takes him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth.

She choked, and he pulled her back, stroking her cheek. “Shh,” he murmured, voice so soft it sounded like a completely different person. “Breathe through your nose. That’s it.”

She hummed, tongue pressing into him. "Shit, that's perfect." He moans, his hips lifting off the couch slightly, pushing him further into her throat. She hums, the vibration making him moan again. She starts to bob her head faster, her tongue swirling around him, tasting every inch of him.

"You're so good at this." He says, his voice strained. She looks up at him, her eyes meeting his and she can see how much he's enjoying it, how much he's struggling to hold back. She sucks harder, her cheeks hollowing out and he lets out a loud groan. His hand tightens in her hair,

“Fuck,” he whispered, as her mouth moved up and down his length. “Fuck, that feels good. That’s so fucking good.”

His hips jerked, and her mouth parted. Her tongue slid around the head, and his fingers tightened in her hair. He let out a low moan, and she glanced up at him. His eyes were on her, dark and burning.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he rasped. “Look at you. Sucking my cock.”

She rolled her eyes but took him deeper—slowly. His head fell back, and his hand guided , hips canting forward. She ran her tongue up his shaft, swirling around the tip, and when his thumb brushed her bottom lip, she opened her mouth wider. She let him fuck her mouth. Hard and fast and rough until his cock was hitting the back of her throat.

Her nails dug into his thighs, and he hissed. “Fuck, your mouth is perfect.”

He pushed back in—deeper and deeper, her eyes burning as she blinked up at him.

“Good girl,” he groaned. “You look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

And then she relaxed her throat, and he sank in.

His moan was loud. Sharp. His hips jerked forward, and she let him fuck her mouth—hard and fast.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuckfuckfuck—your throat is so tight. God, I’m not going to last.”

And then, she pulled back—popping off of his cock.

“Y/N,” he gasped. His cock was wet from her mouth, and she stroked him slowly, smirking at the sight in front of her. Jack’s cheeks were flushed, and his head was thrown back against the headrest of the couch, eyes closed, breathing hard.

She licked his tip, and his eyes fluttered open, gazing down at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said smugly. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you over all the noise you were making.”

“You fucking tease,” he choked out, hips jerking forward. “God, your mouth should be illegal.”

And then—his words turned into broken moans as she took him back into her mouth—humming around him, the vibrations sending shivers up his thighs. He was moaning now—loud and breathless—and she felt a heady rush of pleasure.  Her panties were soaked, and her clit was throbbing. She wanted to touch herself, to finish the job that Jack had started—but she didn’t. She took him deep, swallowing around him. Her jaw ached, and her eyes stung. Drool and precum dripped down her chin, and it stained Jack’s balls from how hard she was swallowing around him, milking him.

She could tell he was getting close. His thighs were tensing, and his hips were stuttering, and he kept moaning brokenly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Before he could cum—she pulled off.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at her incredulously as she wiped her mouth.

“Why’d you stop?”

She smirked. “Don’t forget, I don’t like you, Jack. I only make boys cum that I’m into.”

Jack stared at her a moment longer—chest heaving, breathing hard—and then, in a flash, he was pushing her back down onto the floor. She fell against the carpet, and he was on her. Between her legs, kissing her. Rough and hard and angry.

“I don’t fucking like you either, princess,” he snapped. “But I’m going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name.” He pushed down her shorts and licked a stripe up her slit. She shuddered, hands flying to his hair. He laughed against her. “And you’re going to take it baby. All of it.”

His tongue found her clit, swirling around the bud in a way that made her toes curl. His fingers slid back inside her—pumping in and out as his tongue teased. Her hips bucked, and he grabbed her waist, pinning her to the ground as he worked.

Her eyes rolled back, and she moaned, shaking and arching against him. “Jack, oh my god—”

Jack smirked against her and mockingly said, “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all the noise you were making.” She glared at him, but the look was ruined by another moan. He laughed and then sucked her clit into his mouth, his fingers curling inside her. She cried out, gasping, moaning, choking on her own noises as he drove her higher and higher.

“Jack,” she begged. “Please—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until she came—hard—back arching, hands fisting in his hair, toes curling.

And then, just as she was coming down, he crawled up her body—kissing her slowly. She could taste herself on his lips, and she moaned softly as his cock dragged against her inner thigh. She felt him smile against her mouth.

“Good, princess?” he murmured.

“So good,” she breathed.

His cock rubbed against her clit, still too sensitive from her orgasm, and she gasped, hips jerking. He hissed, hands gripping her waist.

“Shit,” he choked out. “Do you want me to—”

He gestured between them, and she nodded quickly. She needed him. She needed him now.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned. “I don’t have a condom. Do you—”

“I’m clean,” she said quickly. “I’m on the pill. Please. Please, please, please.”

He broke off with a ragged moan as she slid the tip of his cock inside her. “Fuck—fuck, Y/N. Do you want me to—” His voice was breathless, his hips stuttering.

“Yes,” she whispered, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want you. All of you. Please, Jack—”

Jack didn’t need any more convincing. And then—he thrust inside her. All the way to the hilt.

She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Jack whispered. “Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. So tight. How are you this tight, baby?”

She moaned, her hips moving restlessly. “Move. Please, Jack, move—”

And he did.

His hips snapped against hers, and she arched beneath him—meeting him thrust for thrust. His mouth found her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth—and then his hand was between them, thumb against her clit.

“God,” she choked out. “That’s so good. Jack, please don’t stop.”

He moaned against her breast, biting at her nipple, and she cried out, her back arching off the floor.

“Faster,” she gasped. “Harder.”

His mouth was relentless against her breasts, his cock driving into her over and over, and she could feel her second orgasm building. Her toes were curling, and her thighs were shaking, and she was moaning. So loud. So breathless. Begging, pleading, her voice cracking.

Her nails dug into him. He was big, and she was sensitive, and it felt so fucking good.

“God,” he moaned, voice ragged. “Fuck. You feel so good. You’re so tight.” He thrust again, and she cried out, her legs wrapping around his waist as he fucked her. Slow, long thrusts that hit somewhere deep inside her. “You feel perfect,” he groaned.

“So do you,” she gasped. “You’re so—ah. So—fuck—”

He kissed her again—rough and hard. His thrusts sped up—hitting hard and fast and deep. She raked her nails down his back, and he moaned her name.

“Jack,” she choked out. “Jack, please—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. All she could do was moan his name again, over and over.

“Shit,” Jack’s voice cracked. “Shit, you feel so good, Y/N. You’re taking me so well.”

She moaned, arching against him, nails leaving red marks down his skin as she clung to him.

His strokes were hard and fast and brutal—and his thumb was relentless on her clit. She felt herself barreling towards the edge again, felt herself getting closer and closer and—“Jack, I’m going to—”

“Not yet,” he snapped.

She whined, her hands gripping his hair. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, I need to—”

“No,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Not yet. Not until I tell you to.”

She groaned in frustration, but she did as he said. She held back. Her thighs were shaking, and her body was trembling, and she was so close—so so close—but she held back. And Jack watched her the entire time, his eyes dark and intense as he fucked her and toyed with her and worked her back to the edge again and again and again. Until her moans turned into sobs, until she was begging him. “Jack. Jack, please, baby, please—let me come. Please. I need to come. Jack. JackJackJackJackJack—”

He grabbed her face—forcing her to look at him.

“Yeah. Say my name,” he demanded. “Say it, Y/N.”

And she was so far gone—so close to the edge that she would’ve done anything.

“Jack,” she moaned. “Oh god, Jack—I need you. Please—I need—”

He moaned against her breast, biting at her nipple, and she cried out, her back arching off the floor.

“Faster,” she gasped. “Harder.”

He was relentless against her clit, his cock driving into her over and over, and she could feel her second orgasm building. Her toes were curling, and her hips were shaking, and she was moaning. So loud. So breathless. Begging, pleading, her voice cracking.

Jack’s breath was hot against her ear. “Come for me, princess. Come for me like a good girl.”

And then she was gone. Shaking. Convulsing. Gasping. Her nails cut into his back, and she heard Jack cry out. He fucked her through it—pumping into her, his thumb never stopping against her clit until she was pushing at his shoulders.

 Too sensitive. Too much.

“Jack,” she gasped.

His thumb moved to her inner thigh, stroking softly as he kept moving inside her. “You can take it, baby,” he murmured. “I know you can.”

And then, her world exploded. His hand moved her leg higher, on his hip, and his cock hit that spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

She clenched around him, trying to grab at anything she could to stabilize herself. Her hands found the carpet, gripping the fabric beneath her head.

Fuck, she hated Jack Hughes. But god, could he fuck.

She was still shaking, still gasping for breath, when Jack noticed her breath hitch every time his cock brushed against that spot.

And he aimed for it. Every stroke. Every thrust. His strokes were hard. Deep. Relentless. He was murmuring things against her neck—dirty things, hot things.

“Yeah?” Jack’s voice was dark, his thrust slowing. “Feel me right there, princess? The guy you fucking hate so much rearranging your fucking guts.”

She nodded, her head too fuzzy to even form words.

“Aw,” Jack murmured, nipping at her jaw. “Now look at you. Too fucked out to even speak. Might have to keep you like this.”

And then—he started thrusting again—hard and fast and deep—and she was choking out broken moans, her body jerking beneath his. She was oversensitive. She was still trying to come down from her second orgasm, and he wasn’t letting her. He kept driving into her, and she kept moaning.

“Jack,” she rasped. “JackJackJack—” and her fingers were curling against the plush carpet, her nails digging into the fabric. She was going to rip a hole in the fucking floor at this rate.

“Fuck,” Jack snapped. “You take my cock so well, baby. So fucking well.”

He drove into her again—and again—and again, and she felt her third orgasm barreling down on her. And then, he reached up and grabbed her breast.

His fingers pinched her nipple, twisting and pulling, and she exploded. Gasping and convulsing and shivering as her orgasm tore through her like lightning.

“Fuck, yes baby,” Jack snapped, his thrusts getting erratic as she clenched around him. “Just like that. God, you’re so good.”

She was moaning—over and over—her nails digging into his back as he drove into her. Her orgasm felt like it was never ending, her synapsis constantly firing. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice harsh and breathless.

And she did. She looked at him, her eyes locking with his as he took her. Hard. Fast. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on.

His mouth was open, breathing hard, and he let out a soft moan, his forehead falling against hers.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m not—fuck—I’m not going to last.” His hips snapped against hers, his fingers finding her clit again. “You feel too good.”

His breath was coming out in short pants, and his rhythm was starting to stutter. She knew he was close.

“Come in me,” she moaned.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked out. His eyes were so dark, burning into her.

“Please,” she begged, voice breathless and broken. “Please Jack, come in me. I want to feel you—”

He rubbed her clit, his strokes hard and fast, and she choked out a moan, her eyes rolling back. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Fuck,” Jack’s hips were shaking now, his thrusts turning erratic as he lost control. He snapped his hips against hers, his breaths coming out in short gasps. “Touch yourself,” he demanded.

She did as she was told. Her fingers worked her clit as he took her, and she felt herself get closer and closer for the fourth time that night.

“Wait,” she gasped out. “Wait, I—”

“Shh baby,” Jack murmured. He stroked her cheek, kissing her slowly. “You’re okay. You’re doing so good, Y/N, fuck—you’re taking me so well.” He kissed her again, his lips soft against hers. “Just focus on me, princess. Focus on my cock.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded, her fingers working her clit. Her body was shaking. Trembling. Her breath was coming out in soft gasps, and Jack kept murmuring things to her—filthy things. Things that would’ve made her blush if she’d been able to focus.

“Jack,” she choked out.

“I know,” he breathed. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

Except this time she felt funny, this didn't feel like her previous orgasms. No. This time she felt like she was going to pass out. She was so lost in Jack and the pleasure he was giving her that she didn't even realize her vision was fading.

Her eyes were rolling back, and her body felt like it was floating. Her head felt all fuzzy, and everything felt so sensitive and so good but she couldn't tell what was what anymore. Her mind was spinning, and she could barely string a thought together, let alone remember to breathe.

He reached down and grabbed her throat—herpulse thundering underneath his hold. Hard. And she cried out, her orgasm hitting her like a punch to the gut. Her eyes rolled back, and her vision went white. She felt like she was floating—felt like her body was spasming beneath him, felt like he was still pounding into her but she couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t focus, she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t do anything except feel. Pure pleasure, ripping through her over and over like waves crashing against her. 

She had just squirted. 

The first time she squirts is by the guy she despises. Jack groans at the sight and feels himself lose any and all control he had to hold off his own impending orgasm. He shouts as he cums, filling her with warm deep spurts. He keeps cumming and cumming, and she keeps spasming, gasping and moaning as she took all of him. 

His hips slowed, and he pulled out, watching as his cum dripped down her thighs, mixing with her own juices. His fingers reached down, rubbing the mess, and then, he pushed his cum back inside her, smirking as her eyes rolled back. He kept doing it over and over until she was begging, pleading with him.

Pushing his hand away, her body oversensitive and her mind reeling from the fucking no pounding he had just given her. "Hmm made you squirt too, guess your body loves me princess." he smirks. 

 Y/N's vision clears, and she glares at him.

“Don’t call me princess,” she snapped.

His smirk turned into a full grin. “Aw, you ruined it. I like calling you princess.”

“And I told you not to.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “You did.”

“I can’t move.” Y/N whined.

“That’s how you know you had good sex, baby.” Jack grins.

"Do you ever shut the fuck up?" she groaned back.

He shrugged. “You know what the solution to that is?”

“No, what?” She rolled her eyes, playing along.

He gestured to her. “Your pussy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolled her eyes again.

“Did. Just did.” He smirks down at her, “You loved it. Don’t lie.” His face softened, “It was good though right? You, um, you enjoyed yourself?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He grinned, “I enjoyed myself too. Like a lot. I think I might need to go again.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “How about you?”

[happypot0001]

⚠️Characters belong to @just-a-carrot 🥕⚠️

I wish it wasn’t so, but everyone is probably going to have an obstacle once in their life. Some may be bigger than others, but I believe that you’re a good person. 🫵 There must be a reason that you’re suffering, even if you ARE a good person. I don’t have a say in this, but I can only wish for the best with you and your life. If you don’t believe you’re a good person, then I believe you will be. This is a complete stranger who’s talking to you, but this is also a stranger who has encountered her own problems. You don’t have to take my words to heart, I’m no therapist or anything 😭😭😭 but all the same…I hope life gives you what you deserve 💕💕

I would feel a bit guilty if I didn’t say this, so I’ll just give an honorable mention to @sailingseals ⛵️!! I’ve been really inspired by their art and I never actually looked at it when I was creating this but I do vaguely remember how they shade so….yeah this shading was kinda inspired by them 😭😭😭

Lots of love to anyone who may be reading!! 💕💕

I…CANT BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS IN LESS THAN A DAY!!!! LESS THAN TWENTY FOUR HOURS WOOHOOOOOOO LETS GOOOOOO!!!!! Ekekjedkdk I really enjoyed drawing this!!!! It was always a vague idea stuck in the back of my mind but finally it’s been brought out on my phone!! (Yes I drew on my phone again where the freak is my iPad 😭😭😭) Bro when I was drawing, I had been using that one picture where Iggy was tied up with ribbons and all three of the love interests had like locks on him and stuff and that brought SO MANY MEMORIES FROM OW 😭😭😭😭😭 I loved it sm heheh

About…what….like two or three hours ago???? Maybe more but around that time frame. Anyways, at that time I was doing some work while playing a sad song (Absence by Rio Romeo 🙏🙏) while ALSO crying (for the second time today what 😭😭) and when I cry, I want to draw people crying 😃😃 but like I’ve always adored the thought of like someone kissing someone else’s tears 🥰🥰🥰 idk where I’ve seen that from but…like…idk it just seems like a cute idea 😭😭😭 so I was like “wait why don’t I just draw that it seems like a cute idea” so…yeah HAHA as you can see I gave GIDGET the honor of doing that 😋😋😋 I was thinking of how to do this and I was first going to do just Iggy sitting and crying all sad and just disappointed and THEN do all the extras but I decided that was like a waste of time and so I just decided against that 😭😭😭😭😭 I still like how it turned out anyway, even if I didn’t do that!!!! I mean like obviously I’m not the best at drawing but since I’m my biggest uhhh enemy (it think that’s what people say) ???? I say that it looks better than most of my other works!!! I knew I wanted to do all of the love interests so I was deciding how I should have each of them comforting Iggy, and uhhh…well you see obviously 😭😭😭 if you need help differentiating how I drew each character doing that then: it’s like just Orlam touching up on Iggy trying to make him feel better with cuddles or smth of the like. Gidgets cutely kissing his tears because why not😆😆😆 and Genzou is just crying along with him 😭😭😭😭 idk I thought they fit but whatever it sounds dumb when I say it out loud but I’ve already drawn it 😭😭😭 uhmmmmm….if I were to claim this as any firsts…I’d say it’s like my first time properly drawing Orlam?! And also GIDGET with their normal hair down!!!

JDFDJDJ if any of these hit a deep spot in your heart then I’d really like to know!!! I hope that if you’re sad or not that you have a very blessed life and the universe gives you the treatment that you deserve, which I can only assume is the best treatment!!!! OF COURSE WE JUST NEED A MENTION TO 🥕 WHO IS THE CREATOR OF THESE AMMAAAAAAAZZINGGGG CHARACTERSSSSS!!! THANK YOU FOR CREATING THESE CHARACTERS AND SUCH A LOVING COMMUNITY FOR US!!!! WE ENJOY EVERYTHING YOU MAKE AND WILL ALWAYS BE THRILLED IF YOU WERE TO MAKE ANY MORE!!!!!

Lots of love to anyone who may be reading once again!! 💕💕

[rex101111]

More stuff for the Baiken Game I Will Never Make. This time some funny Achievement names because those are always fun and some extra gameplay ideas.

Okay first, building on the idea for a Super Meter, each Demon Tool has a Special Attack (Overdrive) that costs half a meter and does something unique for each Tool. You can increase how much Meter you have by collecting stuff (Prayer Beads maybe? Increase Health by collecting Statues of various creatures, probably Asuras.)

The Claw pulls you in for a whirling attack you can follow up with a combo, the gun fires multiple shells with bigger AOE, the big sword (Yozansen) does two slashes instead of one as a good combo ender to send enemies flying etc etc.

With full Meter you can string specific Supers together one after the other. Using the same Super more then twice in a row halves the power and then again until you do at least two other different supers.

The main katana also has a Super based on her usual three hit Overdrive that takes full Meter and does a ton of damage, holding the input during boss fights when a boss' health is below about 15% or so lets you do an instant kill, based on Baiken's IK from Rev2 but rendered uniquely for each boss. You're wide open during the activation so choose your moment carefully.

Okay enough gameplay stuff time for Funny (citation needed) Achievement Names!

1. Get The Gears Turning: Wake up and finish Anji tutorial.

2. You. Over Here. Get.: Receive the Chain Claw.

3. Feelin' Lucky: Receive the Fireworks Musket.

4. Speak Softly: Receive the Spike Mace.

5. Slab Of Iron: Receive the Great Sword.

6. Give 'er A Spin: Receive the Spinning Blade.

7. Nothing Up Your Sleeve: Use three different Demon Tools to beat a single enemy.

8. SLASH!: Defeat an enemy with an Overdrive.

9. Predictable: Perform a counter/parry a total of 50 times.

10. Living For The Moment: Perform a parry 15 times in a row. (AN: Remember that one achievement in Bayonetta 1 where you had to perfect parry 3 times in a row. And it was ass because the input was like frame perfect? Feel my pain. Anyways there's an enemy type that has a flurry attack that hits 15 times exactly and if you go full Daigo and follow up with a Super you kill it on the spot.)

