#I wish my kicks were that high LOL

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

DAYUM

I'm always impressed whenever I watch clips of the turtles fighting, goddamn.

[pepprs]

also (this is it i promise) this is why i am so INSANELY excited to have my own room soon. like omg. it is definitely not perfect bc it’s at home and there’s a breaker box in it and you can hear footsteps really loud through the ceiling and also again *it’s at home* when i really need to not be living at home. but the quality of life improvement i am about to have is actually INSANE. i will be able to have a space far away from everyone else where i can sing without bothering anyone and play piano and decorate it (mostly) to my liking and have a desk and draw and paint and do whatever. finally!!!!!!!! that is going to fix me!!!!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[satoruhour]

Gojo would make such pretty noises if he gets a BJ as he’s waking up

a/n: anon u r so real for this !!!!!!!!! i conquered my 2k essay! but also doin a shorter req bc i got distracted by changing themes and it’s late lol / @jabamin @hannzai @shotorus

warnings: fem!reader, consensual somnophilia, sort of subby gojo but not very established, pet names, oral (m! receiving), finger / thumb sucking, deepthroating, multiple rounds, spitting, sloppy bj sort of, this is what i think he would sound like hehe, n*sfw under the cut

gojo’s always known he’s the most sensitive in the morning. before you, he’s settled for his hand, feeling around his centre when he wakes up hard and slips his hand under his boxers where it pumps slowly at his shaft. the orgasm always comes too fast and unsatisfactory, though, done more out of necessity than pleasure.

but you? he finds that he never wants to go back to his hand ever again. you treat him like everything good in the world, both with your soft demeanour and your pretty cunt, all for him and yet not at the same time. you’re so pliant and receptive to his touches and still, you have your own agency; you are your own person. that’s what he admires about you.

you infiltrate his dreams like a temptress, heat forming between his legs as he cuddles closer into what he thinks is your figure. there’s fire all over his body and his hairs stand and the trails the blaze leaves seem like fingers. they span his body, heart rate speeding up and he wishes he hadn’t buried his body in the sheets last night. they want to move, but satoru is locked down by sleep and your wandering hands.

“’toru . .” gojo moans at the soft voice that whispers his name in his dreams, unaware you’re doing the exact thing. you’re already drooling at the half-hard bulge that pokes out from below his underwear, clinging to his skin and darkening in colour with each trail of your finger along his body.

so sensitive . .

here, gojo looks as splendid as the morning tokyo sun even if the weather outside struggled to stay stable. the clouds soon hover over the city, pouring down light raindrops and the drop in temperature only makes your boyfriend whine again.

you poke a manicured nail to his length that twitches on its own, pressing and prodding with it and enjoy the soft sounds that escape his lips each time. “baby”, ”princess”, it’s a different name each time for satoru always enjoys referring to you with pet names, and the low raspiness of it only pushes your resolve further—

“it’s okay, sweets, you know you have access to my body. i trust you.”

even with your boyfriend’s authority, you’re still unsure shown in the way your hands hesitantly pull at his underwear. you’re snapped out of your dilemma when a drawled whimper leaves him, whiny and high-pitched in nature that it sends chills down your whole body. there are murmurs of your name on his lips, lingering like the sugary sweets and the saccharine of your kisses. the cold air is simply too much for his sensitive cock, and gojo’s hips buck in cute little jerks.

his length and girth always takes you by surprise no matter how many times you see it, but it feels just a little different when you’re the one to fish it out yourself. satoru is just so hard, pink mushroom tip leaking pre-cum all over his pelvis and a curve to his dick in wanton need.

you let out a breath when your soft hands wrap around his length, at the same gojo sucks in a breath in his sleep — if that was even possible — and tenses his thighs. in his dream you’re doing more than whatever you were doing right now, imagining your pussy wrapped around his throbbing cock.

but you like it slow. your hands drag themselves across his shaft, stroking slowly just to allow him to fully harden and gojo starts to kick his legs slightly, hands have begun to clutch uncomfortably at the sheets. your head lowers to his tip, blowing lightly at the sensitive area and it almost gets him waking completely from unconsciousness. wrecked moans and whines continue to weasel themselves out of his throat, brows knitted and mouth in a temporary ‘o’.