11. DESTROYED!: Perform an Instant Kill on a boss.

12. Seven Golden Letters: Beat a boss without taking damage.

13. A Momentary Peace: Beat the game on Normal.

14. Six Mon For Lord Enma: Beat the game on Hard.

15. Mirror Of A Broken World: Beat the game on Very Hard.

16. Strike and Sheath: Beat the game on Instant Kill difficulty.

17. Eternal Karma: Beat the game on Road To Naraka.

18. Skin Of Your Teeth: Beat a level using the Broken Katana.

Some Boss Achievements~ (a few scattered half baked Gear boss ideas plus a few interesting match and bonus stuff)

19. No Sake Needed: Slay the Eight-Headed Gear. (Gear that looks like Yamata-no-Orochi. Natch.)

20. Flash Of Lightning: Humble the young Crusader. (Young Ky boss fight where he tries to preach to Baiken about the Cause, very quick and agile, cutscene after boss is Baiken punching him in the nose.)

21. An Old Blade: Repel the Veteran Crusader. (Kliff boss a few chapters after Ky, wants to see what his protege was going on about. Heavy damage lots of health, second phase has him going Young and being much faster. Ends with Baiken knocking him away and running.)

22. Eye For An Eye: Lose yourself to the blood, the anger, the pain. For the first time, and not the last. (The chapter where bandits ambush an exhausted Baiken, break her one arm and sword, and she goes feral. Ends with her ripping the bandit leader's throat out.)

23. Never To Meet Again: Survive Justice. (Hopeless Boss against Justice. Gotta have that gut punch.)

24. Fire Of Corruption: Strike out against The Original Gear. (Final Boss Sol. Win and he goes Dragon Install and forces Baiken to retreat. Her goal of revenge still hanging heavy after failing to kill Justice herself.

Secret boss Achievements~~

25. A Promise Kept: See how serious a friend can be. (Anji bonus boss where he actually tries to beat you.)

26. Symphony After Dark: Fight a Gentleman. Ferocious and quick and strong. How Very Dandy. (Slayer bonus boss. As ridiculous and difficult as you would imagine.)

27. In Awe Of The Dawn: Face The Maiden Of The Grove. (Dizzy bonus boss. Though technically its a fight against Necro and Undine while Dizzy tries to help you calm them down.)

28. Requiem For The Midnight Carnival: Overcome the onslaught of the Witch. (I-No bonus boss. Absolutely insane bullet hell bullshit in an action game. Deliberately and explicitly unfair. Just like she always is.)

29. Time Exile: Confront an image of your past self. Accept, and overcome. (Mirror Baiken bonus boss babyyyy)

Now for a few special secret bonus things I thought of~

30. The Other Side Of The Mirror: Listen to Anji's side of the story. (Beating the game on Very Hard unlocks a short Anji Campaign! Mostly just battle areas for you to try his moveset out. Doesn't have Demon Tools but has his dodge from Strive with all the follow ups and a ton of I-Frames.)

31. Bedtime Story: Wake up from a very sweet dream. (After finishing both the main game and Anji's campaign on Very Hard, you unlock Delilah's What If. Another side campaign where you fight as the Very Broken Delilah in a boss rush where it ends with Delilah musing on how she wished Baiken had someone who helped her like she helped Delilah.)

32. The Lonely Blade: Get every other Achievement.

[morkitten]

Got a 1CC on Marchën Maze (PC-Engine version)!

It's a cute Alice in Wonderland-themed action game. It's a top-down shooter where you blow bubbles at enemies and you jump from platform to platform, avoiding the rolling balls enemies shoot at you to knock you off the stage, which is the only way you actually lose a life in the game. Might sound very lenient, but you get no invulnerability frames after getting hit (meaning you can get hit multiple times in a row) and the knockback you receive from projectiles is so great, that you might want to interpret the vast majority of enemy bullets as 1-hit kills.

When I first played this game I wasn't sure I was even going to finish it, every new level meant getting stuck in it for an hour, losing lives left and right. I eventually beat it once (you have unlimited continues), but I wasn't too satisfied with just credit-feeding and using savestates to keep having access to level select, so I went to beat it again, and, it feels a lot easier to play the whole game over again once you know what's coming up ahead, and it's not like the game doesn't give you many extra lives... Eventually I nailed it down to a 2cc (2-credit/continue clear), so... I had to strive for a 1cc. And I finally got it! Phew!

Tips for anyone interested in trying to master the game, past this "Read More" as to not spoil anyone:

Scout levels for locations of power-ups and 1ups

You don't fall off the edge of platforms by walking, always remember that.

Some enemies respawn if you get them off-screen. Be aware which ones do that.

Firing off a bunch of uncharged projectiles is much more effective than charging a shot in most (but not all) situations. Charge shots are useful for sniping enemies safely from afar, as they kill pretty much any enemy in 1 hit, and they have longer reach than your non-fully-charged fire. However, due to the charge time, rapid-fire is much more useful when it comes to shooting on-the-fly or pretty much anywhen else - a lot of enemies die to one shot, anyway.

Do not try to kill green slime enemies, it's best if you just try to outrun them. Other slime enemies are fine.

Ice level has a power-up that stops you from slipping on ice. Get it and don't lose a life throughout the stage. Stage is easy if you have the power-up and will be a major pain in the ass if you don't.

Ice level has a 1up that only spawns if you backtrack, for some reason. Ice level bifurcates once, then both paths converge, then they bifurcate again. On the second bifurcation, take right all the way until both paths meet again, then backtrack, making sure to hug the top-left corners. There's going to be a 1up.

Take it slow on the river level, there's no power-ups or 1ups in the level, just focus on not dying and making sure you can cross safely.

Sky level has a speed-up and a jump-up power-up at the start that requires taking a different path for each. Get both power-ups, helps the rest of the stage immensely.

Take it incredibly slow on Mirror World, snipe every mirror from afar with charged shots, don't let them transform into Mirror Alices. Mirror Alices are incredibly annoying to deal with and are the only enemy in the game that shoots through gaps. Do NOT try to outrun them either, having more than one Mirror Alice on-screen is catastrophically BAD and they will not stop chasing you.

You need to take the green platform to progress through the level in Mirror World. Prepare your charge shots as the platform crosses over Mirror Alices, take them out before they can knock you off the platform. If you fall, that's OK, you just have to get to the platform again.

Final level has a platform with three 1ups. Always be on the lookout for a moving platform on the right, one of them will lead you to the 1ups. You will definitely need them.

[sea-burn]

Custom mech for my Lancer campaign. Balance feedback appreciated!

LEVIER

STRIKER/ARTILLERY

Like an old-world ship-of-the-line, the Levier is an figurehead of national pride; an large, intimidating mech that's as effective in propaganda shoots as on the battlefield, although it will excel in both. Typically seen wielding large, high-caliber weapons, Leviers are typically deployed in groups of three, five, or seven. These units- or “fleets”, as they are called -work together to fire in “broadsides”- enormous eschatological moments when the arduous loading process is completed, and the world holds still as the Levier takes aim and brings the Cohesive’s metaphorical fist down onto their enemies.

Phys. Description. Replace with art if/when it becomes available

A large, imposing mech. Its face-on profile is boxy, black, industrial, with sheer edges and various decals in a chinese-adjacent (replace when found with actual  space language), almost resembling a shipping container. 

Side profile reveals an enormous gun that juts through the mech’s torso, resembling a naval cannon. It penetrates through to both front and back. The rear section houses a complicated network of gangways, small ladders, and carbon fibre spools and ropes. Four Power Monkeys clamber about it, carrying enormous shells under their arms. The front of the gun is huge, blackened, like an industrial chimney. Yellow smoke billows from it following a firing. A curved shield protrudes from the base, giving the side profile the impression of the front prow of a ship. The entire mech is covered with shibari-like overhull drydock netting, which power Monkeys use to get around.

HP: 10

Evasion: 7

Speed: 4

Heat Cap: 5

Sensors: 20

Armor: 1

E-Defense: 7

Size: 2

Repair Cap: 2

Tech Attack: -1

Save Target: 8

License:

I. Broadside Cannon, Downtime Propagator

II. LEVIER FRAME, Bonny Ship the Diamond, Virulent Phosphorus Charge

III. Divine Fist, Santiana Gained a Day

TRAITS:

Trait One: Terracotta Soldier

Your weapons begin unloaded.

Trait Two: Broadside Tactics

Whenever you attack with a Heavy Loading weapon, you may choose to incur -2 difficulty on your attack and take heat 0. If you do so, you may make another attack with another heavy loading weapon, dealing half damage on a hit. You may take this action any number of times, but the heat gain increases by two for each use.

Trait Three: Shoulder-to-Shoulder Mutual Bracing 

For every other friendly character in an continguous row with the Mech tag that is size two or larger, your attacks with heavy weapons gain +1 accuracy, 1d6 extra damage, and Reliable 4. (In this case, three continguous mechs would gain reliable 12.) (this is the only part of this ability that stacks.)

SYSTEM POINTS: 8

MOUNTS:

Flex mount

Heavy mount

Integrated 

CORE system

Drydock Overshield Hull Netting 

The Drydock Overshield Hull Netting is a tightly- wrapped net of four-centimeter-thick cabling that covers the entirety of the Levier. On each intersection is an electromagnetically active node that can snap to another node in a matter of seconds. This allows the net to move dynamically by swapping whether each node is attracting or repelling the others, creating a movement not unlike birds flying in a flock. When active, the net floats about a foot away from any mechs it is protecting, ready to bunch up around an incoming projectile, creating dynamic armour that is strongest everywhere because it only needs to be strong in small bursts, in very specific areas.

(PASSIVE) When yer Crit, minus Grit.

Active (requires 1 Core Power): Cast Drydock Overshield Netting

Any allies in Burst four around you gain Overshield eight. You gain Overshield equal to two times the number of allies that were affected by this effect. You take four energy damage as the sudden voltage flows through your systems.

                                 Integrated Mount: Gun-of-the-Line

Gun-of-the-Line 

Weapon 

Heavy

Cannon, Loading, Ordnance, reliable 5, knockback self 1, accurate

Range 20

 3d6 kinetic damage

Bonny Ship the Diamond

System fluff

 6 SP

Gain the Diamond Fleet of Fame reaction

Diamond Fleet of Fame 

Reaction, once per round

Trigger: another allied mech of size two or greater would make an attack with an heavy weapon

You may either reload one loading weapon, or grant them +2 accuracy on their attack.

Virulent Phosphorous Charge

Popularised by its legendary use to bring down the Lucky Duck destroyer-cruiser in the battle of Najkta, Virulent Phosphorous is an incredibly volatile and explosive substance produced by an genetically modified strain of bacteria originally native to the backwater world Mudd. Most barrels are not sufficiently strong to so much as direct the blast away from the user, but you never know… maybe you're built different!

Mod, limited two 

When you load this weapon, you may choose to expend a charge. If you do, the next shot fired becomes  cone 5, stunning all enemies inside the area if they fail an ENGINEERING check and dealing burn 8 instead of the regular damage.. Destroy the weapon on the mount that fired the Flashpowder charge and take 5 heat. 

Downtime Propagator 

Harnessing the power of the Cohesive's Power Monkey robotic assistants,  time spent loading is not wasted! Direct them to manually aim an auxillary weapon, replace and repair damaged systems, or spray coolant and chaff manually from canisters from the comfort of your cockpit. The CWCC reserves the right to remotely revoke access to this product if it detects that it is attached to an Smith-Shimano frame. 

4 SP

Whenever you expend a full action to Stablilize, choose one:

Make an attack with an auxillary weapon for half damage on a hit 

Repair up to one system, mount, or gain half your maximum HP repaired

Grant yourself and up to two adjacent allies soft cover until the beginning of your next turn.

Divine Fist

Superheavy CQB, loading, knockback 5 

Cone 3

4d6 kinetic damage. On hit, targets are knocked prone and suffer from Shredded.

Santiana Gained a Day 

8 sp

As long as there are four allies of size two or above adjacent to you who have not taken damage or have not moved involuntarily since their last turn or two other Leviers adjacent to you who have not taken damage or have not moved involuntarily since their last turn, your Drydock Overshield Hull Netting flares out behind you, connecting you to your allies. You gain the following benefits:

You and the others affected by this ability may reload loading weapons as an quick action.

 Any damage (excepting heat) dealt to you or any allies affected is spread evenly amongst the group as heat. If the number of damage is uneven, you take the largest portion. This effect takes place after all other damage calculation.

You may fire weapons with Ordnance as though they did not have Ordnance.

You gain immunity to the Shredded condition and +1 armour.

If any mech benefiting from Santiana Gained a Day takes stress damage, instantly end the effect. Take heat 2.

[game-boy-pocket]

Well, today I beat the Super Mario RPG remake. Only 4 days did it take, but i'm a veteran who knows this game very well and I was using almost every moment of free time I had to play. Not that i'm saying less experienced people are in for a 100 hour game, it's a very short game for an RPG... but I kind of like that it's not overly long. If any series can get away with being a short RPG, it'd be Mario.

I have almost no complaints with this. There's a few changes I don't care for, but none that are significant enough for me to care that much about.... except for two things...

Enemies that know sleep abilities really love to spam them, and it annoyingly reactivates the sleep status. Yeah there's accessories that prevent sleep, but I don't always know when these enemies are going to have these abilities, and they didn't spam them so much in the originals anyway.

The other one is the fight against the boss, Boomer. There's frame rate issues here that throw off the timed hits. I couldn't get ANY timed hits right because of the lag.

Those are the only real significant blemishes on the game. But they're not significant enough for this to not be the definitive way to play the game for me ( I still might pop in the SNES version once in a while for shits and giggles, but this is better in almost every way )

I will say, this remake solved one problem I had with the original. Once I got Bowser and Peach in my party, I almost never switched Mallow or Geno back in. I liked them. But Bowser was a powerhouse and Peach was an OP healer. There were only three active party members, and no switching out mid battle. Because of that, the only time i've ever beat SMRPG playing mostly as Mario Mallow and Geno was me forcing myself to do it as a self imposed challenge run.

Well this game feels like it buffed both Mallow and Geno, or in Geno's case, fixed him so that his special attacks actually functioned as intended. It gave Mallow a purpose of finding out weaknesses and reistences, as well as getting completed entries in the monster log book. The triple specials are also different for every party combination, and if one party member falls in battle, or is put to sleep, or just because you feel like it, they can be swapped out in mid battle. So for once, I was actually using my whole party, and even swapping out strategically so I could buff someone with Geno's boost, or swapping in both Mallow and Peach to do a super healing move on specific turns, it was great, it feels like this is how the game should have worked to begin with.

Now it might sound like this change makes things a bit too easy... well first of all, let's not kid ourselves, Super Mario RPG is a very easy game, especially if you know what you're doing, and even if you don't grind... second of all, this game imposes limits on recovery items you can carry, so only six revival items instead of filling your whole inventory with them. They also introduce the occasional special enemy that provides more challenge and a frog coin on defeat... that's another issue addressed because Frog Coins were way too tough to come by. They're still rare in this game, but you no longer have to grind ridiculous jumping challenges to get them.

This remake is very faithful, but every mechanical change they made is more than welcome in my eyes.

I've taken a little peek at the post game, emphasis on little, I really don't know what all is in store for me, but I have a general idea of how it's going to go... how they've implemented it seems very clever, doesn't seem to step on the toes of the ending much. But it looks like it's going to be a hell of a lot tougher than the main game, so I may need to do some level grinding. I'm just glad there's still some things to do, because, and I know i've said this with almost every major release lately, i'm not ready to be done playing.

It feels so fucking good to be a fan of Mario RPG right now. I do hope the Thousand Year Door remake makes Paper Mario fans feel similarly happy. I still think it's an odd choice not to remake the N64 game first but the fans didn't campaign for that now did they? Here's hoping Mario and Luigi RPG fans have something to look forward to as well.

That's it for now, maybe i'll give further thoughts when I beat the post game, but this covers most of the important stuff I think.

[the-red-mafia]

The Bakery

The Red Mafia teens are forced to hang out in a small city to attempt to get Thorn and Velvet to get along (Spoiler Alert: It's not working). When Maroon goes missing, however, the two are forced work together to save their teammate before it's too late. Also available on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheRedMafia Next Update: [Updated] Word Count: 4958

4 ½ weeks after “The Illusions”

Maroon took Thorn’s hand and stepped out of the Umbrella. Velvet hung on the door frame and looked out at the parking lot. 

“What are you even doing?” she asked. Solana came up behind them.

“We’re going to the different shops,” Thorn stated, looking at Maroon. The younger teen looked up at Velvet. 

“Boring. Let’s g-” They were cut off by Solana, who kicked them out of the ship. Velvet rolled when they hit the ground, standing and glaring at them. 

“What the hell?” she hissed. Solana shrugged.

“Sorry Velvie, you need to socialise.”

“I am not-”

“Don’t get mad at Solana,” Maroon chimed in, “I asked her to.” 

“Wait what?” Thorn asked, his eyes wide. Maroon lightly squeezed his hand. 

“I have a plan, don’t worry.” Velvet looked at Maroon before returning to glare at Solana. 

“That’s not going to work, I have the stuff.”

“Do you?” Solana reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a green key. Velvet’s eyes widened and they quickly put their hands in the pockets of the red zip-up they were wearing. 

“You bitch.” Solana laughed and hit the button to close the door. 

“Have fun you three,” they said, waving, “Don’t get into trouble!”

“We’ll try not to,” Maroon replied, waving back. 

“Solana, don’t you fucking dare,” Velvet shouted, but the door slammed shut. The Umbrella quickly took off into the sky and flew out of view.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking joking,” Velvet breathed. After a few seconds, she spun around and glared at Maroon. A chill went down their spine but they took a deep breath.

“Listen, Velvet-”

“What the fucking hell are you trying to do?” they hissed. 

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Thorn added, “I thought we were hanging out today.” 

“Well u-uh,” Maroon took another deep breath, “I was talking to Solana and Mad a-and we agreed that your fighting is a big i-issue and-”

“Hold on a second,” Velvet interrupted, “You three went behind my back to talk about what the team needs?”

“That’s not surprising. You are fucking stubborn and can’t take critism,” Thorn said. Velvet turned her attention to it.

“I’d suggest you fucking-”

“See!” Maroon called out, silencing their friends. Velvet and Thorn looked at them. 

“You guys act like you’re mortal enemies and you couldn’t ever get along, but I know that’s not true. So, I got Solana to drop us off so that the three of us can spend time together to help you guys get along.” Velvet blinked a few times before laughing.

“W-what’s so funny?”

“That…is not going to happen,” she turned around and began walking towards a parking garage in the distance, “Tell Solana to call me when he comes to pick you up. I’m ignoring anything from you two.”

“Velvet, wait-” A mushroom popped up in front of them, forcing them to stop in their tracks and turn back around. 

“Really?” she demanded, crossing her arms. Maroon took a step forward, letting go of Thorn’s hand. 

“Velvet, please. Just an hour? At least give it a shot.” Velvet stared at them, occasionally glancing at Thorn. Maroon smiled at them. 

“Fucking hell, fine,” they stated, walking back to the duo, “Just an hour.” Maroon took Thorn’s hand again. Ae looked up at them, a slight annoyance behind aer eyes. 

“Just an hour, Thorn,” they mumbled, “Please.” Velvet walked past them and began detaching Kil-layye Mo’ore from her belt. Thorn sighed, resting his head against Maroon’s arm. 

“Alright, just an hour.” 

The door chimed when Velvet opened it. Immediately, the trio were overwhelmed with the smells of warm, freshly-baked bread. Sweet smells of sugar and frosting seemed to come at them in waves. There were cabinets lining the wall to the right of the door. Across from them was a large display case, filled to the brim with various types of bread and desserts. Behind the case was a kitchen, but most of it was blocked by a wall. A few display tables were scattered around the room and a door labelled ‘cafe’ stood on the right.

“This place fucking makes me nauseous,” Velvet muttered. 

“I think it smells good,” Maroon said, looking around the shop, “Everything is so pretty.”

“I guess,” Velvet replied. Thorn sent a glare towards her, but she just rolled her eyes. Maroon took a step toward the nearest display table, but a man rushed in front of them. They almost fell to the ground but Thorn caught them. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Velvet demanded. The man turned around and blinked a few times, albeit horizontally. Maroon stared at them while Velvet crossed their arms. 

“S-sorry, I’m just-” they took a deep breath, their hands shaking slightly, “I’m in a hurry, I didn’t mean to knock them down.” 

“It’s ok,” Maroon chimed in, smiling, “Go ahead.” The man smiled back before rushing out of the bakery door. Velvet narrowed her eyes at the fleeing man but didn’t say anything. 

“Was…did their eyes-”

“Yeah, it’s pretty normal,” Velvet interrupted Thorn, picking up a small book off of the table. 

“Of course it is.”

“What’s that?” Maroon asked, gesturing to the book. Velvet held it out so they could see it. 

“Cake book.” 

“...cake book?” 

“It shows the types of cakes the bakery can make.”

“Oh. Do you think we can get one?” Velvet let out a strained laugh. 

“Today? No. These cost as much as a small fucking spaceship.”

“Wait, really?” Thorn interrupted. Velvet nodded, closing the book.

“They are pretty, though,” Maroon added.

“Yeah, they’re like mini edible sculptures. Each of those probably takes dozens of hours to make.”

“Jeez, that seems excessive,” Thorn mumbled.

“Eh, to each their own.”

“Can I see it?” 

“Sure, go for it.” Maroon smiled as Velvet handed the book to Thorn. Ae opened it before turning to ask Velvet to translate. They reached into their pocket, but it was empty. 

“Uh-” they mumbled, “Have you guys seen my phone?” The two older teens turned towards them. 

“Did you leave it on the Umbrella?” Thorn asked.

“I don’t think so, I thought I used it when Velvet was hiding Kil-layye Mo’ore.” 

“Oh yeah, you did. Did you drop it?”

“Maybe? I think I would’ve noticed it.”

“Where else could it be?” 

“That dude!” Velvet blurted out, causing the other two to jump.

“W-what dude?” Maroon asked.

“That dude who bumped into you. They must’ve snatched it when we were distracted.” Thorn shook his head.

“Come on, that’s ridiculous. Why would they do that? Maroon hasn’t done anything to them.” 

“You think that matters? That’s hilarious.”

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” Maroon mumbled, “I’ll go try to talk to them.”

“Alright, lead the way.” Maroon looked at Thorn.

“Actually…I think it’d be best if it’s just me.” Thorn frowned. 

“What? Why?” 

“I don’t want them to feel cornered by us. I just want to get it back without violence.”

“And what if they attack you?” Velvet chimed in, “What’ll you do then?”

“Then I’ll deal with it, I can handle myself. I’ll be right back!” The younger teen walked towards the bakery door, where someone else exiting held it open for them. Velvet and Thorn watched as they walked out and down the sidewalk. They sat in silence for several moments before Thorn laughed. Velvet glanced at it.

“What’s so funny?”

“This is probably part of their plan to get us to be friends,” he said, placing the cake book back on the display table. Velvet groaned. 

“Fuck, you’re right.” A few more seconds of silence passed. The sounds of various patrons chatting and the cash register dinging echoed around the room. Eventually, Thorn sighed.

“Velvet, listen.” She raised an eyebrow.

“What?” 

“This whole thing Maroon is doing,” he began, crossing his arms, “I get why they’re doing it. Trust me, I don’t like you. You’re a murderous stuck-up asshole who doesn’t care who you hurt as long as you get your way.”

“True. Your point?” 

“Fighting with you constantly is only hurting everyone else. And while you might not care, I do. So, for the sake of the others, I’m willing to be civil with you.” Velvet stared at them for a few seconds before laughing. 

“You’re ‘willing to be civil’? Gods, it’s clear you’re fucking royalty.” Thorn narrowed aer eyes at them.

“Even if you’re willing,” she continued, “Who’s saying I am? You just said I don’t care.” She locked eyes with him, almost taunting him. Thorn glared at her.

“You’re the leader, aren’t you? Leaders are supposed to make their team better, not tear them down. Are you saying you’re a bad leader?” Velvet returned Thorn’s glare. After a few seconds, though, they sighed.

“Fine, alright. I’ll try to be ‘civil’, but it’ll be hard considering how fucking annoying you are.” 

“Right back at you,” it replied, “Oh, and one more thing.” Thorn stood right in front of her and its glare returned. 

“Maroon told me about the…incident after they first met Zaeor. If you ever do something like that again, or hurt Maroon in any way, I’ll tear you apart limb by fucking limb. We clear?” Velvet raised an eyebrow before smirking.

“Maybe you do have a backbone after all.”

Maroon walked down the sidewalk, scanning the crowds. The man had disappeared from their sight. Again. They let out a quiet groan before stopping in front of a small bookstore. People streamed past them, chatting as they walked. 

“Hello again.” Maroon turned towards the voice, eyes wide. There stood the man they had been following for the past twenty minutes, smiling at them. They jumped slightly. 

“Oh, hello.” 

“Do you need something? You’ve been following me for a while.” It was slightly difficult to hear the man over the noise of the crowds.

“W-well, you see-”

“Wait a sec, let’s go somewhere quieter.” Maroon looked at him with a confused look as he waved for Maroon to follow along. The two of them walked down the sidewalk before dipping into an alleyway.

“S-so, I think you have-” The man let out a small laugh, cutting them off. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the lime-coloured cell phone. 

“This?” Maroon’s eyes widened.

“Uh, yeah. Why-”

“Listen, Maroon.”

“...how do you know my name?” The man slid the phone back in his pocket before turning around and smirking. He reached a hand up and pressed a finger against a small device in his left ear. A chill went down Maroon’s spine. 

“They’re right where you want them, sir.” Maroon took a few steps back but their back hit something. A small laugh echoed down the alleyway. Maroon quickly turned around, eyes wide.

“Hello, Maroon. Long time no see.”

“Oh! It’s an honour to serve you, sir.” Velvet raised an eyebrow. The two teens had moved through the archway and sat at one of the cafe tables. Velvet ordered three cupcakes, one for each of them. The duo had also got coffee, but Thorn had already finished his. 

“It smells glorious in here, shopkeeper.” Velvet immediately tensed up, setting their cup down on the table. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she mumbled. Thorn looked at them. 

“Is…that who I think it is?” Velvet quickly threw their hood over their head and moved their chair to block any view of Thorn.  

“Keep your head down.” Thorn obliged. 

“Why thank you, Mr. Bolton. What can I get for you?” 

“Hm, let’s see.” The entire shop seemed to grow silent as he hummed a happy tune under his breath.

“How about this small cake? Although, can you replace this white frosting with another colour?” 

“Of course, sir. What do you want instead?” 

“Hmm…how about a nice…maroon.” A chill went down Velvet’s spine. 

“Shit,” she breathed. 

“What?” 

“He knows we’re here. He’s got Maroon.” Thorn’s eyes widened. 

“How?”

“That man must’ve been one of his agents,” they whispered, also lowering their head, “No doubt he’s been looking for Maroon since they escaped. He must’ve recognized Maroon and notified Unor.” 

“Ah, maroon! Such a lovely colour. I’ll get that started for you. Feel free to relax in our cafe area until it’s ready.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to leave a lovely review.” Footsteps approached them from behind. Velvet quickly stood up and began walking toward the exit. Thorn followed suit, grabbing the box of cupcakes from the table. It kept its head down but managed to accidentally brush shoulders with the middle-aged man. Unor let out a quiet chuckle as Thorn quickly moved out of the way and hurried out of the shop. Velvet was waiting for him just out of view of the window.

“So what’s the plan?” ae asked, shifting the box to aer left hand.

“I’ve got to grab Kil-layye Mo’ore,” the assassin began, stepping towards the parking lot they had come from, “Then we can save Maroon.” Thorn jogged to catch up to them.

“But where’s Maroon?” 

“They were only gone for, what, half an hour? They couldn’t have gotten far.” 

“We don’t know how long Unor’s had them for, though.”

“True,” Velvet mumbled, taking a left, “We’ll have to search the entire area.” They pulled their phone out of their hoodie pocket and quickly unlocked it.

“What are you doing?” Thorn asked. Velvet rolled her eyes.

“I’m calling Solana, duh.”

“She’s not gonna answer you.”

“And why not?” Thorn let out a sigh.

“Maroon probably told them to ignore calls from us.”

“Please, they wouldn’t dare.” Velvet held the device to their ear. As predicted, the elf sent them to voicemail. 

“That little-” she took a deep breath, “Fine then, I’ll call Mad.” It took two rings before the droid answered. By that time, the duo had reached the dumpster Velvet had hidden Kil-layye Mo’ore behind. 

“What’s going on, Velvet?” Mad asked. The teen put the phone on speaker and handed it to Thorn.

“We have a situation. I need you to call Solana and tell him to come pick us up.” Mad let out a sigh.

“Look, I know you’re probably angry at Maroon, but it’s important for you and Thorn-” 

“Unor has Maroon.” The phone speaker was quiet as Velvet attached her sword to her belt.

“...Where’s Thorn?” 

“Right here,” he said, handing the cupcakes to Velvet, “Do you want to hide these here?” 

“Thorn, I really don’t give a fuck about the cupcakes right now.” 

“Don’t you think Maroon will want something sweet after having to face Unor again?” 

“Ugh, fine.” They kneeled down and pushed the box behind the dumpster. 

“Do you know where Unor has Maroon?” Mad asked. 

“Not exactly,” Velvet began, standing, “They’re still in our general area as far as we know. Can you track their phone?”

“Yeah, give me a second.” After a minute or so of awkward silence, Velvet’s phone buzzed. They took it from Thorn. 

“Alright, that’s the info I can grab from Maroon’s phone. It’s still on, as far as I can tell.”

“Gods, Unor’s an idiot,” Thorn mumbled. 

“No he’s not,” Velvet stated coldly, “Unor is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He’s setting a trap to get all of us, not just Maroon.”

“Well, I’ll go call Solana.” 

“Tell her to come straight here. You’re at the mansion, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, stay on standby and open up comm channels. We don’t have ours but Solana will probably grab them from the Umbrella.”

“I can tell them to grab them.” 

“Yeah, do that. And watch Maroon’s phone location. If anything changes, message me.”

“Got it. Good luck.”

“It’s not about luck,” the teen mumbled, hitting the red button. 

“So where’s Maroon?” Thorn asked. Velvet opened the photo Mad had sent her. 

“Nearby,” they replied, holding the phone out to it, “That’s us, and they’re just a few blocks down.” 

“So what, we’re just gonna burst in there and hope for the best?” Velvet laughed sarcastically.

“No. He’s expecting that. He’s probably thought of plans for all of our expected entrances.”

“Then what are we going to do?” The assassin smiled and pointed upwards.

“The unexpected.”

With four guards and Unor surrounding them, Maroon was starting to lose hope. Unor stood right above them, mumbling various phrases in a language Maroon couldn’t understand. The man and three other agents formed a box around them, guns in hand. As Unor droned on, the teen grew dizzy. The world began to spin and their stomach twisted into knots. Unor looked down at them and smiled.

“Perfect,” he mumbled before looking at his agents, “Any sign of the others?”

“No sir.”

“Wow, I’m shocked. I don’t think they’re coming to save you.” Maroon attempted to look at Unor but their eyes refused to focus. The teen’s struggle only caused Unor to laugh more. 

“Not that they’ll be much of ‘you’ to save.” Maroon closed their eyes and leaned their head back. Their head pounded as they tried to open their eyes again. The world seemed to shrink away from them. They could hear Unor speaking, but his voice sounded as if he was metres below the ocean. They were so zoned out that they barely noticed a new rope-like item wrapped around their abdomen. Unor’s voice got very loud, but then grew quieter again. 

Maroon’s headache persisted, but the world slowly crept closer. A warm object surrounded them and allowed them to force open one of their eyes. There stood Thorn, who held them close in its arms. His mouth moved, but Maroon couldn’t make out what he was saying. His face morphed into concern and he turned his face away and spoke again. 

Velvet popped into view. Maroon’s vision blurred again, forcing their eyes to close again. Their head pounded rhythmically as they slowly faded out of consciousness.

Thorn watched as Velvet placed a hand on Maroon’s forehead before quickly pulling it back.

“Holy shit,” they said, staring down at the younger teen, “They’re burning up.”

“They’re what?” 

“They have a really high fever,” she clarified, “We need to get them back to the mansion as soon as possible.” Thorn nodded and slowly shifted their unconscious friend to their back. Velvet quickly pulled off their hoodie, revealing a navy long-sleeved shirt underneath. They tied the hoodie around Maroon and Thorn. 

“I don’t know how much that’ll help, but it’s worth a shot,” she mumbled, “Let’s go, they’ll almost be at the top by now.”

“Alrighty, hang on Maroon.”

“...Thorn, they’re unconscious.”

“I know.” Ae walked to the edge of the roof and held out one of aer hands. A large yellow flower sprouted from the ground and scaled the three-story building. Thorn stepped onto the centre before motioning for Velvet to follow. The flower lowered them to the ground and the teens took off sprinting towards the parking lot. Velvet glanced behind them but saw no one.

“What the hell is he doing?” they whispered, “He should be catching up to us by now.”

“Maybe he gave up? “Unor? Give up? Never.” 

“Correct, Velvie!” The two teens watched Unor jump in front of them, rifle in hand. Velvet stopped in her tracks and Thorn soon followed. Unor had a wicked grin on his face as he looked between Thorn and Velvet.

“Ironic we ended up here again, huh?” he said. Velvet simply glared at him while Thorn didn’t say anything.

“You know, Velvie, I’m proud of you.” 

“Oh, really? I’m honoured,” she replied sarcastically, raising her sword. 

“You should be. I didn’t think it would take so long to track down your little group.”

“Good.” Unor looked at them before laughing. 

“Not that it matters much anymore.” Thorn let out a strained laugh, causing the man to turn towards it. He looked at him at first before his eyes locked on Maroon. 

“How about we make a deal, Velvie?”

“No.” Unor raised an eyebrow.

“No?” 

“No. You’re not taking Maroon again.” Unor blinked a few times before sighing.

“You were always so difficult,” he raised his rifle, aiming the barrel at Thorn, “I’ll be taking them now.” Velvet threw Kil-layye Mo’ore at his arm but he quickly stepped to the side. He fired a shot at Thorn, who grew a wall of vines around them. Velvet jumped behind the wall and summoned their sword back to them. Unor laughed before firing at the plant wall.

“Hide and seek is no fun,” Unor called out, “Why don’t you come out and fight me properly?” 

“Do you think you could restrain him?” Velvet whispered as bullets pelted the wall. Thorn kept regrowing the plants Unor’s bullets destroyed as he turned to Velvet.

“Maybe. Take Maroon.” Velvet sheathed her sword and untied the hoodie, pulling the younger teen off of aer. They held them upward, using their body to keep them from falling to the ground. Thorn tried to peek around the wall but Velvet pulled him back. A bullet flew past the edge of the wall while Unor laughed maniacally. 

“Holy shit,” it breathed. 

“Don’t do that, he’ll take any chance to get you.” Thorn grew more plants to extend the wall further.

“I need to see where he is.” Velvet groaned. 

“How fast can you grow the plants?” Thorn was quiet for a moment.

“Pretty fast, I think.

“Alright, make a small hole in the wall, look quickly, then grab him. But wait for my signal.” Thorn nodded. A bullet burst through the plants and shot past them. Thorn, seeing the opportunity, risked a quick glance through it.

“Thorn-” Ae raised aer hands. After a second, the gunshots stopped. 

“I got him!” Velvet’s eyes widened and they leaned forward to peek through the hole. 

“Holy shit, you did.” She unsheathed her sword before stepping out from the wall. There was Unor, suspended in the air with his arms pinned to his side. Velvet stifled a laugh.

“Oh gods, you look so stupid.”

“Tu dēvotiō-” One of the vines grew to cover his mouth. Thorn stepped out from the wall, once again holding Maroon in its arms. Unor attempted to struggle out of the spiky plants to no avail. Velvet took a step towards him, raising their sword. 

“Velvet, Thorn!” Velvet stopped in their tracks and turned around rapidly towards the parking lot. Thorn turned as well to see Solana sprinting towards them, spear in hand. Velvet smirked. 

“You’re a bit late, Solana!” The elf flipped her off as he slowed in front of Thorn. They looked down at Maroon, who shifted slightly in Thorn’s arms. 

“Is Maroon ok? What happened to them?” Thorn looked down at their friend. 

“We aren’t sure. They were just…like this.” 

“They’ve got a really high fever,” Velvet added, “And they seem to be in and out of consciousness.” 

“When you say ‘really high fever’-” 

“Touch their forehead.” Solana did so before recoiling in surprise.

“Oh my Gazra.”

“Yep.”

“Thorn, hand them to me,” Solana began, holding her arms out, “I’ll get them back to the Umbrella and try to get the fever down.” Thorn gently set Maroon in his arms and grabbed his spear. It looked towards Velvet, who was still looking at the duo. Behind her, Unor was still struggling against his restraints. He managed to free his right arm from the vines just enough to raise his rifle towards Velvet’s back.

“Velvet, behind you!” A gunshot rang out, echoing against the backs of the building. Thorn pulled Velvet to the left and the bullet flew right past aer face. A vine wrapped itself around Unor’s neck. Velvet, after she regained her balance, jumped forward and pushed Kil-layye Mo’ore through his chest. Unor attempted to laugh but it came out as more of a gargle. 

The trio stood in silence as blood dripped down from his shirt. Velvet pulled their sword out and wiped the blood off on their sleeve, sheathing it. The rifle fell out of his hand and tumbled to the ground. Once Unor’s body went limp, Velvet turned to Thorn.

“...Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replied, “I feel like Maroon would’ve been upset if I had let you get shot.” The assassin chuckled. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Solana glanced at each of them before looking at the teen in their arms. 

“I didn’t think your plan would work, Maroon, but here we are.”

“What is with everyone talking to unconscious people today?” Velvet mumbled, rolling her eyes, “Whatever. Speaking of Maroon, we need to go.”

“What about him?” Thorn asked, pointing a thumb at Unor’s corpse.

“Yeah, the media will get suspicious with a dead and alive Unor,” Solana added. Velvet rolled their eyes.

“Not our problem,” Velvet stepped behind the plant wall again and emerged with her red hoodie, which was now covered in dirt, “Just get rid of the plants, Thorn. Let Unor deal with the press.” Maroon let out a small groan, catching all of their attention. They were still unconscious, but Solana placed a finger on their forehead. 

“...I think their fever’s rising.” Velvet let out a quiet string of Latin curses before pulling out her phone.

“I’ll call Mad, let’s move.”

Mad met them outside the mansion when they landed, wheeling out a white gurney. Maroon’s fever had gone down slightly due to medication Solana and Velvet had found in the Umbrella. Solana had just barely managed to set the youngest teen on the bed before a loud, whirring noise overcame the area. The Red Mafia turned their heads upwards, where a new ship was entering the planet's atmosphere.

“What- I thought no one else could land here?” Mad asked, staring at the machine. Velvet drew Kil-layye Mo’ore once again. Blood that the teen hadn’t managed to wipe off had dried, leaving blotches of dark red around the tip of the blade.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” she said through gritted teeth. Solana pulled her spear off her back.

“Could Unor’s soldiers have followed us?”

“No, there are magic barriers around the planet to keep people out.”

“Well clearly they didn’t work,” Thorn mumbled, raising its hands. The ship landed a few metres in front of them. It was unfamiliar, tan in colour with strange black symbols lining the sides. The mafia tensed as the door slowly opened. Mad wheeled Maroon behind the other three before positioning itself in front of them. At first, the doorway was empty. After a few seconds passed, a large shadow loomed on the door.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding,” Velvet breathed. Thorn glanced at her. 

“Do you know who that is?” Mad let out a groan.

“Not him again.” The figure took a few steps and stopped at the edge of the door.