“satoru,” you call, with no intent behind it rather than just wanted to feel the syllables roll against your tongue, “satoruuu . .”

but the mission last night takes a good amount of toll on him. you stick out your tongue to kitten lick his weeping tip and your lover jolts in your hands yet again. it’s so adorable, seeing the normally confident man plead, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“y—yess . .?” you’re unsure if he’s sleep-talking or if he’s really awake but you press on. your mouth suckles on the tip like a pacifier, teasing the most sensitive part of his cock. there, you swirl your tongue around, hands still pumping lazily. gojo’s voice cracks on the next moan, reality sinking in on him bit by bit. you’re relentless, tonguing your muscle along frenulum and around.

and then when you look up, you can see a pair of drowsy eyelids open, looking with his blue eyes through the whiteness of his lashes. it feels like he wasn’t of this world, the initial confusion morphing into recognition and then pleasure —

“ohh . . f-fuuuckk . . ” gojo’s voice shakes as you then descend upon his shaft, warm mouth encompassing every inch of his cock until your nose buries itself in his pubes. the loud moan satoru lets out only makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, sure that your hips were grinding into the sheets. “a-always take my cock so well, shit.”

he’s normally reduced to a state of non-verbality in the morning, but he seems to still have some adrenaline from last night’s mission. gojo’s head meets with the pillow below him, stuck between enjoying how fucking hot your mouth feels versus watching you take all of him down your throat.

you start to bob your head, the gurgling noises along his throbbing length only adding to the lewdness of the scene. he lovingly trails his hand through your locks, brushing back stray hair that interferes with you. they continue to do that (his love knows no ends), undoing the knots in your hair while you uncoil the familiar feeling in his tummy. “baby, baby, baby—”gojo’s eyes squeezes shut and his chest heaves needily with lined sweat, neck straining just to catch a glimpse of how you deep-throat him. your fingers grasp onto his thighs so harshly that they would probably bruise.

you’re keeping eye contact as you come up to breathe while gojo’s hand who took refuge in your hair switches its sanctuary to your face. his heart and dick jumps when you lean into the touch, both your hooded lids matching each other before his thumb runs over your bottom lip. in the rainy morning, you can exchange words without saying anything; you just know satoru that well.

gojo’s thumb traces the softness of your lips before he dips it inside and you take the finger into your mouth willingly, sucking intently as you make the strongest weaker and weaker by you, alone. all he does is spiral, moans transforming into little whines at how you suck on his thumb and it’s off — because then after your mouth closes in around his cock again and he swears so loud it probably reaches the neighbours.

“mmfuuuck—! o-oh my god—” your head bobs again, tongue running along the underside of his cock each time you do, hands moving along the places where you can’t reach and the moans that fill your ears only gets needier and needier. “princess i’m gonna— pleaseplease—!”

gojo has that split second to prop himself up just so he can see you take his cum down your throat, a hand holding your head in place alongise a makeshift ponytail. but your mouth mimics your pussy so well, wrapped snugly around him that he has no time to warn you before he’s cumming deep into your mouth. you jerk in surprise before moaning at the feeling, letting him spurt ropes of cum down your throat as your pace slows down.

“c’mon . . let me see, pretty girl,” satoru assists you in coming off of his cock, and the white in your mouth spills out almost instantly. “aaattagirl . .” your boyfriend grins his infamous lazy morning grin that makes your heart do flips, faltering just a bit when you let his seed drip down your tongue and back onto his dick.