“Would one of you like to catch the rest of us up?” Solana hissed, but Velvet ignored them.

“What are you doing here, L’arj Mahnnnh?” they shouted. He laughed, taking another step towards the group. As L’arj Mahnnnh’s colossal frame stepped into the light the group could see exactly the extent his previous encounters had wounded him. His entire lower body had been evidently destroyed. Now two gun-metal grey robotic legs replaced them. The skin on his torso was gaunt and clung tightly to his ribs. His hands had been replaced with armoured gauntlets which had a bright orange tube pulsing on them. He wore only a dark leather trench coat with chartreuse highlights, with a matching cowboy hat and bandana. At his side, they could see two energy blasters magnetised to his robotic hip. 

“Hello again Velvet Bolton, daughter of-”

“Don’t go through it all again. Answer my question.”

“L’arj Mahnnnh…where have I heard that name before?” Thorn mumbled. 

“Very well, Velvet Bolton, daughter of Unor Bolton. I am here to ask for the aide of Margaret Pembrooke, child of Maximillian Buysse.” 

“I’m sorry, who-” Solana started, but Velvet elbowed him. 

“You’ll have to come back later, L’arj Mahnnnh,” Mad stated, “Maroon’s unconscious.” L’arj Mahnnh stopped in front of Velvet, who raised their sword. He frowned before slightly bowing his head, causing the assassin to raise an eyebrow.

“I see Margaret Pembrooke, child of Maximillian Buysee, has bequeathed you Kil-layye Mo’ore. Unwise.”

“Hey!” He pushed her to the side. Due to his strength, his ‘light’ push nearly sent Velvet tumbling to the ground. Solana quickly grabbed the teen and hoisted them back to their feet. L’arj Mahnnnh stopped in front of Maroon, towering over them. He looked them up and down before reaching a hand out and holding it just above Maroon’s face. After a few seconds, he lowered his hand and flicked Maroon’s forehead. Nothing happened for several seconds, causing Thorn to attempt to shove him away.

“What did you do to them?” Thorn demanded. L’arj Mahnnnh turned towards him.

“Be patient, Thorn Alviar, child of Eilon Hollis, heir to the throne of Aevum.” Thorn’s eyes widened.

“How did you-” They were cut off by Maroon, who quickly shot up and gasped for air. Thorn rushed to their side while L’arj Mahnnnh had a toothy grin on his face. 

“How did you do that?” Mad asked, pulling the gurney back slightly. 

“It is an ancient technique. Now-” He attempted to take a step forward, but Solana blocked his way with her spear. Maroon’s breathing slowed and the teen looked around. 

“What’s…” their eyes locked on L’arj Mahnnnh, “What are you doing here?” Mad quickly grabbed Maroon’s arm, placing two fingers on their arm to track their heart rate. 

“He says he needs your help,” Velvet stated, holding their sword out so it made a wall with Solana’s spear. Maroon’s eyes widened. 

“My help? With what?” L’arj Mahnnnh cleared his throat, taking off his hat.

“My people are in danger. And, as much as it dishonours me to ask for the help of my arch nemesis, your abilities are our only hope.”

[ar-rapidprototyping]

Dungeon Crawler TUT pt2

I start off changing the backround colour within the camera to a dingy green and quickly make a square, give it the needed components and a simple script to make it move around:

This is similar to the movement I used in my game, 'ten' but the player is able to move on the y axis as well.

I'm also setting the resolution to 1080x720 as this was an issue when exporting it to Itch.

I then spent WAY way way too much time trying to get the camera to change to the current room. This is the player movement script but with code for creating new rooms and switching the camera.

I spent around 2 and a bit hours to get the three lines of code at the bottom :(

Now I have added the raycasts that will detect if there is a room that the player is currently heading into. If not, it makes one.

Next I made it so the player is always looking at the mouse cursor.

This was harder than I thought despite having done it before.

Then I add a simple shooting script.

I made a function for the shooting code as I would like to activate this multiple times with some kind of upgrade:

And some simple bullet script stuff, if it hits the walls then it is destroyed. The function that spawns the bullet will also destroy it after 5 seconds.

I am making different rooms with different door layouts, this one doesn't have a bottom door obviously.

That little bulge where the door would be is to block the door on the room below, so that there aren't any doors that lead no where.

This is what the room below it looks like:

Its a bit like a jigsaw puzzle in a way.

I so now I need to select a random room to spawn, BUT it also has to have a door connecting to where the player is trying to enter through.

Which I do by selecting a random room each frame and depending what room it is, you can spawn it when you walk through a new door.

Although I only have 5 different rooms, the plugs on the other rooms can modify new or existing rooms to make something that looks like this from afar.

The room the player is in doesn't exist as a prefab to spawn, it was made by the room below plugging the other door.

I decided to polish the room design to make it look better, I have no need for those plugs as I thickened the walls to do the same job.

This doesn't change anything in-game, I just thought it would look nicer from the scene view.

I also made 2 more room variants so its a little more creative.

So now ive got bullets, I need enemies;

This script will detect if the player is touching an invisible triangle in front of the enemy or if they are fairly close to them. If so, the enemy will look at the player and will start shooting (I haven't added that yet). If the player gets too far away from the enemy, about half a room, they will stop shooting and wait till the player touches them again.

After adding the enemies' shooting, I decided it might be a bit tedious to work around the enemies vision mechanic. So I scraped it...

Although I kept the distance alert.

What would I do to improve upon this dungeon crawler?

I am thinking of adding more of a survival twist to my project, make it where you have limited ammo and have to scavenge for more. The player can build a base within one of the rooms and leave markers around the place so that they can find their way around the rooms.

I would also add more enemies and perhaps more room variation, just to make each room a little more diverse. And I think the addition of upgrades so the player could be an interesting concept.

[emeraldart]

A friend of mine (who refuses to use YT tutorials) recently reached the waterfall in his first Undertale genocide route. I typed him up a guide that ended up being longer than I expected. Another friend told me to post it so

Undertale Genocide Guide (Waterfall and onwards)

If you haven’t used the butterscotch pie yet, SAVE IT. It’s a full heal and should be used for sans. 

Okay I don’t know if you’ve found the snowman yet. He lives someone up in the path to snowdin and he’ll ask you to take a part of him to the surface. You can take up to three pieces and each gives you 45 hp. You can use this for Undyne if you REALLY need it but I suggest saving it for sans. 

For Undyne, you should the cinnamon bunnies. You can steal them from the shop in snowdin and they heal 22 (I think) hp. If they run out, use bicycles. You can eat them twice and each times heals 11. 

Behind the waterfall that you see when you first enter the waterfall, you can find the tutu. This increases your defense. HOWEVER, for the fight with undyne I recommend buying the cloudy glasses from Gerson’s shop. They give less defense than the tutu but they increase your invincibility frames. Because Undyne’s attacks are so rapid, this helps a lot. 

The cloudy glasses also slow the effects of poison when you fight sans. 

You can find the ballet shoes in a patch of grass in the waterfall. They deal the most damage of any item you’ve gotten so far. Use those to fight undyne. 

You can find most waterfall monsters just by walking around so don’t worry about encounters. 

Memorize Undyne’s arrow attacks. Golden arrows don’t need to be hit the first time. They’ll automatically move to a different position. Sometimes she’ll turn you red. In one of those attacks, a bunch of arrows will appear in a pattern and attach you. Go in circles around them and you can no hit this attack. Only heal if you have less than 20 hp left. 

In the hotlands, most areas will be roped off. This includes some items as well. All puzzles will be deactivated. 

First, you’ll enter Alphys’s home. You can go into her fridge to get the instant noodles. These heal 90 hp. Save them for sans. 

You’ll get regular random encounters. There’s no need to actively seek encounters yet. You’ll one shot muffet. 

To the bottom of one of the puzzles (it has arrows that send you over chasms with hot air) you can find the frying pan. You this for the sans fight. It allows each item that heals you to give 5 extra hp. 

Since sans’s attack and defense are both one, you don’t need stronger weapons or armor. The cloudy glasses and frying pan just give the most side benefits. Don’t bother with the knife and locket. They don’t provide any benefit. 

When you reach MTT hotel, the guy will still be there so you can’t steal. Buy the steak shaped like Mettaton’s face and save it. Buy the best healing items you can afford after. 

The core is where you’ll get most of your encounters. There’s an area that has a bridge where enemies will be defending a button. The button doesn’t matter because the lasers are deactivated, but they do give encounters. They’re pretty hard but doable. 

There’s a bridge on the way to the elevator to fight mettaton. Do the same thing from the snowdin bridge to get the remaining encounters. 

You’ll one shot mettaton. 

Organize your inventory. Equip the glasses and pan. Next, keep your weakest healing items (cinnamon bunnies) in the front. Next put the snowman pieces if you have any left. Then the items from the MTT hotel. Then the noodles. Then the pie. In the fight, you’re gonna wanna use your weakest items first before using the stronger ones toward the end. 

Ignore the knife and locket. They don’t really help in battle. One time I picked the locket up and dropped it and it said “You threw the heart locket on the floor like the trash it is” lol 

Flowey is gonna monologue at you on the way. A LOT. Just get through it. 

If you die to sans once, he’ll start prematurely the second time. The attack will start after “the birds are singing” the second time you fight him. 

The only way to progress his dialogue and move on in the fight is to hit him. Once again, only heal if you have less than 20 hp. Do not check or spare him. 

Memorize his attacks. 

He’ll give you the opportunity to spare him half way through. Use this chance to heal. If you do accept this and spare him, he’ll kill you. 

Eventually, he’ll put bones on the menu. Go into your items to avoid them until you can safely reach attack. 

The poison doesn’t last forever. 

He’ll let you know when his special attack is coming. Before this, he’ll prep one really hard attack. 

He slams you against walls, sends you through a bunch of bones, slams you some more, and then there’s a circle of blasters. In the circle, stay as close to the middle as possible. Ideally, use the pie just before this attack. 

After this attack, he’ll begin rapidly slamming you against the walls. This means that you’ve defeated him. 

While he falls asleep, don’t move. If you hit the edge of the box, he wakes up to teleport you back to the center. 

Once he’s fully asleep (you’ll see the Z’s) push the edge of the box to the attack button. 

Then you’re done :) Just keep moving

Side note: to the right of the throne room, you can find the coffins. Select the coffin and you’ll get the dialogue “its as comfortable as it looks” I just think that’s funny. 

[gertlushgaming]

Fight Crab 2 Preview (Steam Early Access)

Fight Crab 2 Preview, is a simple but deep fighting game where you flip your opponent over to win. Train your crab and fit it out with weapons, spells, and skills to raise the strongest crustacean ever! Just like the first game, Fight Crab 2 is a simple competitive game where you flip your opponent over to win. The rules are very simple, but a wide selection of weapons, spells, and skills to experiment with, as well as a lot of gameplay skills for players to master, create an in-depth battle experience.

Fight Crab 2 Preview Pros:

- Decent graphics. - 3.81GB download size. - Full controller support. - Graphics settings - resolution, fullscreen, maximum frame rate, quality, and brightness slider. - Controller settings - Invert axis and sensitivity sliders, remap controls, control type (modern/classic), camera distance slider, and reverse X and Y controls. - Crab-fighting gameplay. - Avatar settings - color of armor, equipment, name, Emblem, voice, crab farmer, and commentary. - Vroidhub integration where you load your own VRM file. - Five game modes - online match, challenges, offline split-screen match, and career mode. - Excellent soundtrack. - Optional tutorial section with each mechanic/action broken down. - Nine initial crabs to play as. - Twenty-three additional crabs to unlock via earning shells in challenges an online play. - Each crab has unique stats for - weight, toughness, grip, technique, and agility. - Every crab has its level and earns its exp. - Before a fight select a load out for a crab which dictates what cards are available. You get five at the start and then unlock more. - Cards can be bought and equipped and they add things like powerful attacks, new attacks or abilities, etc. - Three career difficulties - normal, hard, and crabby. - You can name your crabs individually. - Stamina goes down when you hit a blocking opponent or swing your weapon, when it hits zero you drop your weapon. - Pincers allow you to block attacks but also grab your opponent and do damage. - To win you need to fill the damage gauge on an enemy and then flip them on their back for a 3-second pin. - Handy lock-on feature. - Controls are surprisingly simple to learn. - A wide range of attacks and defensive moves. - Your avatar rides the crab, you can get off and run around doing damage and collecting dropped weapons. - The career mode is you choose one of three events and each one advances time, you go through a year timeline and your crab grows older. - Photo mode. - Feels like a slowed-down robot wars-type game. - It's a ton of fun to play. - Has a deep strategic layer or straight-up button mashing. - As you progress in the career mode you pick new weapons and buffs as rewards, when hitting level Milestones you can choose an attribute to increase. - Hilarious moments like crabs driving tractors or tricycles. - Drop and pick up new weapons. - You can have up to two crabs join you in career mode so when one dies/loses you can jump onto them and continue. - At the end of the year in your career, you can spend earned credits on as many new items as your wallet allows. - Parts of the environment can be broken and used as weapons. - Daily missions for rewards. Fight Crab 2 Preview Cons: - No Steam achievements. - The camera is horrendous and has a mind of its own. - Movement is still not as smooth as it needs to be especially when trying to turn around. - The performance overall is up and down. - No voice work outside of the occasional musings of the Commentator. - It takes a bit of getting used to it all. - The avatar stuff is very basic. - Menus look simple but they are still confusing and messy. Related Post: RC Revolution Review (Steam) Fight Crab 2: Official website. Developer: Calappa Games Publisher: PLAYISM Store Links - Steam Early Access Read the full article

[thechickenthatdid]

bibliography

Video games:

First off I am a nerd, to be frank with you. I watch anime and play video games, it’s just that I do not look like one. One of my first ever video games that I like to play was called team fortress 2. To be honest this game was a starter game for most people who play team vs team games. At the time this game had fundamental characteristics you needed for a team vs team game. There is 9 classes with their unique weapons and passives. Scout, solider, pyro, demo-man, engineer, heavy, medic, sniper, and spy. The classes never had a personal name given to them, only a generic name. Some of these classes are simple, such as sniper who had a sniper or pyro who had a flamethrower, but there were also unique classes such as spy and engineer. Spy could turn invisible, turn into other characters on the enemy team to blend in, disrupt engineer gadgets, and he could insta-kill with a back stab. Engineer on the other hand had the ability to create three machines that would support the team: a turret with 3 levels of upgrading, a health and ammo replenisher and a teleporter. To me spies and engineer were revolutionary in the game since they had unique abilities and play styles. Addionatlley, team fortress 2 had multiple game modes and even custom game modes. The most common mode played is capture the briefcase (capture the flag), push the cart, capture the point, and robots vs human. The first three are simple but robot’s vs humans is something much different. In that game mode you and three other players try to defend against waves of robots who are trying to destroy your base. Robots in this mode could be simple, they could be robot versions of the classes such as scout or spy, but then there were custom robots. Some of these are a underwater mind with legs, a big tank carrying a nuke, flying robot heads, and giant versions of the classes as robots. I loved this game so much; it was something that I wished every gamer could experience once. To me it was like the founding father of Team vs Team games, since every game after this was based on the classes in team fortress 2. Mostly focusing on the idea of having a person who can create robots, a medic person with a healing stream and a scout who can run fast. To be honest though I was trash, and I cried a lot of cause of that game. People in games were always mean and tended to bully those who were called squeakers. Squeakers were people who haven’t hit puberty yet and had a very high voice. Even though there were mean people on the game, the community of team fortress 2 was nice. People there explained how to play the game, how to abuse game mechanics, and just win. The fondest memory I have of this game was in a special game mode called zombies which is only open for Halloween, but there is also a customed game mode as well. I remember the people in the game cracking jokes and laughing our asses off while we were being chased by zombies. Saying stuff like you got to be quicker than that, or why would you do this to me fatherrr, even though it was probably a 16 year old telling that to a 13 year old. I love the game and the community it truly is the founding father of team vs team games.

Anime:

The History of Anime: The Beginnings - Learn more at Japan Centric

Anime in its simplest definition is a Japanese cartoon which is hand drawn. Anime has been around for longer then most people believe it to be. The first popular anime that was created was Astro boy in the 1960s but were some Anime’s even before that time. Earliest anime ever recorded was a 50-frame roll of film that was named Katsudō Shashin. This anime is about 10 seconds long and it shows a Japanese boy writing kanji on a bored and tipping this hat to the point of view. Its interesting to think about how anime has gone from a 10 second film to now a modern age, where Anime movies are being made almost every 4 months. The comparison of anime movies and Katsudo Shashin just shows the differences in the skills of animating and of course the technological advance. Just like any other genre of things, there is a top three in anime. These three were given the name Big Three for their popularity around the world and the amount of profit they gained. Big three also known as some of the best Animes are One piece, Naruto, and Bleach. I personally have watched all three of these Anime’s and read the manga of bleach. One piece is the anime that is still going on to this date, being THE longest running anime in history. Naruto is a anime that almost most people start with and bleach is nothing too special. Currently, Bleach has been catching popularity recently because of a ark. Arks are like the season in Anime, each Ark focuses on a certain problem in the story and it shows character on character development. Bleach is in a thousand year blood war, which is ark that is seen to be one of the best ones in bleach. Besides the Big Three there are thousands of other Anime in the world. Each one with different genre and plot. There are some Anime’s with unique plots where the main character is a freaking vending machine, or other Anime’s where they focus on suicide and focus on the trauma to create weapons to protect others.

Fishing:

Fishing to me is where I connect with nature. I mostly fish for salmon specifically sockeye salmon, but I sometimes catch flounders and halibut. There are about three types of ways that I use for catching salmon. One of these ways is by casting at shore with a jig. Jig is a type of lure where you put bait, this case a herring, on a line and drag it in the water. This for me is my most trusted way in catching salmon. My Jig consist of cutting the heads off the herring and connected it to a plastic holder which allows the herring to circle around in the water. This circular motion attracts salmon nearby because the herring sliver scales shine in the water allowing salmon to see the sliver shine. Connected to the plastic holder, I have about eight inches of extra line with two hooks at the end. Salmon love herring, which is why most people use herring as bait, but there are two other ways to catch salmon. The other way is called fly fishing, this is usually used near the shore or in a river. Fly fishers tend to be lures that some way mimic a smaller fish or bugs. These lures can be composed of metal, plastic, string, bright colors and of course a hook at the very end. I personally do not like using these types of lures because I have bad luck with them. Lastly, the last way of fishing for salmon only works if you have some sort of boat. This type of fishing is called Trolling and one of my least favorited ways of fishing for salmon. In this case of fishing, you basically throw a jig into the water and then slowly move your boat forward. This to me is just a lazy way of fishing because you get no action of casting. Even though I do not like this type of fish, trolling is the easiest way of catching salmon since all you do is throw a lure and let it move. In Washington state laws you are only allowed to catch two salmon per day and must mark it down on a paper. This stops over fishing and allows the scientist to keep track of the salmon population

Crabs

Crabbing is a family tradition that I do at least two times a year. Recently I have not done crabbing because of the population. The two types of carbs that I tend to catch were Dungeness and red rock crabs. To me these are the best crabs to eat in Washington, Dungeness crabs have a sweet kind of meat while rock crabs have a thick meaty claw. There are two most common legal ways to catch these crabs either by hand or with a pot. Catching crabs by hand is most uncommonly used because the meaty crabs live deep in the water, but at low tide you can sometimes catch a legal-size rock crab. Pots or crates as some people call them, are traps that you throw into the water with a buoy attached to them. These pots are a iron cage with four one way in opening. Sometimes the entrances are doors and other times the entrance is at a angle so that you can get out. In the middle of these pots is the bait, which attracts the carb to go inside. Since these are crabs, the bait as I have seen can potentially consist of cat food, dog food, fish, pork, and my favorite other crabs which are rotten. After about an hour or two has gone by, you would start to pull up your pots. My favorite part of this is opening the cage and trying to grab the crabs out to measure them. The legal size in Washinton is 6.5 inches, but this is hard to measure when the crabs are trying to pinch you. Technique is everything and the technique to hold crabs is by holding it from behind. You must make sure you have a firm grasp on the crab because they will try to get out of your hold.

Clams

Razor clams are unique looking clams, but very tasty one. Buried deep in the sands of beaches, razor clams stay deep there until the ocean comes back. Once the ocean comes back after low tide, they peak their heads out of the sand to feed on the microorganisms in the water. To capture or gather these clams you must first wat for low tide and buy either a shovel or a clam gun. Clam guns are fire hydrant shape tools that you push into the sand and then cover a hole to create suction. To identify where the clams are you look in the sand and see if there is a small meteor crater. If you do see one, right below it in the sand is where the clam sits and waits. Razor clams can sense danger through vibrations in the sand so once you start digging you must keep going. Sometimes you must dig with your hands in the sand, but you much face your head toward the ocean while digging with your hands. If by any chance you dig any other way, you risk cutting your hand on the shell of the razor clams. That is why they got the name razor clams because the ends of the shell are like razor blades. The limit for Razor clams is 15 for each person for that day, but it is unlikely that you will go again for another limit.

Filipino culture:

Everywhere in the world you will find culture. You can go to all the countries in the world or the different communities in that country and you would still find some sort of culture. For me, I am Filipino and Japanese, but I know and celebrate more my Filipino culture. First off just like every culture Filipino culture is family based but family is term is given to everyone. For instance, let’s say I meet a friends family, instead of calling them Mr. or Mrs. I must call them either Tita/auntie or Tito/uncle. Even friends who are also close would be considered family by default. The term family is thrown so much that sometimes you do not even know who is related by food or by a relationship. To us though that is not a negative thing or idea, family is very important to us and will always have the backs of your family members regardless of bonded by blood or loyalty. Another majorly made about Filipino culture is that we love to party. I will not like parties can got anywhere between 7-12 hours which in retrospect is only half a day but trust me it is exhausting. These parties can be anything and I mean anything to a truing of sixteen (like a quinceañera), engagement, any major sport, church, birthday, wedding you get the idea of course. One personal thing that all kids at a party can understand is wanting to go home and parents say in a minute. I don’t know how this came up but it is just in the culture when your family or someone says we are leaving in a minute, that really mean 3 or 4 hours. You can ask any Filipino if this is true and they will agree with me. Food is also a main part of how we represent our culture. Since the Philippines has been invaded many times from different countries cultures are mixed into the Filipino culture. Even so we still have iconic foods, which to me are Chicken adobo, Pancite, lumpia, leche flan, and of course Halo Halo. I will only explain three of the five given because I believe you should experience the food to understand it. Lets start with Chicken adobo, this is a simple dish which the main part is of course chicken. Basic but most important ingredients is soy sauce, bay leaf and whole peppercorn balls. You basically just boil it with some other ingredients, which depends on which part of the Philippines you are at. To me this is the staple of Filipino culture regarding food because of how known and easy it is to make. The second food, leche flan, is a very soft dessert which is made up of sugar, egg yolk, evaporated milk and condensed milk. If you ever had a poached egg the softness and delicateness of the egg is like leche flan. But the sweetness you receive from each bite is something you just must taste. Lastly, there is Halo Halo. Halo Halo is a dessert that comes with beans, crushed ice, evaporated milk, taro/ube ice cream, sometimes leche flan, strips of coconut and jellies. All of this would then be mixed into one ice like smoothie. To me this is the best thing to have on a hot day in the summer because its like a popsicle but 20 times better but also 20 times as much sugar.

Japanese culture:

Japanese culture for me is something I do not know as well as my Filipino side, but I know that the culture comes from hunting and gathering. I am the only kid from the Japanese side of the family who knows the age-old secret of my family hunting and gathering. I have said this previously that I have been taught how to fish, how to get clam and crabs, but I was also taught how to hunt for mushrooms. This is a tradition that I have recently been taught. You need specific conditions for mushrooms to bloom and more importantly for it to be safe to gather. Washington is the best place for mushroom picking and my family realized this when they first moved here. Each family member has a certain place to find mushrooms, personally I have not found my own, so I must use my uncle’s place. The mushrooms that we pick is oyster, lobster and Matsutake. Oyster and matsutake mushrooms look very similar to mushrooms that will cause irritation or death, so my uncle has taught me to distinguish them. It’s been a pain because mushroom picking process sucks if it is not a warm day. That’s why I said earlier that Washington is good conditions for mushroom growing because it is, but you would still like to have a nice day for mushroom picking. One where you don’t bombard by hail or rain and not thrown off a Hill.

[slightlymore]

hardest to love

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

surgeon!doyoung x surgeon!fem reader

others: haechan, jaemin, jeno

genre: medical au (but the medical part is not heavy), romance, angst, smut, fantasy elements, “enemies” to lovers, mutual pining 

warnings: +18, esplicit sexual content: doyoung is a hard dom and a soft dom in different scenes, short instances of sub doyoung, finger sucking (I know, I have a hand kink), spanking, raw, ice play, fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, choking, use of "sir", orgasm control and denial, edging, overstimulation, light degradation, oral f, brat taming, safe word, wine play?; lots of teasing; swearing; discussion around death; doyoung is a jerk but gets better

words: 13k

note: you can read this as a stand alone without having read the other works in the soulmate collection. what you need to know: haechan, jeno and jaemin travel different universes with the purpose of getting doyoung and yn be together. mark is trying to do the opposite. sometimes doyoung can remember past lives and sometimes he can't. this life takes place in a hospital. if you're confused by the three boys’ story everything will be explained in their backstory fics coming soon. 

__________

Haechan let out a single deep sigh. 

“Damn it. Doyoung is a fucking jerk in this life.”

The three young men were standing in the corner of the room watching two students trembling mortified in front of a pissed off Doyoung before he could turn around on his heels. 

“I thought he was a jerk in all lives,” Jeno commented while dusting off imaginary lice off his jacket. 

"I’ll be honest. When you said 'hell' I didn't expect the ER."

“Well have you ever been to-” Haechan continued but stopped when noticing Jeno not listening to him anymore but observing their third friend instead. 

“Hey, Jaemin?” Jeno put one hand on his shoulder. 

Jaemin was weak and paler than usual, eyes wide and with a slightly trembling chin. He then followed the direction of the younger gaze and gasped himself. 

“Yeah,” Haechan grated the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I told you this one is going to be hard.” 

Jaemin gulped, looking at himself walking around the bed and checking on the patients. 

That Jaemin looked exactly like him. 

The only difference was the clothes. That doppelganger had a doctor gown instead of a sweatshirt. 

“How is this possible? I don’t understand how I can be here and there at the same time.”

Haechan sighed at Jaemin’s comment. 

“You could consider it time travel. Now, listen to me.” 

Jaemin let himself be grabbed by Haechan’s hands, pressing on both of his arms and looked at the other’s intense eyes. 

“You have to avoid yourself while we work and-,” he stopped as if making sure to have Jaemin’s whole attention, “-you can’t talk to her.” 

As if Haechan’s voice was a spell that summons people, Jaemin raised his gaze from him to look behind Haechan’s shoulder where a woman was slowly walking the corridor, eyebrows furrowed trying to understand the medical records she was carrying. 

“Shit,” Haechan silently cursed and, placing one hand on Jaemin’s cheek, he indicated to keep quiet by putting one finger on his own lips. 

If Jaemin weren’t so weak in the limbs upon seeing her, he would have felt the tingle on his skin coming from Haechan’s palm, or he would have realized that the woman walked past them as if they were all invisible. 

Jeno, arms crossed on his chest, followed the woman with his eyes then nodded once as to indicate that the path was clear. 

“Why can’t I talk to her?” 

Jaemin’s head wanted to turn around and catch another glimpse but Haechan didn’t move his hand from his face yet. 

“You might, I promise. But only when I say so.” 

“Haechan and I can shapeshift and become invisible but you can’t and we won’t be around to babysit you all the time. Do your part and stay out of trouble.”

"You look mean,” Jaemin mumbled. 

"I am. Now move."

__________

A breath. 

A deep and heavy breath. 

He was hearing it inside his skull. His own irregular breath inside his own skull. 

Then a loud ringing suffocated every other sound in Doyoung’s ears. Like tinnitus, he thought, so used to elaborate information by classifying it into boxes.  

The man was looking at his hands as if they were not his, fingers gripping the defibrillator pads, watching how the chest underneath them rose and fell. 

Again. 

And again. 

A machine. The defibrillator and Doyoung. 

And that body as well. 

But it was too broken to be fixed. 

And when he barely heard the nurse’s question he straightened his back. “Time of death,” he inhaled, his hands now uncovering the wristwatch, “2:41 am,” he exhaled.

__________

Doyoung felt it inside his hands, under the skin. 

It was uncomfortable. 

He looked at his left palm and wished it trembled. 

"A surgeon," the announcement came in the form of a hard pat on the shoulders.

 Doyoung blinked surprised and put his glasses back up on the nose. 

"Great hands," the professor shook them with vigour, his eyes wide open and intense. "Steady," the old man continued his litany of compliments. 

Doyoung let him wiggle his arms for a few more seconds before sighing as another student grabbed the professor's attention. 

The young boy looked down at his hands as well after the man turned his back. 

His eyes scanned every line in his palms as if seeing them for the first time. 

"Those hands will do big things in the future" and Doyoung now, shoulders heavy, moist fringe patted on his forehead in the humidity of the terrace, felt like cutting his hands off. 

Yes. Big things. 

Like playing with life and death. 

Didn't you just kill a man? he asked his hands, lower lip trembling instead of his steady fingers. Huh? and you're fine? 

Doyoung tightened his fists with disgust and punched the air while letting them fall with force to his sides. 

The rain intensified and he stepped in the front further until feeling the cold and heavy drops hit his face. Their sound was chaotic and it calmed Doyoung's heart. 

Again. 

I can do it again. I've done it before. 

I do it again. 

I can get over it. 

He opened up his hands under the rain until he started to not feel his fingertips anymore. 

Then he walked back inside the hospital.

__________

When you had to deal with the first dying patient, you were paralyzed. 

It was very early in the morning. Your head was still full of the dreams you had just a while ago. Your heart was full of life and excitement for finally being able to work in the field. 

"Get your shit together."

That voice startled you. 

Doctor Kim, the most ruthless and cold person you've ever met, was your supervisor as an intern. 

You looked up at him and caught his dark eyes on that spectrally pale face. 

You just moved. You had no idea what you were doing. Terrified, you let your body work automatically. 

Doctor Kim was calm and efficient while your whole mind felt out of place. 

Oh, God. Oh God, please. 

And when his voice finally reached your ears as if from far away you sunk down on your knees. 

"Good job everyone." 

The kindest thing he has ever said to his interns.

The other vaguely kind thing was his introductory discourse. 

"I know that interning at the ER is dreadful, but that's life."

He was staring you all down, a short line of fresh out of med school trembling kids, no one having the courage to meet his eyes. 

"You have to be ready to see all sorts of things here. Okay, let's go."

And that was it. 

The encouragement of his introductory discourse. 

You'll feel like shit here, welcome. 

You hated him and you swore to yourself that you won’t behave the same. 

Ever. 

He was like a souless machine, walking around and tending to his duties. Lost in thoughts as your eyes scanned his figure walking busily around the hospital, you actually wondered if he had feelings at all. 

The first time you saw Doctor Kim actually show some type of sentiment, was when he exited the surgery room one day. 

You were walking around with the others and checking on the patients when he walked through the corridor like a storm. It was unclear what type of feeling that was but it made you unable to stop staring at his side of the face and back as he entered his office. 

The anaesthetist came out soon after, slowly and sighing deeply. 

And then you understood. 

You've lived many of those days afterwards until you had to welcome your own row of interns. 

You smiled and did a nice short welcoming discourse. 

And at that moment you, unfortunately, got what Doctor Kim meant when he was brusque with you in the beginning. 

It took you all three years of residency to finally get it: there were no actual right words to tell the students and there was no point in giving fake hope that everything is going to be alright. 

Still, there was no point in being a rude ass like him. So you at least smiled kindly and encouraged your students. 

God knew they needed it even more now.

You've never spoken much to Doctor Kim besides what was needed or the routine good morning sir and the short morning he would answer with. 

So it was strange that on the first day of your career as a real surgeon, after your hands and those of Doctor Kim near each other worked, barely moving, his muffled voice ordering the tools, your muffled voice doing the same, you hugged him. 

You hugged him that day for no reason besides the overwhelming feeling of being alive. 

Doctor Kim, after every surgery, good or bad, would always walk out on the terrace. 

You followed him that night and stopped behind his frame. You had to talk to someone about what just happened and he was the only one who might understand. 

He was facing the city lights and the wind breeze ruffled his hair. He didn’t care to push it off his forehead. 

"You did well today," he said quietly without looking at you. 

Oh, you blinked fast. 

Your first surgery was a success but your heart was beating so fast that you couldn't understand your feelings. 

Were you happy? Were you about to cry? Did you want to scream and jump? What did you want? 

But Doyoung just complimented you. 

So again, you let your body work automatically and you looked at yourself, as if going through depersonalization, timid feet filling the space between you and Doctor Kim, your hands touching his waist and going around it until meeting each other on his stomach. You placed your head on his shoulders and closed your eyes. 

"I was so scared," you whispered. 

Doctor Kim's body was stiff, no reaction from his posture, no words coming from his mouth. 

Was he shocked? Was he wondering what the hell were you doing? Was he about to tell you to get your shit together again like that first time three years prior? 

But he didn’t do any of these things. 

He sighed once and you imagined him closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of your body. 

Even if for a moment. Even if it was all in your head and he actually hated it. 

Then he took a step forward and you had to let him go. 

And when he turned around and placed one palm on your shoulder without looking at you in the face, you remained alone on the terrace, breathing the cold air deeply and longing for his hands to hold you a little longer.

__________

Doyoung didn't speak to you again after that night. 

Nor did he look at you once. 

While you found yourself staring at his nape every time he walked around. Or turning your head as if following the trail he left behind. 

You couldn’t wear perfume in the hospital but it was as if Doyoung did because he’d pull your senses towards him by something invisible. 

As if that first touch you shared connected you to him in obscure ways. 

“Here’s the coffee that you asked for, sir.” You entered his office after his dry “come in”.

His expression was priceless and for a moment you felt the urge to look behind you and see if there were a ghost scaring him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Bringing you the coffee?” 

“I asked a student to do it, not you. You’re a surgeon.” 

Your lips were dangerously trying to form a smile while you placed the coffee on his desk. 

“Why does it matter? I am free while those students are busy learning how to be doctors.” 

“You think that just because you hugged me once when you were emotionally unstable, now we’re friends?” 

That question was so sudden and cold to make you snap your head upwards. 

His eyes were darker than usual and you almost gulped. 

“No, sir.” 

Your voice came out as a tiny exhale and if he felt sorry for his sudden and out of place tone, you couldn't see it on his face at all. 

"I was just being friendly as all colleagues would," you added a new note to your own tone, trying to perhaps make him feel guilty. 

"You can give me up."

His reply shut you up and you furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

"I'm saying," he spoke slowly, "that I don't want to be friendly with you. Now, please leave."

________

"I'm going to fucking kill him!" you threw your head back to drink your espresso shot as if it was alcohol and slammed the paper cup back on the counter. 

Jaemin sighed pouring sugar into his coffee. 

"Why did you even try? He's a jerk." 

The man sipped on his drink slowly, the warmth of it misting his glasses. 

“I just-” you huffed, crossing your arms on your chest. “We’re colleagues. It made sense for him to be a piece of shit with us when we were interns but now? ‘I don’t want to be friendly with you’” you mocked his deep voice. “Who the fuck does he think he is? I swear I’ll accidentally stab him with a knife!”

“Hm. Do you like him?” Jaemin asked with an unimpressed tone. 

You almost grabbed the coffee from Jaemin’s hands and threw it in his face. 

“Are you insane? What does that mean? Why would I like him? Kim Doyoung? Me-” you pressed your index on your chest, “liking that asshole? I hate his guts! I can’t believe you said something like this! What’s to like about him?”

Jaemin felt his fringe move around his forehead at your intense voice as if it were wind. 

“No need to get so worked up about it. You’re just talking so often about him lately. Also, he’s objectively good looking. He’s also smart. I understand.” 

“He’s the ugliest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on! And he’s an idiot! And I don’t talk about him! I have no idea what you’re all about.” 

Jaemin rolled his eyes and finished the drink. 

“Talking of ugly. What’s that shirt you’re wearing?” you asked. 

The man’s head snapped down to look at it. “What’s wrong with it?” 

You chuckled once. “Where did you buy it?” 

“It’s a normal Polo.” 

You laughed even harder. “A Polo you say? And what’s that? A knock off Holo?”  

“What’s Holo?” 

Jaemin’s face was genuinely confused and it amused you even more. 

“Are you getting enough sleep? You’ve been acting weird lately.” 

“Or,” he relaxed his expression, lifting one index up, “I come from an alternate universe.” 

You chuckled once and hit his shoulder lightly as a greeting, liking his new joking side. “See you later then, alternate universe Jaemin.”

__________

Doyoung wanted to hit his head on the desk. 

Your expression, hurt and shocked because of his stupid remarks made his heart tingle in a very uncomfortable way. 

One thing was being severe and one thing was being rude for no reason at all. 

But the thing is that you were everywhere and he hated it. 

Doyoung hated that you were trying to get under his skin. 

Like a scent. Like some kind of drug. 

He’d scrub his hands and forearms even harder before going inside the surgery room as if with the water and soap he could get rid of the feeling of your arms around his torso under the rain too. 

What were you even thinking? Asking for reassurance? From him? Reassurance from the most hated man in the whole hospital? What did you even expect? Why would you even try? 

What a reckless person. 

He noticed it the first time he saw you as well. 

Eyes wide with curiosity and surprise, looking around the ER like it was the best place in the world. Doyoung hated your happiness but he also hated the fact that he would have to assist that light slowly die out with time. 

Or at least he thought that would happen. 

Days after days, months after months, he paid attention like a scientist looking at his object of study, taking mental notes and registering results. Doyoung would jolt with secret joy when his theories would reveal themselves to be true but then, like a rollercoaster, he’d feel weighed down with grief seeing you in the same state as his one. 

Until he didn’t know what to desire to see anymore. 

Until one day he lifted his eyes, head full of a soliloquy towards you. “How are you today? Tell me you got better. Tell me you still have your light because no one needs too many black holes in here.” 

Until he realized that he couldn’t remember anything about his life before you. 

And when you hugged him that day, he felt proud. For your success and your light. 

You were a star and he bathed into that warmth for a little before remembering he was still a black hole and black holes attract stars until engulfing them whole with no turning back.

_________

“Why are you always around?” he blinked annoyed. 

You straightened your gown that shifted after bumping into him and sighed loudly. 

“In case you forgot, I work here.” 

Doyoung sighed. 

“This is the farthest yard from where you’re always playing with your friends.” 

“I had business coming here.” 

“What business?” 

“That’s my business.” 

Doyoung’s corner of the mouth twitched. 

“It’s our business.” 

“Are you a communist?” you placed your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. 

“I’m your superior. What are you doing here?” 

A few nurses whispered passing you by and you cleared your throat, trying to relax your face muscles. Doyoung rolled his eyes once upon seeing your new fake cordial expression. 

“Apparently I’m doing such a good job that Mr Jung wanted to compliment me,” you raised your chin. 

“Mr Jung?”

“Yes.” 

His nostrils widened as if he had too much air to inhale and didn’t have time to get it little by little. 

“He doesn’t just summon people to compliment them. Stay away from him.” 

You scoffed incredulously at his innuendo. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

“Very well. Get back to work now.” 

“Are you perhaps jealous?” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself. 

But Doyoung, to your biggest surprise, smirked a little, lifting his eyebrows once. 