“s’much cum, satoru.” you mumble, intoxicated, fingers connected by strings of his cum and you gather saliva mixed with cum to spit onto his shaft and the gesture is so hot that he needs to see you do it again, and you indulge him — you push out saliva past your lips, a long string before he finally meets his sensitive tip again.

gojo reaches heaven a second time when your hands pick up pace again, slick noises now filling his ears.

“want more.”

bro it’s like i forgot how to write 😭😭

[chelseeebe]

(i only have) eyes for you

18+. mdni. smut. violence! horror themes throughout!! ghostface!eddie

day seven of spooky week and happy halloween freaks!!! i can’t believe i did it… seven days of consistent posting has taken genuine years off of my life lol. pls pretend they’re in college for this, i wrote it entirely that way and then decided they were going to be in steve’s house.. who knows

a/n: i listened to this song a lot while writing this because it is so creepy but so perfect for this fic! this was sorta kinda rushed but i’ve been working this entire week so finding the time to really delve into it the way i wanted to :,(

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

tap tap tap

the sound of something, or really someone rattles against your window, the faint sounds of someone whistling follow shortly after.

despite being wise to eddie’s tricks, the ominous tune makes your skin prickle, too spooked by the news of some masked murderer to think straight.

your window cracks open, the wooden frame scraping upwards loudly, a prolonged creak that signals that whatever it was, was now inside.

his cologne gives him away first, and then the lingering smell of weed that catches up to your nose soon after.

it was eddie, basking in the moonlight, just waiting for you to turn and see him.

“oh my fucking god,” you hiss, “you scared the shit out of me!” scowling as he pulls his limbs through the window. 

he wastes no time in kicking off his shoes and practically diving across the room to land atop of you. his heaving chest pressed against yours, finding your frowning lips for a gentle kiss. 

“‘m sorry sweetheart,” pouting his lips in an attempt to mock your worried tone, eddie found it endearing really, that you cared about him so.

“there’s a murderer out there, you know?” you scold.

“mhm, is there?” 

“yes,” dropping the stern expression the second his hands find the hem of your shirt, delving underneath to grasp your waist, “and i’d really appreciate if you didn’t die.” 

“i’m not gonna die,” he says entirely too confidently, “and neither are you.” 

“what were you doing out there?” 

“i had to.. do some business,” hoping you’d get the hint. 

your upper lip snarls, having never liked the fact he dealt on the side. it was mostly a bit of weed to freshmen but the weekends were always busier. “oh,” you huff, running your hands along his sore shoulders. 

“you asked,” eddie states plainly. it wasn’t as if he was entirely lying, because he had dropped off a gram for some useless kid. 

he had just neglected to tell you what he and steve had done to the kid afterwards. 

your eyes roll back, running your fingers up his neck and into his mane of hair, “i wish i hadn’t,” though judging by the fact that you hadn’t kicked him out, you can’t be too mad. 

eddie hums, desperately trying to change the subject by trailing his hand further upwards, palming your boob with a soft groan. 

“and what if i told you that i was the scary killer?” his knee shifts slightly, moving on top of yours to keep it pressed to the mattress. he’s got you trapped beneath his body, his large hands enveloping both of your wrists. 

if you didn’t know eddie so well, you probably would’ve been much more afraid than you were. but you do know him, this had to be some stupid prank, something he’d thought up while high. so you do what he wants you to do and play into it. if he wants to pretend that he’s a weirdo then fine, you can play that game too. 

“oh yeah?” you smirk, a feeble attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, “what’re you gonna do to me, mr ghostface?” rutting your hips up to meet his, sighing softly when you feel his hardened cock. 

the fact that you’re even into this is simply abhorrent but you can already feel the wet patch growing in your panties, needly bucking your hips desperate for any friction to satiate the growing ache between your thighs. 

he chuckles lowly, readjusting his grip on your wrists, leaving one hand pinning them both above your head, “well first..” his breath hot on your cheeks, “i’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” his pupils grow larger, darker somehow, “and then..” prodding his forefinger to your chest, slowly tracing down the length of your torso, “i might just gut you,” his eyes follow his finger all the way down. 

you quiver under his touch, breathless. holy fuck. it’s disgusting. it is. but you can’t help yourself, practically panting with animalistic need. it’s not like he was actually going to kill you see, eddie was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a murderer. 