“And if I were?” he asked, then walked around you, leaving you still for long moments in the corner of the corridor before being able to walk again.

_________

“And then he said, “and if I were?”

Jaemin gulped his food and chuckled. “I can’t imagine that.” 

“I know right? Was he crazy?” you asked with your mouth full, swinging your knife. 

“Maybe the director does have eyes on you. And-” he leaned in mischievously, avoiding your cutlery, “that’s why he acts as if he hates you. Because he has feelings for you.” 

You chuckled nervously. 

“He hates you too!” 

“He doesn’t even know I exist,” Jaemin shrugged. 

“Hey, Jaemin.” 

“Like once I asked him something and he thought I was a patient and when I said that I’m actually-” 

“Jaemin! I’m pretty sure I’ve just seen someone looking like you pass that door just now.” 

The young man turned around quickly, right in time to see himself exit the food hall. 

“Damn,” he laughed for a few moments. “Someone else copied my hairstyle. I guess I’m not that unnoticeable as I thought.” 

You opened your mouth to comment on that since you were pretty sure it wasn’t only the hairstyle that the man copied when Doyoung approached your table like a storm scaring the shit out of you. 

“What is it now?” he asked, eyes piercing through you. 

You let out a long “uhhh” before talking, staring him up and down. 

“Are you talking to me?” 

Doyoung scoffed then sighed. “A doctor told me you were urgently looking for me.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Who?” 

“Do I look like someone who knows people’s names?”

Jaemin shook his head. 

“Well, I don’t need you,” you let him know. 

Doyoung sighed again and the long look you exchanged made Jaemin awkwardly chuckle once. 

“You can sit down with us for lunch, sir,” he offered and you inhaled sharply, kicking his leg under the table. 

Doyoung looked firstly at you then at Jaemin then at you again as if not believing he was actually talking to people like you. 

But the tray in his hands was getting heavy and there were no other empty tables. 

He walked around Jaemin and sat down near him. 

Then he rolled his sleeves and started to eat in silence. 

But only for a moment. 

“What?” he asked as you were both staring at him with hanging open mouths. 

“It’s our first time seeing you eat,” you whispered. 

Doyoung gulped the food. “I’m putting on a show for you guys. I’m a vampire that doesn’t need food.” 

“See!” you hit Jaemin’s hand as if catching his attention. “He’s making jokes!” 

Jaemin leaned back in his chair as if a little afraid. 

“So you talk about me instead of working,” Doyoung commented. 

His eyes were on you and you suddenly realized what you’ve just said. 

“No,” you quickly grabbed your glass and sipped the water. 

Doyoung looked at Jaemin and the young man secretly nodded a little. 

And for the first time in years, you saw Doyoung smile. 

Like a full-on smile. A big open smile with all the teeth out. 

You blinked fast and before realizing your own lips were stretched in a smile too.  

He was breathtaking. 

You wanted to run away but also crash into him. You were at the top of the world and down in the dumps.

__________

The grunt you let out after hitting a hard surface resonated in the whole hallway. 

For the second time. 

"You are always where you shouldn't be."

You lifted your pained eyes while massaging your shoulder just to see Doyoung do the same. 

"Where am I and where am I supposed to be then?" you asked. 

"Around me and you should be far away from me." 

"And if I say that I'm doing it on purpose?" 

Doyoung's pupils trembled. 

"To make you mad," you explained, the little smile creeping on your lips making him tighten his. 

“You’re trying to make me mad?” 

In your head, all of the conversations you would have with Doyoung sounded fun and risky in a good way. 

In reality, you realized, it was so overwhelming that you felt your limbs shake. 

“I’m joking, sir.” His intense eyes made you look over the windows. 

“You don’t like to look at me in the eyes?” his voice was mellifluous just as his movements, getting slowly closer to you. 

“Your eyes make me uneasy,” you replied honestly. 

Doyoung tilted his head to the side, curious, inviting you to say more. You looked at him again. 

“As if they don’t know fear,” your voice was tiny. 

A little smile curved the man’s lips. “Oh, but they know what fear is.”

“And what is that?” 

“What you’re feeling right now.” 

"I am not afraid," you whispered. 

"Then why are you stepping back?" 

“I am not stepping back.”

Yet the air got softly knocked out of your lungs as you felt the wall on your shoulder blades. 

Doyoung didn't reply and just got as close as to lightly brush your lower lip with his knuckle. 

"You're cute when you pout," he whispered, eyes smiley under the strands fallen from his styled fringe. 

You opened your mouth to talk but he walked away, leaving you alone and with an abnormally beating heart. 

Again.

__________

If Doyoung’s newly humorous side was something interesting to share with Jaemin, his newly flirtatious side was something you felt the need to keep a secret. 

Heated up, you walked the corridors like a storm. 

Kim Doyoung? 

Did your body really react that way towards Kim Doyoung? 

Pulse throbbing in places you didn’t want to think of? 

Because of Kim Doyoung? 

Face buried in your wet hands, the cold water running in the sink, you imagined telling this to your younger self. 

Then you lifted your head and turned it off, raising your gaze to look at your dilated pupils in the bathroom mirror.

_________

Doyoung didn’t care about people much. 

Hours upon hours of surgery, he only needed to see his colleagues’ hands and hear their breaths while desperately trying to save yet another life. How they looked without the caps and masks was not something of interest to him, especially knowing superfluous details like their names. 

Yet, when he briefly noticed the eyes of the second surgeon entering the room, Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows. 

Those were not your eyes and those were definitely not your hands in the latex gloves. 

And for the first time, he needed to know who that person was.

“I’m Lee,” the man whispered. 

“I didn’t know you were on schedule today.” 

“Yeah, heard about it last minute as well.”

Were you avoiding him? 

If Doyoung’s body could show tremor, he’d had trembling legs under the desk he sat at after the surgery, and if he’d had the habit to bite his nails, he’d be ferociously eating them by now.

Unfortunately, he was stoically sitting in his office, elbows pressed into the hard iron surface, veins missing adrenaline but aggravated eyes. 

Walking the corridors while people took a step back to make him pass, looking away when he’d look at them and whispering angrily behind his back, was a bliss. 

The protection shielded Doyoung like a fuzzy blanket even if it sometimes felt itchy at night when he found himself the most lonely. 

So when you did the same, passing him by as if hating him, he surprised himself at the sudden discomfort. Especially after

well,

after that. 

He wasn’t sure himself what it was but it must have been something if it made you uncomfortable enough to not show up to a surgery. 

He lifted the corner of his blanket for a moment and he fucked up. 

__________

“Y/N.” 

You stopped in place. 

And so did most people around you. 

Many found Doyoung scary but also interesting to observe when his spite wasn’t directed at them. 

What did she do? you could almost hear the whispery words passing from ear to ear, amused voices, grateful for not being in your place. 

“See me in my office,” Doyoung ordered after you slowly turned around. 

His voice was low and no one could have heard it if the whole yard didn’t just collectively hold its breath. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You all are surely not working enough if you have time to be useless,” his voice sounded louder and clean all of a sudden. “Do you want some hours assigned?”  

Like a spell, everyone looked around and the buzz filled your ears back, leaving yourself and Doyoung the only still figures. 

Then he moved as well, the swoosh of his cloak touching your hand when he passed near you. 

You inhaled deeply and followed him.

_________

“I am sorry.” 

You wished you’d  accepted his offer to sit down because that single sentence floored you. 

“For what?” you asked with a tiny voice. 

“I know I often say things that I don’t mean. And I know that I might have made you feel uncomfortable. So I apologize.” 

His eyes were round and filled to the brim with such sincerity to make you swallow hard. 

“You don’t have to apologize. It was necessary to make me who I am,” you minimized. 

Doyoung looked away for a brief moment. “I mean the corridor incident.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I made a mistake,” he added. 

The first thing that came to mind was the urge to use that to your advantage. 

Scold him. Make him feel guilty. 

Kim Doyoung making a mistake. 

Exhilarating. 

The power suddenly surging in your veins went to your head so you suppressed the smile that so desperately wanted to bloom on your lips. 

“Yes.” 

His expression darkened even more at your reply and his adam apple moved as he swallowed. He actually hoped it wasn’t the case. 

“I’ll make sure to keep the surgery schedules separated so you won’t feel uncomfortable working with me. You could have asked me first though before changing it yourself.” 

The excitement died out with these words. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Thursday’s surgery.” 

“I was told you appointed another person yourself.” 

“I did not.” 

“Well, I didn’t either.” 

“So-” 

“It’s not like I’m trying to avoid you, no. But if you-” 

“I��m not trying to avoid you either. But you said I made you uncomfortable, so-” 

“I was messing with you.” 

He finally went silent. 

“You looked so guilty that I wanted to get a little revenge,” your voice came out a timid whisper. 

Doyoung sighed, closing his eyes a little, then he stood up. 

“Did I seriously cause you that much pain all of this time?” he walked towards you as if actually concerned. 

“You made me cry almost every day.” 

He opened his mouth like a fish before closing it. The shocking confession made him lift one hand to cup your face. 

You both looked at it with fluttering eyes as if it wasn’t his. 

He tried to put it away quickly but you pressed your palm on it to keep it in place.  

“I’m joking. I only cried a few times.” 

Doyoung’s pupils danced around just like his brain trying to process the information you were giving him. His face, confused and not knowing anymore what was a joke and what wasn’t, amused you a lot. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been harsh. I’ve been-”

“A jerk.” 

He gulped, his thumb slowly brushing your cheekbone. 

That little gesture made you close your eyes for a moment. And when you opened them, you just leaned in and placed a quick and chaste kiss on his closed lips. 

“If the corridor thing was a mistake for you, I just did one too. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We can pretend nothing of this happened."

You let his hand go and moved to take a step back just to feel his hold on your face tighten. 

Pulling you towards him again, he added the second hand. 

His lips were not closed anymore, but very much open to welcome your lower lip between them. 

Your hands flew to his hair and pulled him towards you too. He hummed and you whined. And when you both needed air, you let yourselves go, panting against each other’s lips. 

A little smile curved your lips, eyes unable to look up. Fingers on his neck, you let them slowly descend to his chest and you took a step back. 

You took your lower lip inside your mouth for a moment, as if still trying to taste him and walked a few steps back. 

Doyoung followed you, unable to let your body go until you touched the door. His eyes were blown out and he kissed the corner of your mouth again, and again, and again, until kissing you fully on the lips for the second time. Hands on the glass behind your head, you heard his nails grating at it slowly as you let your tongue twirl with his. Then you breathed out and he couldn’t do anything else than just moving his arms away for you to slowly open the door and leave in silence. 

After the door closed, Doyoung pressed his forehead on the cold window. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, the fuzzy blanket he carefully wrapped himself with all of those years slowly slipping away to his feet.

__________

It didn't surprise you to see Doyoung pretend nothing happened between you as you passed each other in the corridors. 

But his avoidance felt weirder than usual, even to external eyes, as if something happened indeed and he tried so hard to conceal it. 

"Perhaps it's the 5th coffee talking right now, but doesn't Doyoung look weird?"

Jaemin asked lazily as he rested his body on one elbow placed on the little resting room counter. Said man passed in front of the open door and the furtive look he took of you was interesting enough for someone bored like Jaemin to notice. 

You shrugged, quickly stirring the sugar in your own coffee. 

"Hm?" your friend smiled at your silence, getting closer. 

You sipped the drink. 

"Hmmm?" Jaemin put his face into yours. 

"Oh my God, get away," you tried to push him away. 

"You had sex."

You spat the little coffee you still had on your mouth. Jaemin giggled and took a step back before it could land on his own. 

"We did not have sex! What's wrong with you?" 

"Okay. So you at least kissed," he looked up to you under his wiggly eyebrows as he handed you a few napkins. 

"We-," you wanted to deny but your lips formed a frustrated smile instead. "Shit. I can't believe it either." 

"Wow."

"He was- so delicate," you murmured. 

Jaemin winced amused. 

"But also intense you know? Like it felt-" 

"Okay wait. I didn't ask for a full-on description," he made a puking expression at you. 

You lightly hit his arm. 

"I was just so surprised. I've never seen this side of him."

"Him liking people?" Jaemin giggled. “Yeah. That’s weird.”

__________

"So it's done. We're done. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Seeing myself around is creeping me out."

Haechan sighed, rolling around in his chair. "Not so quickly. They only kissed."

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. 

"They have to confess," Jeno explained with a sleepy voice, sprawled on his own chair. 

"But they love each other."

"They have to say the words."

Jaemin put his hands on the hips. "That's so stupid." 

“Tell this to Doyoung. This is what he wrote in the contract,” Haechan mumbled amused, patting his chest where the Book was snuggly packed near his heart. 

Jaemin grabbed another chair and sat backwards on it, resting his chin on the folded arms. 

“So you know the job is done when they confess? What if they break up afterwards?”

“It has never happened before.” 

“And what if it does happen?” 

Jeno opened one eye. “Don’t manifest doom.” 

“I’d probably have to come back and get them together again,” Haechan replied. 

“I still don’t know why you’re doing this. Can’t you just recede from that contract?” 

Haechan sat up properly and grabbed his water bottle. “And do what? Go back to the pits of hell?” 

His eyes twinkled with mischief. 

“I’ve never had this much fun in a very long time.”

__________

He brought it upon himself, he could admit that. 

Ignoring you was more difficult than he anticipated and the first reaction he managed to put out when you talked back to him in front of all of the other surgeons was his usual skin cutting one. 

You didn’t like it, he could see it. 

You’ve never liked it and, honestly, Doyoung could not think of a single person that enjoyed being on the other side of his table. 

Perhaps you were getting a little comfortable with him though because you leaned back in your chair and smiled. As if for once he couldn’t get to you. 

It made him even more eager to scratch that nonchalance. 

So he did. 

Until the meeting was over and he got back to his office with a weird sensation on his shoulders. It somehow tasted like defeat. 

And when you opened his door with a loud bang and got in, he inhaled and took a few steps back, imitating the steps you took forward. 

You pushed him down on the chair, your gazes mixed together just like your breaths as you leaned down. 

Only the sheer anticipation of you touching him made him lose his mind a little. 

One hand on his thigh and the other going down from his lips to his extended neck and chest, dragging your nail on his shirt until reaching his stomach and belt. 

Then you hit one of his feet to the side with yours, making him open his legs even wider. 

He jolted and you could visibly see the way his breath stopped for a moment. 

"I don't think someone else tried to put you in your place before."

Your voice was dark and his eyelids fluttered before his pupils could fall on the way your palm brushed his crotch. It twitched under his dress pants and he inhaled deeply. 

"Unfortunately, it has to be me." 

"We're at work-," he tried to speak but the words died in his throat as you cupped his balls. 

"Sorry? Didn't hear that." 

"Shit Y/N-," Doyoung closed his eyes, jaw muscles tightening as you gently massaged him. 

"Hmm, Doctor Kim is at a loss of words?" 

You cooed, leaning down even more until almost brushing his lips with yours. 

"So cold and composed while you spit venom all day. I really want to see you lose your mind for once."

He opened his eyes right when he started to pant lightly and you gulped upon seeing his dark gaze. 

"You'll regret this."

"Can't wait to feel regretful."

"Be careful."

"Don't want to." 

His smile grew suddenly wicked and it threw you off as he suddenly stood up, grabbing your wrists and pushing you gently backwards. 

"You’ve been loving fighting with me lately. I think that you just need to get laid."

You smiled. "Do you want to help me with that?" 

Doyoung scoffed once. "I can't stand you."

"Then sit down."

He put his tongue inside the cheek, staring at your raised chin. 

Then his hands suddenly crept around you and grabbed your ass. They squeezed, pulling your hips towards his, making you pant and palm his chest in the meantime. Body pressing on his and his low voice buzzing into your ear made you light headed. 

"Arguing with you turns me on so fucking much." 

You gulped and noticed the way Doyoung’s eyes fell on your open mouth. 

“This is a very pretty shade of lipstick. Makes me want to ruin it.”

His thumb opened up your shocked lips even more by tugging at the lower one, your eyes getting hazy from his expression cutting you in half.

“Suck.” 

The order made your legs buckle a little. Your pupils trembled when you slowly let your tongue touch his fingertip. Doyoung got impatient and pushed it until it was all in. You fought the urge to gag and just whimpered, grabbing his shirt into your fists as he watched you hollow your cheeks on it. 

“I’ve always wanted to make a mess out of you,” he murmured, his other hand cupping your face and feeling your jaw, going down to your neck and wrapping it into its warmth. You raised your face to give him more space and your hooded eyes trying to look at him as he pressed around your throat made him smirk. 

“You like that?” he watched your squirming body trying to get closer to him. He took a step back and rested his hips on his desk, pulling at you until you felt his thigh between your legs. 

“What a slut,” he took out his thumb and spread the saliva on it on your lips. “Bet you wanted to suck me off under the desk, didn’t you? Fuck your superior?” 

You started to breathe through your mouth, the hand wrapped around your throat making it difficult for you to form any thoughts. 

“Or you wanted me to bend you over it?” he murmured, eyes glazing over your breast, his free hand painting one line from your collarbones to the cleavage of it. And when he suddenly squeezed one, feeling its softness in his palm, you almost cried out and dug your fingers into his shoulders. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Doyoung’s corner of the lips lifted as if curiously surprised. 

“And if I don’t do any of those things?” his eyes were on your face now and it made you want to hide away or just beg him to just please do all of those things.

“What are you going to do?” he asked again. 

The pool of wetness inside your panties was so embarrassing that you pressed your forehead on his shoulder. 

"Then just let me go," you whispered in a tiny voice. 

"You're free to g-" he caressed your jaw with one thumb. 

"No. I hate it," you went on, lifting your gaze on him, and he exchanged the look, slightly taken aback. 

"I dream about you every night. It's not about sex, it has never been just about it. Everything about you makes me go crazy. I hate it and I want you to just let me go.” 

Doyoung blinked and cupped your face with both hands. 

You just breathed out, ignoring the little voice screaming inside your mind to shut up, palming the back of his hands with yours, suddenly unable to raise your eyes on him. 

"I just can't understand and I hate being like this," you added after a quick gulp. 

The man opened his lips and you noticed the way you started to breathe in unison. 

"There's something so darkly attractive about you," the tiny sigh coming out of your lips made their way on Doyoung ones and he licked them once, his own breath warm on your skin. 

"No matter how much I try to know you, there's something that escapes me. I can't pinpoint you and it keeps me up at night." 

Doyoung gulped and his hands twitched as they palmed your arms, going down to your hips and pushing you down, gently. 

You gasped silently, your core so swollen that the feeling of the friction of your bodies as you rubbed on him could have been enough to make you orgasm. 

"Sir-," you found the force to talk but he took his tongue out and you just dove in, catching it inside your mouth and sucking on it the way you sucked on his finger. Your eagerness made his hold even tighter, guiding your body rolls, loving the way you squirmed in his arms. 

When you pulled away to whine he raised one hand to bury in your hair. 

"You haunt me too," he confessed. "Sometimes I feel so pulled towards you to make me question everything I know about myself."

Your eyes fluttered and your exposed throat looked so vulnerable in Doyoung's eyes to make him lean in and bite on it. 

The little moans escaping your lips caressed his ears and when he licked the spots you shivered, your hips not stopping for a second. 

It was intoxicating and you didn't dare to speak again but your thoughts were seeping through all of your pores. 

"I want you to tell me what you want me to do," you whispered, words broken.  

"Don't cum," Doyoung ordered and it snapped something in you. 

Your breath grew irregular and he chuckled. 

With a little groan, you forced your hips to still but he looked down and clicked his tongue, pushing his thigh upwards and making you bounce on it a few times.  

"Don't stop."

"But you said-" 

"Don't cum and don't stop." 

"I can't last," you mewled, twitching against his body and he pouted. 

"Baby girl can't keep that in?" 

You shook your head, feeling all dizzy as his hands squeezed your asscheeks, making you rub against his leg again. 

"But I said what I said. Are you going to be a bad girl?" he accompanied his last word with a harsh slap on your ass that made you inhale through your teeth. 

"Sir- I am begging you." 

His hand dropped under your skirt that moved to your thighs in a single movement, the coldness of it on your hot clit making you cry out. 

He hummed amused, slowly pressing into you and circling your sensitive bud until your legs started to twitch. 

"If you want to cum," he stopped, "you'll have to do whatever I say. Is this an agreement?" 

You nodded quickly, so close to orgasm that you started to ride his fingers by yourself. 

He retrieved his hand and pressed it on your stomach, making you step back until you barely could keep your balance. 

"You know where I live, right?" 

You nodded confused. 

"See you later then," he smirked and gestured to leave the office. 

You inhaled deeply, the arousal so high that you considered just finger fucking yourself in front of him. 

"Cruel," you whispered. 

"And you love it," was his amused reply.

__________

Timid feet in front of Doyoung's entrance door, you questioned if you actually lost your mind. 

Were you really willing to go this far for a single orgasm? 

Or multiple, you considered. 

Okay. Well, perhaps it was all worth it in the end. 

Your eyes darted upwards to take in the view of his house. 

The windows were lit on the first floor and it looked like a place you'd love to spend your life in. It was too huge for a single person anyway. 

When he opened the door after the ring announcing your arrival you didn't expect to see him in casual clothing. It looked so off that for a moment you couldn't speak, eyeing his feet in warm socks instead of rubber shoes. 

Then you hit yourself in your mind. Of course, he won't wear his doctor gown at home. 

"Good evening," you finally smiled and he eyed your body with a relaxed gaze, stopping when noticing the bottle of wine you carried in your hands. 

“Good evening,” he gestured to you to come in and you walked the distance from the doorstep to the hallway. His hands draped your shoulders and you sighed when he took your wet coat away. 

You put in a lot of effort in your appearance, choosing the right clothing and accessories. 

And he put a lot of effort into arranging his house for you, lighting up the right candles, you noticed after he indicated a room to the left. 

Yet all you wanted to see was him. 

And all he wanted was to see was you naked. 

Venturing in slowly, you turned around looking at what you figured out was the living room. With the corner of your eyes, you saw the grey of Doyoung’s sweatpants disappear upstairs and it suddenly got silent, safe for the crackle coming from the chimney and the hard rain hitting the windows. You took off your shoes and cautiously walked on the dark wine-coloured rug, close enough to warm yourself. A black glassy mirror was hung on the wall in front of you showcasing the pitiful state you were in because of the storm. Then you looked at the piles of books scattered around your feet placed down in a chaotic path leading to the velvet couches behind you as if someone read them while circling the room and suddenly let them fall on the ground when bored. You followed the spines with your gaze trying to figure out the language they were written in when two feet made their appearance in your peripheral vision, making you snap your head up. 

He approached you with a little smile, getting closer and closer like a black cat. 

New thick energy made it difficult for you to breathe too deeply so you resorted to short inhales and exhales especially after he stopped so close to you. 

Doyoung's hands wrapped yours as he took the wine away and placed it on the coffee table on his left. Then he sighed and you found yourself shivering under his gaze. 

"Take this off," he lightly felt your shirt's material with his fingertips.  

What? You inhaled, mind buzzing at how easy it was this time. No dinner and fancy courtship? 

He did look like someone that'd rather take you into seclusion and have you for himself as quickly as possible though. 

With slightly trembling fingers that you'd never get in the surgery room, you started to unbutton your top. Doyoung tilted his head to the side with a little smirk as if enjoying the show. 

And when you actually found yourself with only your bra on he smiled, even more, eyes grazing your skin slowly until you felt a heatwave shake your limbs. 

“This too.” 

He slowly touched the bra fabric and you gulped. 

“Take it off yourself.” 

Doyoung chuckled once and went around your torso, unclasping it with quick and expert fingers. 

You jolted and you felt your eyelids flutter as it slowly fell down your arms. 

Doyoung grabbed the front part of it and dragged it down to the floor, adding it to the weird maze of books making the eccentric design of his living room. 

His eyes caressed your perked nipples and you tried hard to resist the urge to cover yourself. 

“Pants,” he ordered and his voice was deeper than usual. 

You wavered a moment and he lifted his eyebrows once. Do it. 

You inhaled and slowly opened the zip. 

He bit his lower lip when you bent down to discard the piece of clothing and when you straightened your back he hummed. 

“Wear this,” he gently threw a piece of fabric towards you which you caught quickly. It was soft and it smelled like him. 

He looked at it, then slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, not moving a single muscle. 

You inhaled in again, trying to calm your nerves, desperately wanting to ignore the way he was dressed himself. A white and see-through shirt with the deepest neck you’ve ever seen, barely covering any of his chest. You barely could see his sweatpants as well, but his bare ankles were fully on display, just like his forearms that you could catch glimpses of as he absentmindedly revived the locks blocking his pupils with one hand. 

A raw playfulness made his features even scarier in the dim lighting. 

“I want you wet. But not from the rain,” he explained, eyeing your confusion. 

“You could have just told me to change into it and end it there,” you mumbled, buttoning the shirt up. It was deep blue and oversized, short on your thighs but hiding whatever you had to hide. 

“Why? Did you hate that I made you undress in front of me?” 

“It was embarrassing to stand naked like that.” 

You wanted to sound offended but the pout your lips formed on its own betrayed your secret amusement. 

“Nothing that I won’t see up close soon.” 

His voice was a whisper that forced you to look away. You wanted to reply but he turned around walking towards the kitchen. 

"Besides, I made some spicy sauce. You don't want to spill it on your nice clothes."

“Who said I was going to spill food on myself? I have steady hands.” 

You walked over him, taking the plates from his hold and placing them down on the dining table yourself. 

You wanted to look unbothered by him just like he looked unbothered by you, but the truth was that you just had to do something to not feel that overwhelmed. 

“You don’t,” he argued following you near the table. 

You scoffed lifting your head to look at him. “Excuse you? I’m a surgeon.” 

“Your hands don’t look like the hands of a surgeon when you’re around me.” 

You scoffed. 

“I think that the biggest thing in the world is your ego.”

“You haven't seen my-”

“Don’t say it.” 

He closed his mouth as the little smile he had on kept lingering on his lips. 

Domestic and flirty. It was getting to your head and you hadn’t had the opportunity to sip a single drop of alcohol yet. 

As if reading your mind, he grabbed the bottle of wine you brought and fumbled slowly with the cap. 

"That's my favourite shirt. And I want to fuck you in it." 

The shivers that travelled down your spine almost made your body twitch and your hands stopped in mid-air as you were placing the cutlery. 

He smiled at you when you looked at his expression. 

His lips. His eyes and cheekbones. His skin under the lights. 

Fuck. You really needed a drink. 

And after he popped the bottle open with a loud sound that disrupted the silence, the red wine erupted out of it, dripping off his hand up to the wrist you had your drink right off his fingers. 

Doyoung’s pupils trembled as you leaned in like a cat and his lips opened to breathe better seeing you lick the drops off his fingertips. Rested with his hips on the table, it creaked when you came forward, even more, hands pressed on his open thighs and reaching for his face. You finally caught his lips in yours and you let him taste the wine on your tongue. 

It was rich and slightly sour, then it became sweet as only Doyoung’s taste remained lingering on his lips. 

“Delicious,” he commented after the slow kiss. “You have good taste in wine.” 

“And men.” 

His expression was hidden under his long fringe but you could sense that he was smirking. 

Then he raised his head a bit and had a gulp out of the bottle himself. 

You had the first row to the show that his adam apple moving up and down gave you. Then your eyes naturally fell to his collarbones and bare chest, his white shirt barely covering anything. 

Your fingers gently darted to his skin and you palmed it, then to his prominent collar bones, feeling the warmth of his chain around his neck.

He hummed, letting his head down to catch your hand with his lips. They kissed your fingertips then he finally dove in and let you taste his tongue again, hands quick to let the bottle go and grab your body instead.

Closer closer closer you needed him more and more. 

“I need to feed you dinner first,” he grabbed your wrists as your hands tried to unbutton his shirt. 

“If you won’t fuck me, I can find someone else to do it,” you whispered. 

His eyes tightened and he exhaled once. 

The movement was so quick that your head spun and the spank that arrived at your ass made you jolt on your toes before you could lean down on the table, fingers trying to grip the tablecloth. 

“Yeah? I want to see you get fucked by someone else while my name spills out of your filthy mouth.” 

His voice was raspy and it made you bite your lower lip, ass eager to push back and to rub against Doyoung's crotch. He hummed at your movements and lifted the shirt up to your waist, palming your skin and looking down at the way your ass cheeks engulfed your pretty lingerie. You strained your neck upwards at the feeling of his fingers slowly caressing your lower back, feeling the lace of your panties, then you whimpered as he grabbed the material and stretched it towards him before letting it go. 

"You want this little hole all filled up, don't you?" he murmured, hand sliding between your thighs to rub on the soft and thin fabric. Your legs shifted in place at the sensation and you arched your back for more. The little 'Doyoung' making him exhale. 

"And I thought you'd keep calling me sir." 

You tried to turn your head towards him, wondering if his suddenly absent hand meant that he wanted you to actually call him that. 

But then you saw that hand around you, reaching for the bucket of ice prepared for the wine on the table in front of you. And at that moment you realized that it was for you instead - his drink for the night. 

The ice cube wetted his fingers when he took it out and he first placed it on your open lips. You sucked on it for a moment, the warmth of your skin already melting it, strands of water slowly descending on your chin and inside your cleavage. 

"Say 'blue' and I'll stop," his voice was deep near your ear. 

You nodded breathlessly and you shivered feeling his hand hover over your back. 

And when you first felt it on your spine, your fingers independently grabbed the edge of the table. Then it went down and down, forcing goosebumps out of you. 

Doyoung’s palm soothed your skin, warming it up before reaching to the front to grab at your hard nipples poking through the fabric. And when the cube reached your clothed core you mewled, lifting yourself on the tiptoes. 

“Shit-shit-,” you curled your neck down, jolting under his touch, wanting more of it and running away at the same time. 

Your panties were all wet and you were unsure if for the ice or your own body and when Doyoung took away the cube, giving you a break by gently pressing his own wet fingers between your lips you wished for the fabric to not be there anymore. 

“More?” you whined, chest rising and falling at a crazy speed. 

Doyoung snickered once, his hands grabbing your sides and turning you around.

Mind hazy, you didn’t have the time to wonder where the ice cube went, the only thought roaming your head being the need to pull him closer to you. 

And you did just that, wrapping his waist with your thighs after he lifted you on the table with a thud, making all the cutlery and glasses jingle. 

And you clasped your fingers into his hair while his hands roamed your naked body under his shirt. 

It was when he pressed his cold, open lips on yours that you finally mewled, feeling the ice cube travel from his tongue to yours. 

It got smaller and you sucked on it, giving it back, hearing him hum deeply into the kiss. 

Then he broke it suddenly as if unable to control himself from kissing your neck instead, biting and sucking on your skin as hard as he did on the ice cube. You rolled it on your tongue until it became nothing, finally opening your lips to moan, feeling his cold touch on your breasts as his quick fingers unbuttoned the shirt. 

The material of your panties grazed your legs at Doyoung’s rough pull. You watched them fly and land on the lamp behind him. 

Then you felt his fingers finally rubbing your clit and you inhaled deeply. You were so horny that you were embarrassed to admit that just a few rubs would be able to throw you over the edge. 

Doyoung saw it and from his expression, he was enjoying himself maybe too much. 

“Come on love, cum for me,” he murmured on your open lips. You whined, nail digging into his shoulders and you shook your head. 

“You’ve been begging me for an orgasm and now you want to be a brat about it?” 

His hand worked quicker and when he inserted one of his long and slender fingers inside, you actually moaned loudly. 

“Sir-” the title slipped from your shaking lips and he chuckled against your cheek, pushing another one and curling them both, pressing into you and trying to find the sweetest spots you had. 

“Right here?” he whispered amused. 

You start swearing, moulding his biceps under your tight grip, the table and everything on it shaking at the fast pace of Doyoung’s pumping. 

And then it was too much and it overflowed. 

The gasp you emitted made you fall forwards. Your arms wrapped Doyoung’s body tightly as you came in spasms, legs trying hard to meet each other around his wrist but pressing into his sides instead. 

Doyoung let you whine a little bit more, hand slowing down but never stopping, fucking you through your orgasms as long as he could. Then your jaw got grabbed by his other hand and he lifted your face to meet his gaze. His eyes caressed your fucked up expression before kissing your lips. 

"Good girl. I know you can give me another one."

You gripped his shoulders for dear life as Doyoung's fingers came back outside to desperately rub at your over-sensitive clit. 

“Doyoung-Doyoung-” you writhed in his hold before he could slip away from your arms and fall on his knees. 

You’ve gotten head before, but this time, maybe for the overstimulation or your secret feelings for that man, it felt like the first time ever. 

Not knowing what to grab to steady yourself as his tongue danced in circles around your engorged clit, you buried your hands in his hair. His hands pressed into the softness of your thighs just as hard and when he raised his gaze up to look at you from underneath his messy fringe, you felt like falling. 

And you almost fell when he resorted to quick short licks that drove you insane, making you cum for the second time in such a short time to make you lightheaded. 

The single fuck got prolonged as much as the orgasm Doyoung gave you and when he started to kiss your inner thighs, coming up towards you, on your stomach, pressing his wet open lips on your skin until meeting your breasts, you were ready to admit that you were madly in love with him. 

His kiss felt as if you were underwater, unable to breathe and understand space. You felt his arms around you and suddenly you felt weightless and he carried you around until you felt the velvet of the couches underneath you and his body pressed flushed on yours. His waist got automatically wrapped by your legs again as if that were their place and they weren’t aware of it before. 

He slipped his hands on your hips, grabbing your ass hard as he murmured against your lips. “Are you going to be a brat with me again?” 

His voice was calm but deep as if a storm was incoming, making your knees feel weak. 

“Words,” he spoke again, pressing himself a little more between your legs. 

You breathed out. 

“I don’t know,” you managed to say before pushing him away. He fell to the side, grip softened mostly for the surprise than your strength. 

“Are you going to be a brat to me?” you asked, straddling his lap and pressing your palms on his stomach, going up on his hot skin and lifting his shirt until he couldn’t do anything else than take it off. 

Then his hands found their way on your skin too, unmercifully squeezing your soft breasts. He didn’t care to be gentle and lifting himself up he sucked on your skin so hard until it was almost painful. You wrapped your arms around his torso and threw your head back, stretching out your neck. He left bites all over it, travelling down, tightening his teeth grip around your nipples, making you pant softly. 

“I don’t know,” he finally replied. 

He looked at you from underneath his fringe and you smiled at each other. You caressed his stomach from below his belly button and going up until reaching his collarbones and he leaned back on his elbows to support his weight. He followed your hand going down on him then his eyes shifted their focus to watch how your pelvis started to move back and forth on his sweatpants, right on top of his hard cock. 

“Mm,” he exhaled as finally getting some relief and you imitated him. You placed your hands on his shoulders and closed your eyes and Doyoung flexed his thigh muscles. 

He was enjoying seeing you like that, vulnerable and whiny, needy and horny, while he did nothing to help you with it and leaving you desperate. 

His eyes caressed your whole body, his lips parted slightly at the sight of your breasts bouncing softly, at how you were spreading yourself on him. You felt hot and plump, your thoughts were blurry and foggy. 

"Look at you," he talked. “What a cute little slut.” 

You replied with a whine, locking eyes with him but not being able to do that for a long time as his gaze pierced through you, adding to the sensation his pants gave to your raw clit. 

So you kissed his lips, messily and sloppily, breathing on his mouth and he finally caressed your thighs and ass, pressing you down even more and closer to him. 

Your arms got tighter around his neck and he buried his face into your chest. His hair tickled your chin and you intertwined your fingers into his locks. 

So close to cum, you closed your eyes and just let yourself go, your rhythm lost, your muscles aching, without expecting Doyoung's fingers to suddenly get inside of you. 

You squeezed yourself onto him with a cry. 

"I repeat. Are you going to behave again as you did today?" you heard him ask as his fingers pumped fast into you. 

"No, no, oh fuck, please, no," you managed to answer while gasping for air. 

"I'm going to-" you whimpered about to orgasm and Doyoung at that moment got you off of him, pushing you down on your back and lifting your legs around him, edging you. 

"You're going to cum when I say so," he commented. "You're lucky I'm even giving it to you at all today," he added. 

You bit your lower lip frustrated. 

"Babe, please-" you begged. 

He smiled brightly at the sudden pet name, shushing you as he began to kiss your legs from the knees down, going lightly on the inside of your thigh, making you twitch as he approached your dripping pussy. But he passed over, nudging at it with his nose just to make you jolt and kissed your lower stomach, passing his tongue on the spots he bit before and continued until reaching your lips. 

Then, getting on his knees he finally got rid of his pants and underwear. 

You felt your core pulsing at the sight and breathed heavily. He tugged at your legs, dragging you until the back of your thighs touched his hips and holding himself he nudged at your entrance. You let your arms fall around your head and bit down on your hand as his tip caressed your clit. 

"Doyoung," you whined as your muscles jolted intermittently. You then felt his fingers drag on your leg until grabbing your knee and putting it on his shoulders he humped your folds. 

You let your head fall back into the couch, exposing your neck and making your breasts tighten. 

It was too much. You just wanted him to penetrate you and to make you scream. 

"I want to cum so badly, please," you begged again. 

But he acted as if not being able to hear from you. 

Your muscles twitched in pain and you lifted yourself to meet him. He pushed you down and distanced himself. 

"Behave," he warned. 

You looked at his half-closed eyes and plump lips as he bit it with his teeth. 

He was suffering as well. He couldn't take it anymore, you could tell. 

And when you took your hand to your mouth and licked two fingers, slowly, without breaking eye contact he gasped. 

You were about to suck on them, you wanted to see him going crazy, but you didn't manage to as he penetrated you right at that moment, quick and deep, with a grunt. 

"Fuck," he swore picking up the pace until the wet sounds overwhelmed the storm. 

_________

It was dark. The only light came from the fireplace bathing the living room with a red and yellow hue. 

You were both sprawled on the rug under fuzzy blankets. 

"Come sit on my face. Show me where I belong."

Doyoung’s voice was a low buzz, imitating the storm still going on as it has been the whole night. 

You rolled your eyes to the side amused, ignoring his warm hand palming your knee, nudging you to come closer. 

“You still want to go? I can’t cum again,” you pouted. 

“But I want you to cum,” he pouted as well. 

You sighed and gently got on top of him with the intent of ignoring him and finally fall asleep. 

But his expression changed when you were near enough. “I want you to be completely fucked up when I’m done with you.”

You lifted one hand to cup his cheek and kissed his nose. 

He blinked at you amused. 

“I love it when you smile like this,” you whispered. 

The dying flames danced on his face as he stared at you for a few moments. 

Then you clicked your tongue. 

“Don’t do this.” 

“Don’t do what?” 

“Don’t get all dark and distant.” 

Doyoung exhaled. “I am not.” 

“There’s so much to be proud of, don’t you think?” Your fingers gently started to draw patters on his forehead, going down on his eyes as he closed them, then on his cheeks. He opened his eyelids again after the touch and you talked again. 

“Like striving to do good. Trying. Surviving.” 

His lips opened to let out a small puff of warm air. Then he hugged you tighter and hid his face in the crook of your neck. 

You exhaled too, closing your eyes and lulling his exhausted soul. 

“I am so proud of you,” you whispered but you didn’t know if he heard you.

_________

You woke up in Doyoung's bed. 

It was huge, warm and it smelled like his laundry detergent. The sheets were soft and luscious, caressing your naked body as you shifted underneath them to look to the side. 

Your eyelids fluttered and your lips turned their corners up. 

Fighting the urge to squeal and hide your face inside the pillow, you resorted to admire Doyoung's sleeping face. 