“please,” you beg, squirming as his hand slips into the waistband of your jeans. he’s so cold, fingers like blocks of ice that make your skin prickle. 

“you want that? hmm?”

you’re gasping at this point, pleading with him to just touch you. he had gotten what he’d wanted from this game so why couldn’t he hurry up? you’re literally jelly beneath him, malleable and just so eager to touch. 

“gotta use your words baby.. i wanna hear you,” pausing his descent into your underwear, much to your dismay. legs springing apart as a sort of encouragement to get him to continue. 

“yes.. yes i want that,” desperately panting underneath his sly smirk, he’s enjoying this far too much and you can’t help but to just give it to him. so desperate to please, even if it was borderline psychotic. 

“good,” he breathes, curling his fingers around the waistband of your sodden underwear. his teeth emerging to graze upon your neck, making sure to leave splotches of violet and deep maroon so that everybody knew whose you really were. 

your hips cant upward the second eddie’s fingers tease your hole, crying out for him to cut the shit and just touch you properly. he was a cruel man, unable to satisfy himself with any normal level of foreplay, no. for eddie, he needed to keep this charade up for as long as possible. 

“you been thinkin’ ‘bout me?” using his other hand to control your chin, keeping your flickering gaze somewhat on his face, “waiting f’me all night.. i can feel it,” plunging his fingers into your sopping cunt, drawing a sharp hiss from your lips. 

“think about you all the time,” you nod, whimpering against his mouth, keeping a strong grip on his neck. 

eddie grins, the twinkle returning to his dark eye, letting the charade slip only slightly, “i know you do, and i know it because you never.. ever leave my mind,” his thumb beginning to swirl around your clit, letting go of your jaw to wrap his hands loosely around your neck instead. 

“fuckk,” you shudder, canting your hips in response to his fingers gliding in and out of your hole, thumb performing laps around your clit and sensitive folds. 

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he utters, dotting hungry kisses to your wetted lips, punctuating his longing words. “i just wanna keep you like this forever,” the hunger returning to his blown out pupils, fingers squeezing your throat. 

he wouldn’t hurt you, not on purpose. but his grip was getting mighty tight, restricting your breath as your leg slides up between his. the twisting in your abdomen only worsens, dizzying as the pleasure intensifies. 

squeezing out a garbled, “eds,” that makes him loosen his grip, flashing back to reality as you squeeze around his fingers, thrashing around underneath his body as your orgasm rocks your bones, the sweetest sounds fill the room. 

“that’s it sweetheart,” eddie coos, sliding his hand from your shorts to grasp your hip, kissing over his previously made markings. 

“i love you,” muttering breathlessly as you regain control of your limbs. 

he breathes heavily into your neck, cocking his head up to meet your gaze, “i love you too,” beaming at your lovesick gaze, praying to god that you’d never find out about the horrific things he was truly doing tonight. 

-

eddie’s idea of date night usually entails him being able to whisk you off somewhere dark and alone at some point during the night. so when you’d suggested a drive-in movie, he’d been positively over the moon. 

he’d thought seeing a nightmare on elm street was a little on the nose considering the shit he’d been up to recently but you couldn’t know and besides, it meant you’d be curled into his shoulder for the majority of the movie anyway. 

you sit now, with your face buried into his shoulder, both arms clinging tight to his. 

not because of the movie though. no, this was because his right hand had crept underneath your skirt, pumping his fingers in and out of your soaked hole. 

it wasn’t as if every other couple weren’t doing the exact same thing, it was an unspoken custom of the drive-in experience. 