Resting on his stomach with raised arms thrown around his head, only his eyes and ruffled hair poked out behind his bicep and shoulder. And when he slowly opened one puffy eye you giggled and it curved, showing that he was smiling too. 

"Good morning," you whispered. 

Doyoung sighed once first. "It's probably afternoon." 

His sleepy voice made your body heat up and without thinking you just got closer. He turned on his side and wrapped your body with his arms, pulling you closer to his chest. 

"Did you sleep well?" he murmured. 

"Like a baby. You exhausted me enough."

The little kiss he placed on top of your head was so unexpected to make you lift your face. 

He smiled. 

"You inspire so much tenderness in me,” he explained timidly. 

You smiled back, resting your chest on his. His hands automatically wrapped your sides as if they've always belonged there. 

"I'm glad I'm softening your edges. Now you need to behave like this with everyone else too."

"You want me to kiss the whole hospital on the forehead?" 

"Metaphorically."

"Also, I thought you loved my hard edges," he purred, shifting your body to fully rest on top of his. 

His hard cock deliciously poked your clit with its tip as his hands slowly made you roll on it. 

You exhaled and leaned down, rubbing your lips on his as you whispered. "I do."  

His smirk was lazy just like your movements. 

"So you want me just like this?" 

“I want you. I want everything you are. I want everything that you hide.” 

Your hands caressed his chest and came to cup his face. His expression wavered and you found him so vulnerable all of a sudden to make your guts twist. 

“Unleash the darkness that you have inside. Engulf me with it. I am not afraid. I want it.”

Doyoung wrapped your body tightly and pressed you down on himself even more. 

"There's no darkness inside of me anymore. Not when you're around me."

__________

From “I will not vanish” - Haechan’s backstory

The heavy door opened and closed. 

Doyoung looked over his shoulder to see a stranger approach him with slow feet. He raised his eyes and gave Doyoung a small nod. 

The other did the same and when the stranger aligned himself with Doyoung, looking over the cold city, they both exhaled. 

The silence was so deep, safe for the ambulances screaming in the distance that Doyoung found himself restless. 

The stranger leaned on the rail, resting his weight on the elbows and sighed again. 

“You know,” he started. 

Doyoung looked at him with the corner of his eyes. 

“What I like about life,” he paused, “is that you can die.” 

The stranger bit his lower lip for a moment then looked over to the other. His gaze felt so heavy that Doyoung’s arms skin got goosebumps. 

“Imagine being immortal,” the man continued before letting out a dry snicker. 

“Around forever. A pathetic being with no reason to exist besides existence itself. Forever and forever and forever. With no purpose. Until you’d beg someone to kill you but they can’t.” 

Doyoung’s fingers twitched on the cold metal of the terrace rail and for a moment his rational mind wanted to ask that stranger just what nonsense he was talking about. 

But lately, Doyoung and rationality didn’t match well so he didn’t. 

“Immortality sucks only if you’re the only immortal one.” 

The stranger smiled bitterly. “Do you want to be immortal?” 

Doyoung put his hands inside the gown’s pockets. “I’d die tomorrow.” 

“But you wish immortality was a thing.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t have a job anymore,” Doyoung smiled. “But yes. I wish people didn’t die.” 

“You’re very selfish.” 

That remark made Doyoung frown. “How’s that selfish?” 

The stranger turned around and rested his back on the rail instead. 

“Why do you want people to not die?” 

“Because-,” Doyoung started but didn’t know what to add. “Because it’s painful.” 

“For them or you?” 

Doyoung sighed. “Okay. I see what you’re doing here.” 

The stranger smiled a little. 

“It’s not like I think only of myself when others die. I think how unfair it is when I know they didn’t have the chance to do everything they wanted to do first.” 

“And what’s that?” 

Doyoung thought about it for a moment. “Just- living. Experiences. And most of them actually had enough time to do it. They just took it for granted. And it’s so- painful.” 

“And what about you? If you said that you’d be ready to die tomorrow, I guess you’ve been living your life to the fullest with no regrets.” 

“Actually, I don’t know if I’ve been living all of this time.” 

The stranger shrugged. “Just start now.” 

“You make it seem so easy.” 

“Living? Hell yeah. You just need to give less fucks.” 

Doyoung didn’t reply. 

“If you’re ready to die tomorrow, then you should not be afraid of living.” 

The stranger’s tone deepened and Doyoung looked his way. 

“Who are you by the way?” 

“Oh,” the stranger straightened his back and extended his hand. “I’m Haechan. Nice to meet you.” 

Doyoung imitated him and shook his hand. 

It was warm and in a moment so many thoughts came to Doyoung’s mind to make him breathless. 

"I thought I had my life figured out and yet after meeting you I got shocked into awareness."

"You inspire so much tenderness in me."

“I became obsessed with you and it scares me.”

“You could have just told me. You could have told me that you fell apart. Instead, you acted like it didn't bother you at all.” 

“You are worth the wait.”

“I can't let go of you.” 

Doyoung took away his hand so quickly to almost fall backwards. 

He took a few steps on the concrete of the terrace as if trying to get as far from Haechan as possible. 

“You good?” the other asked but his face wasn’t mirroring his question. 

Instead, a plain expression was adorning his feline features and for an instant, Doyoung felt terror.  

“You’re not Haechan,” he found himself whispering. 

The man in front of him cracked his knuckles once. “And who’s Haechan?” 

“My friend.” 

“Friend? Is someone that uses somebody else a friend?” 

“He’s not using me.” 

“Isn’t he now?” 

The man started to walk towards Doyoung slowly, one finger on the rail, grating at the metal with his nail. 

“Do you believe in soulmates, Doyoung?” 

Doyoung flinched at his name on that man’s lips and started to retreat slowly. 

“I do.” 

“Soulmates are people that always find each other regardless of everything, aren’t they?” 

“Yes.” 

“And are you and Y/N soulmates if Haechan is always there forcing you together like some sort of cheap mismatcher?” the man spit out the last words. 

Doyoung gulped and his brain tried to remember how he punched him in some past life and actually win. His surgeon hands would definitely get broken in a second. 

“Don’t you want to break this cycle? Find your true soulmate?” 

“That’s Y/N.” 

“Because you say so.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about your orthodox theory, Archangel.” 

The man stretched his neck to the side and Doyoung didn't have the time to run away.

[sexhaver]

do u think elden ring speed runs are so fast bc the game is still so new meaning more bugs? (Idk if those runs rely on exploits cuz I’m not trying to spoil myself) or is it like less linear than other fromsoft games or smth ?? like I’ve been watching soulsborne speed runs since i got ER and they’re crazy fast to me but less than an hour seems relatively rare for those. 7 minutes seems so EXTREME lmao

so the thing about speedrunning soulsborne games is that they generally all work the same under the hood, with a few minor differences here and there between the games that allow for more specific tricks. this is why techniques like using the Cat Ring/Hush spell/Silvercat Talisman/etc and quitting out right as you hit the ground to survive lethal falls, wrong warps, and triggering the death plane camera without actually dying to run through unloaded areas are common in all 3 dark souls games, along with bloodborne, sekiro, and demon's souls. the first week or so of speedrunning a new game will usually fall back on these tried and tested techniques to get some obvious sequence breaks before some game-specific trick is discovered that blows the unrestricted any% category wide open.

for Sekiro, this technique was airswimming. for Dark Souls 2, it was parrywalking. for Dark Souls 3, it was the teardrop glitch. all of these glitches require you to perform an extremely precise set of actions at a very specific spot, but reward you with the ability to clip out of bounds and basically just walk (or swim) directly to the final boss. the Elden Ring equivalent to this is called "zips", which let you teleport forward a truly absurd amount of distance, like, literally halfway across the game map in one frame at one point. however, while the first three glitches i mentioned require a fair amount of setup and have to be done in specific places, zips don't and don't, respectively. you perform a zip by holding Block while moving forwards for a very specific amount of frames, and some interaction between the block animation and the walk animation zips you to God knows where. the timing is really difficult to get down, and it feels inconsistent because you need a steady 60fps in a game that gets random lag spikes for fun, but you can do this literally anywhere. this has opened up routing immensely.

before runners figured out how to do zips consistently, the WR route hovered around 30ish minutes and actually involved fighting some enemies. the current sub-7-minute route completely skips most of the game, including getting access to your horse, using zips and a few wrong warps. the route goes like this:

as soon as you leave the starting building, instead of dying to the tutorial boss, zip yourself into the very end of Stormveil Castle and then walk out the back door into Liurnia. side note: if youre playing casually and haven't beaten Godrick yet, the speedrun is now already ahead of you about 30 seconds in

zip from there to the Raya Lucaria bonfire (the pvp hotspot one), then zip from there to the Four Belfries

pick up an Imbued Stonesword Key and use it to open a portal to Crumbling Farum Azula, an extreme endgame area. this teleports you to a platform way the fuck off to the side, giving you a preview of the area like 60 hours before you actually get there

lol just kidding, fast travel and alt+f4 at the right time to perform a wrong warp and respawn at the normal starting spot for CFA

using zips, get from the starting area to [SPOILER]'s boss room. bear in mind that your character has never leveled up (or even sat at a site of grace) and is still using the starting equipment

lol just kidding kill him by zipping out of the arena twice so he falls to his death when the floor unloads under him (have to do this twice because he has two phases)

this teleports you to [SPOILER]. walk 2 feet from your spawn point and perform a zip to skip directly to the final final boss fight, skipping about 10 minutes of running and 2 bosses in the process

perform one final "mega zip" to yeet yourself literally to the farthest possible corner of the world map. if you do it right you'll get pulled back into the fight with the boss you skipped over

but the final final boss is already registered as dead, so you just need to stall for like 5 seconds before the GOD SLAIN message pops up. the route used to do this by quitting out at a specific time but now just deliberately dies to a piledriver from the boss because it's way funnier and doesn't actually lose any time

you spawn in directly in front of [SPOILER]. walk forward 2 feet, press Interact, and stop the timer

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hi! First of all, your writing is ASTOUNDING. I adore how you characterize. Secondly, I have a prompt idea:

A Villain who is falling in love with a Hero, but won’t admit it to themself. They stop being able to effectively fight Hero because they don’t want to hurt them. But Supervillain notices, so they capture Hero and use them to lure Villain in.

-Wicky

🥺🥺🥺 Thank you so very much! You just made my day. I thank you for the compliment and the prompt! I sure hope I did it justice, and I hope you enjoy!

CW//Injuries, threats, implied torture

Villain’s world spun as their skull cracked against the rough concrete of the roof. Opening their eyes, their field of vision was filled with only an array of stars.

Everything hurt.

They were convinced, in that moment, that there was not an inch of their flesh that was left unbruised, not a rib left unfractured. Breathing on its own was an ordeal, an ordeal that they endured only out of pure necessity.

Pain rippled through the stocks of jelly they had once called limbs as the villain scrambled first to hands and knees, and finally to their feet, even as unsteady as they were. They could do nothing but gasp as they faced down their opponent.

There was something in Hero’s eyes. Something that even their nemesis, their sworn, life-long foe could not quite name. It was not quite sympathy, no, but it was not quite pity, either. Something inbetween, perhaps, with only the slightest garnishing of regret.

“Come on, Villain.” It was with a pleading tone that the hero spoke, as though attempting to coax a frightened cat down from the top branches of a Redwood tree. “Just stand down! You can’t win this. We have you surrounded. No harm will come to you- No more harm.”

Yet, the villain only shook their head.

For any outsider, the matchup would have looked more like a massacre, waiting to happen. Villain themself was perhaps not the picture of musculature, but what villain was? No, they may not have been the strongest. But everyone knew what power they held in their palms, the lightning they could unleash at will. Enough to topple the building upon which they stood. Enough to topple the whole city, perhaps. The city had yet to so much as see their full potential.

But it was their potential that the villain now refused to use.

Hero, on the other hand, was... well, they weren’t much. As strong as they were, as clever, as smart, superstrength could only do one so much good. Villain could have destroyed them in passing, with the snap of a finger!

Why wasn’t the hero in the nearest emergency room? Even Villain themself wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m not giving up, asshole!” They snarled, balling their hands to fists. It would be so easy. So very simple to send a torrent of lightning forth, to shock Hero within an inch of their life. Hell, Villain used their powers to make popcorn on the weekends!

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t imagine Hero, the poor thing, the pitiful little fool, fallen to the ground. The very thought of using their powers against their opponent made them feel sick.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Hero spoke, eyes wide and glimmering with that same mix of sympathy and regret.

“Too bad.”

And, with that, the rooftop once more became a battleground. Villain surged forward, met in the center by their nemesis. A blow to the side of their head sent them stumbling.

They couldn’t go on like this, they knew as their vision clouded once more with stars. Another hit and they would be unconscious, in the custody of the so-called good guys. They couldn’t do that.

They had two choices.

Three. Three choices.

The first? To take the hit. To bite the bullet, to find themself behind bars.

The second? To hurt Hero. To wipe that oh-so-innocent quiver from their lips. To destroy-

No. They had two options. That wasn’t even on the table. Villain could be beaten, or they could flee.

It was with a shivering gasp that they chose the second.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Sidekick placed down their fork with a resounding clack. In the silent room, the sound resembled the ring of a gong.

“Are you absolutely certain you’re alright?” They asked with a quirked brow. With the day turning to evening, they had left their sidekick’s uniform behind, replaced now with a casual set of garments. After all, the restaurant at which they were eating was far from fancy. That wasn’t the type of villain that their mentor was.

“Of course I’m alright. Do I look like some kind of ailing senior citizen?” Villain muttered under their breath as they looked over in displeasure at their sidekick. For someone so young, they certainly had a mouth.

“Not now. But on the battlefield last night-”

“I’m fine. I’m up and walking, aren’t I?”

“It’s not about that.” Sidekick shook their head. “It was in the battle. You could’ve taken out Hero easy-”

“Keep your voice down, we’re in public.”

“Sorry.” They lowered their tone. “But, I’ve seen you take Hero out dozens of times. Recently, though, you’ve been all over the place. You can’t even land a single hit! I’m worried. You’ve lost your edge. Up on that rooftop, it was like you were somewhere else entirely.”

Villain had been somewhere else entirely, not that they would ever dare to admit it. They had been lost, hopelessly lost- Lost in the eyes of their damn nemesis.

“I just wasn’t on the ball. Everyone has off days.” They grumbled, turning their embarrassed gaze away.

“Everyone has off days. But you’ve been having an off month! Don’t think I haven’t noticed that it’s just them. Just Hero.”

“They’re getting better.”

“So are you.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

Sidekick reached across the table, placing their palm upon the back of their mentor’s hand, which had unconsciously been balled into a fist.

“You nearly got captured, last night. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Villain. If you’re sick, if something’s wrong, anything at all, you need to tell me.”

Villain suddenly spotted something very interesting on their shoes, and kept their gaze fixed there.

“It’s stupid.”

“Are you sick? Everyone gets sick sometimes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not sick.”

“Then what?”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Lovesick.”

Sidekick withdrew their hand in shock.

“What?”

“Look, it’s stupid! I don’t know. I shouldn’t be feeling that way about a hero, but- They’re a good person, I swear it. They want to help, and they’re kind, and I just can’t bear the thought of hurting them. What if I changed them? What if I hurt them, and that was what made them lose hope, lose faith? Then that’d be on my shoulders!”

“You’re saying...” Sidekick’s jaw was still ajar in shock. “You’re saying that you can’t fight Hero, because you’re in love with them?”

Villain looked up with a sigh.

“To put it shortly, I suppose.”

The both of them were shocked as a figure appeared next to their table. A sharply-dressed figure with a notepad.

“Are you two ready to order?”

“Yes, my apologies.” Villain cleared their throat. They and their sidekick presented their orders, which the waiter scrawled down with a series of understanding nods.

It was not until that particular waiter disappeared from the dining room that they slipped out of their disguise, and dialed a number into their phone.

“Hey, Boss? You might wanna hear about this.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

To say Villain was in a bad mood would have been an understatement.

The injuries covering every last inch of their body, too, ached with every step they took. Bruises and beatings rippled, forcing them nearly to limp. Yet, they forced their gait to remain normal, even if it meant pain.

They couldn’t call attention to themself. Not when they were in civilian clothes like this, and not when they were on the streets. Still, they kept their head low and their sweatshirt hoodie up as they went along. No need to stick out in the crowd.

This was the only solace they ever got, after all. When some got frustrated, they would go for a drive in the night. But their vehicle was distinctive enough that that wasn’t an option for the villain.

Instead? They walked, moving along with the crowd as though they were a single fish in a school. Usually, this helped them calm down. Now, however, every step they took only made their thoughts spin more wildly.

First, it was Hero. Hero and their stupid eyes. Then it was Sidekick. It wasn’t that Sidekick had confronted them that made them so worried, it was that they’d noticed at all.

That meant that other people out there might spot their weakness. Might use it as an advantage. Who would it be, though? Hero themself? Or, even-

A gasp rippled through the crowd around them in a wave. Voices shouted and fingers pointed, all in the same direction. Villain wiggled their way out of the crowd in order to see what had caused such fuss.

A billboard. An electronic billboard.

An electronic billboard that no longer housed an advertisement for the latest cellphone or insurance scam. No. Upon the massive thing, multiple stories in height, surely, was broadcasted a video.

“Good evening, and I do apologize for interrupting. But I just had to get my friend’s attention.”

Villain’s breath caught in their throat. They would know that voice even if they had to pick it out of a crowd of thousands.

Most would have expected that two people so similar as Villain and Supervillain would get along, but the reality was just the opposite. Villain couldn’t call themself a good guy, no, but they had ethics. Morals. Real aims to work towards, rather than burning the city down and laughing among the flames.

Supervillain, on the other hand? There was a reason that they were so feared. Their goals were far grander than Villain’s.

To say that they had never been very good friends would be an understatement.

And, now? Now they were enemies. The video projected upon that billboard made that fact certain.

Supervillain themself was not visible in frame-- Perhaps that was lucky for Villain. Seeing that stupid face would have certainly goaded them into destroying the projection outright. Instead, the video displayed a room.

A concrete room, with a chair in the center. A chair that was far from empty.

It was always Hero’s eyes that they could not help but get lost in. Now, that wasn’t a factor. Not when the hero was so tightly blindfolded. Their soothing, calming voice, too, had been eliminated-- the cloth gag in their mouth was already soaked-through with spittle.

Tied to the chair, bound, gagged, and blinded, sat Hero.

“Now, I don’t want a ransom. No, no. I only want to see a dear friend of mine. And it has been oh, so hard to track them down.

So, Villain, dear?”

They shivered at the sound of their name. Their name.

“How about you come to my base, and pick up your little friend, here. Or else, I might just have to do something drastic.”

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For six hours, Villain did not move.

As soon as the broadcast had left the billboard, it had repeated itself upon every news channel that gave half a crap about the metropolis. National news, even international, with subtitles in two dozen languages telling of Supervillain’s threat.

They’d found out. Of course they’d found out.

Villain knew they  should have been furious. They should have strangled Supervillain, strangled Hero, strangled themself! After all, this was all their fault. Falling for a hero, how could they have possibly been so stupid?

Now, they stared. Hands balled to fists in their lap as yet another newscaster explained the same events, over and over again.

“Boss?” Sidekick’s voice was soft, nothing like their usual, nosy self. They sat in a chair behind their mentor, who was seated criss-cross on the floor.

There was no answer.

“Boss... What are you going to do?”

“I can’t leave them.”

“Leave who?”

“Leave Hero. You know what Supervillain is like! They’ll destroy them. Destroy the last good hero in the city.”

“You didn’t want to hurt them.”

“And I don’t want to see them hurt, either.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s all Supervillain has over you. You can just... Leave them, right? It’s not like Hero has any real power over you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t!”

Villain stood.

“Yes, I do.” They spun around, stalking towards the room that held their costume. “And I need to wipe that damn smile off Supervillain’s face.”