“wait,” you pant, “let me-,” letting go to reach down, pushing your seat further back. your fingers curl around something plastic, reemerging with the damning mask he’d shoved beneath the seat. “what the fuck is this?” you shriek, sitting straight up. 

eddie’s blood runs cold, frozen as you flap the plastic mask in his face. it wasn’t even supposed to be in here, let alone for you to find so easily. 

“oh my god,” he sighs, thinking on his toes, “it was for a prank,” grabbing the rubber from your fingers, “me and steve were gonna scare argyle and jonathan… it’s not what you think babe,” hoping that measly excuse would be enough to get you off of his back. 

“a prank?” you hiss, “is that funny to you? pretending to be some psycho murderer?” funnily enough, he didn’t really have to pretend. 

“no!” he frowns, pettily grabbing at the mask though you keep it out of reach, “that’s why we didn’t do it,” sounding completely desperate as he’s lying through his teeth, “sweetheart, i know what it looks like but i promise it’s not like that,” the guilt ripples through his chest, he didn’t want to lie to you but what choice did he have? 

you frown, gripping the cracked plastic as if it could tell you the answer itself, “that’s not funny eddie,” lowering your clenched fist at last, “what if someone had seen you? what if someone else found this?” 

you’re angry, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. pupils dilated and your jaw clenched, he couldn’t bare to ever see you like this. god only knows how you’d react if you ever found out he was truly responsible for these killings. 

“i’m sorry,” utterly exasperated, you couldn’t find out, not now, not ever. “i wasn’t thinking.. i’ve just been-,” his nostrils flare, hoping you could forget about this and quickly, “thinking about everyone dying, you know? i’m scared,” grabbing your hands to really accentuate his point. 

“we’re all scared, eds,” his nickname allowing him to breathe at last, you’d never use eds when you were mad, never. “that doesn’t mean you should start pretending to kill people too, you’re so.. stupid,” said endearingly, far calmer than you were five minutes ago. 

“i know.. i’m sorry baby,” squeezing your fingers together, “i love you, okay?”

your pout could solve wars, an immediate punch to his gut that had him instantly crawling on his knees for forgiveness. it’s no different now, jutting your bottom lip out with a slight quiver, vowing him to never make such a stupid mistake again. 

-

eddie drives this time, rushing back from the large house they’d been at. he doesn’t even know the kids name, he just knows his spleen no longer resided within his gut. 

this one was his idea, some kid that’d stiffed him for a couple grams a few months ago. stupid stuff really, but they’d needed to throw the cops off the scent. 

“so,” steve begins, pulling eddie from his head, “you still wanna do this?” 

he didn’t, not really. not while you were there. 

“i don’t see any other way we can end this,” he sighs, turning onto the darkened street, “it has to end,” you were getting too wise, thumbing at the scratch marks on his arm or questioning why he was always out so late recently. 

nothing would ever be worth losing you. not in a million years. 

“alright,” steve pouts, enjoying this far more than he first let on, “what’re you gonna do about that sweet girlfriend of yours? i think we should spook her first, really up the stakes,” bouncing around the cab of the van. 

“absolutely not, don’t even think about getting her involved with this shit,” baring his teeth, appalled that steve would ever even suggest something like that. you were all wide spoke about, filling up his thoughts even as he was driving a knife into the back of jason carver. 

“whaat? you don’t even wanna scare her a little? make her squirm,” his smirk evident in his tone. 

“i mean it steve,” eddie warns, flashing the boy a harsh glare, “if you touch her, i’ll kill you.” 

the car goes silent for a moment until steve cackles, his grin shining through, “not if i kill you first.” 

eddie’s blood runs cold, they could end this entire thing right now if that was what he wanted. his knuckles glow white, gripping the steering wheel as opposed to wrapping his hands around steve’s neck, “are you fucking serious?” spitting his words out, “because i’ll do it steve, i won’t fucking hesitate.”

steve pauses, trying to control his heaving breaths, “calm down loverboy, i’m not gonna hurt her,” sucking his teeth as if eddie were the crazed one here, like he hadn’t just been speaking complete sense. 

“don’t even joke about that shit,” slapping his hand against the leather steering wheel, “fucking dumbass, i can’t believe you,” looking to steve with utter disbelief in his eye. 

“chill out man,” steve calms, relaxing into the seat, “i’m not gonna do anything, wouldn’t wanna piss you off now, would i?” 

-

eddie had thought the entire night through, every second meticulously planned so that you’d never end up in the crossfire. he just needed your willing cooperation and reassurance that his partner in crime wouldn’t lose his mind. 

the last, he can’t promise. 

steve had been more erratic than ever, obvious that letting go of this power wasn’t anything he wanted. eddie doesn’t know how he can live with the guilt, but then, steve didn’t look into your bright eyes each night and feel that same stab of betrayal he did. 

he takes your hand now, leading you up the steep staircase and into the bathroom, under the guise of getting away from the noise, locking the door behind him as you stand at the sink, only slightly concerned. 

“what’s this for?” dipping your chin when his hands meet your waist, pressing your back against the cold porcelain. 

“i just wanted to.. get away,” eddie remarks, knowing that any minute now, all hell would break loose downstairs and he’d have to stab the shit out of people he called his friend. 

“oh yeah? that’s all you wanted me in here for?” walking your fingers up his chest, settling on his shoulder. 

“well,” letting his grin cock to the side, “what do you suggest we do in here?” 

you hum, a sweet sound that makes his heart race, “i think we could start with a bit of kissing and then.. see where it goes,” weaving your fingers into his hair, bringing his face closer. 

“i like the sound of that,” he coos, but the guilt is unimaginable, your oblivious smile soon to be wiped off your face and it’ll be all his fault. 

your lips connect in a harmonious symphony, he can feel your smile radiating against his skin, your fingertips tracing light lines on his scalp, a motion that would usually soothe him has him anxious instead. 

he so terribly wants to stay here for the duration of the night, or at least until steve had pushed his luck too far and ended up dead. 

but that can’t happen, without eddie, this wouldn’t end. 

you shift closer, pressing your body to his with a hum, hoping to turn this into something more that he just can’t give right now. 

as if by magic, there’s a loud thud from downstairs, a blood curdling scream that echoes through the walls follows behind. your eyes full of pure dread meet his when you spring apart. 

“what the fuck was that?” tightening your grip on the back of his neck. 

“i.. don’t know,” a barefaced lie, “i’m gonna go and check it out, alright?” coming eye-to-eye with you, a plea of the highest order. 

“what? are you fucking crazy?” 

“stay here,” he orders, kindly slipping your bra strap back onto your shoulder, “lock the door after me and don’t come out.”

“no! don’t leave me in here,” true terror ringing through your words. he wishes he could tell you that you truly have nothing to worry about. not like the rest of them.

“you’ll be okay,” eddie soothes, grabbing your hand, “i promise,” his thumb tracing patterns onto your wrist. 

“please come back quickly,” pleading with him not to go, your fingers shaking as they grasp his arm. 

“i will,” pressing his forehead to yours, giving one last squeeze before he breaks apart, “promise,” slipping out of the door, only waiting to hear the quiet click of the lock before scuffling along to steve’s room. 

his outfit had been stored in steve’s closet, the dark robe and rubbery mask that had now become dark and cracked. something about the fabric cascading over his skin had him more confident than anything, forgetting all about who was killing, unfazed by their distant screams. 

he tiptoes down the stairs, careful not to bump into any stragglers, the knife poised in his hand when he hits the kitchen, fingers twitching around the handle ready to slash whoever came out first. 

something squeals from behind the door, giving away their location immediately, some girl steve had tried to fuck, an obvious victim, someone quick and easy, someone you wouldn’t care about too much. 

the knife plunges into her side, the dark red liquid spurting out and all over the linoleum floor, he’s sure steve’s dad wouldn’t care too much. 

steve stomps through the kitchen, eyeing the scene before nodding to eddie, gesturing he follow him into the living room. it’s a silent affair, they could never know who was listening. 

but eddie does as he’s told, walking in to find a barely-breathing tommy hagan, his hand reaching out pathetically as his eyelids flutter and his lungs fill with blood. eddie’s never liked him, he certainly wouldn’t be sad to see him go. 

after the house is emptied, steve was to dress tommy in his robe and mask, plant the knife in his fist and call the police. they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, how steve would slash himself with his knife and eddie would scurry back up to the bathroom with you, waiting until the cops came to get you. 

steve’s laugh echoes through the quiet house, maniacal as he drives his blade into tommy’s gut, his last attempts at protesting come out as squeaks before the couch turns a deep red and the sputtering comes to a sudden stop. 

but eddie doesn’t want to play that game. 

steve was too sporadic, untrustworthy and downright stupid, if he were to be honest. who’s to say he’d never turn on eddie? kill him or worse, you? eddie couldn’t trust him, the boy was out of it, drunk on the power it gave him. 

so instead of doing anything they’d rehearsed, eddie forces the knife into steve’s chest, quickly taking it out to drive another jab into his throat, deafening his screams. steve’s eyes full of confusion, a lingering look of betrayal that makes his chest sting, if only for a second. 

his body thuds as it hits the floor, a garbled sound full of air escape his throat, an anguished cry that vaguely resembles eddie. 

he stares down at his accomplices twitching body, a sadness twinging his heart. steve would undoubtedly still be alive if he hadn’t been stupid enough to start joking about hurting you, all he’d had to do was keep his mouth shut and let the night play out. 

but he hadn’t. desperate to make some edgy joke that now lead to him bleeding out on his living room floor. 

eddie clears his throat, unwilling to dwell on his emotions for too long. he had to dress tommy and find the phone. there was too much at stake now to let steve ruin this from beyond the grave. 

out of the corner of his eye he spots that same glittering top that he’d left locked in the bathroom. he can’t believe you’d been stupid enough to come out of there. why you couldn’t just listen to him for once was completely beyond him.

he bounds along behind you, esnuring that absolutely nobody was skulking around the grand house before clamping one hand over your mouth, the other snaking around your hip to bring you to the cold, wooden floor. 

you scream against his palm, vibrating the skin with your pleas for help. eyes wide and watering as they meet the mask, he’s not surprised, for all you know, the knife in his hand was going straight into your side next. 

he straddles your waist, keeping your pressed into the floor and not a problem for him, “shh.. sh-shut up,” he hushes, ensuring that the hall really was empty before he revealed his identity. 

the thrashing stops, stilling as the cogs slowly turn and his voice becomes familiar, a blood-chilling flash of hurt overtakes your fearful eyes instead. 

bile rises in his throat, sick to his stomach with the fact that he could do this to you, make you so scared of him. 

“it’s me, it’s me sweetheart,” frantically trying to get you to calm down, to maybe not be so angry at him when this was all over. “promise not to scream and i’ll let go,” itching to take his gloved hand from your mouth, to prove his love. 

you nod hopelessly, flashing him an expression that he really can’t place, somewhere between terror, disgust and relief. 

he does as he promised, removing his hand from your mouth to slide the mask up, hoping that maybe seeing his face would help, would make you not hate him. 

“baby.. it’s not- i can explain everything to you, i just need..” panting his words, scrambling for some kind of excuse to get you back to safety, “you have to listen to me, okay? you trust me, don’t you?”

your face says anything but, watching your bottom lip tremble makes him fume, so incredibly pissed off that he was capable of this. 

“please,” eddie begs, pleads even, “i’d never.. ever hurt you, you know that, right?”

“i.. i trust you,” the words squeaked rather than spoken, accompanied by salty streams falling down your cheeks. 

he nods, daring to lift his mask. maybe eye contact would make you comfortable, “i’m gonna take you back to the bathroom.. okay? wait for me.. i’ll be five minutes, yeah?” running his knuckles over your mascara stained cheek, “and then i’ll tell you everything,” his tone reeking of desperation. 

much to his surprise, and utter delight, you lean into his hand, nodding with your pitiful trembling lip, “okay.. okay,” so innocent, totally unassuming about what he was going to admit to. 

eddie clambers off of your body, offering his hand out and praying to whichever god would listen to make sure you wouldn’t run. 

you don’t, of course you don’t. taking his hand as you climb up off of the floor, shoulders slumped over as you allow him to move you down the hallway, a gentle hand resting on your waist as you go. 

“five minutes baby.. i’ll be back,” he reassures for the hundredth time, “promise me you’ll stay here this time?” 

you nod, grabbing his hand just to feel his skin on yours, “i love you,” so sickly sweet he almost forgets what he had to do. but he had to do this for you, or he’d never hear that again. 

“i love you too,” with full sincerity, letting the door shut between you as he continues his mission, sprinting back to the living room to get tommy in his clothes and shake any hints of evidence off of himself. 

tommy’s heavier than he once anticipated, his lifeless body proving hard to contort into different clothes. 

but he does it, dropping the knife on the couch next to his body, giving steve one last sympathetic glance before barrelling down the hallway to the bathroom, pummelling his fist against the door. 

he hopes you’ll understand, you had to. everything he did, he did it with you in mind. 

his fist pummels against the wood, relief washing over his body when he hears the tiny click that lets him inside and confirms that you didn’t hate him. you trusted him, completely, just as he thought. 

eddie’s quick to lock it again, even while knowing the killer was inside of the room with you, the other strewn dead across the floor in a pool of his own blood. 

before he can even breath long enough to curate his explanation, the echoing sound of shouting and footsteps fill the house, the cops forcing their way inside and discovering the scene. 

the bathroom door splinters, eddie’s arms shielding you from the crossfire of wood. it’s the police, flashlights pointing right at your horrified faces, sharing concerned glances between one another. 

“we’ve got two confirmed alive,” one of them squawks into his radio, a fuzzy crackle coming back.  

“eddie? eddie munson? we’d like to speak to you about your friend, steve harrington.”

[chironshorseass]

ok i really really really enjoyed watching the first two episodes and i think the show is already so faithful to the books in ways the movies wished they were BUT i’m gonna be a bitch just because i can and rant about a few insignificant but at the same time very important Things the writers didn’t Understand:

percy is angry.

and i know this is seen with his anger towards poseidon in the show, but i’m talking angry. as in, generally speaking. when he’s with grover and they’re talking about nancy, percy says something along the lines of “we should fight back,” and grover’s like “noooo we can’t stand up to bullies.” and then percy stands up to her and blah blah blah…but in the books percy’s first line is “i’m going to kill her” after she throws a sandwich at grover. grover talks him out of it because he’s already on probation.

with just this scene we know percy stands up to bullies, and that’s partly why he has so much trouble at school! in the show, he stands up to nancy, apparently for the first time, and gets kicked out because of it! sorry but as someone who worked in a school, i know for a fact that kids can get away with so much more before they’re actually kicked out lol. it would’ve made sense, like in tlt, that he’s already at risk of suspension so him “pushing” nancy is the final straw. it’s just very weird, considering it could be only a line of dialogue that makes percy’s anger and the connection between his outburst and him getting kicked out more clear.

consequently, percy arrives at his appartment and gabe is just a general (still admittedly abusive) jerk instead of a drunk, violent (also abusive) man. when we meet gabe, it makes a lot of sense why percy has so much trouble with his anger. it’s easy to see that connection. literal child + alcoholic abusive father figure = there’s bound to be some trouble….that’s not really the case in the show, especially in the way that sally easily stands up to him. people have said a fair bit about this topic already, so i’m not gonna expand on that, but i really wish the writers had focused more on percy’s internal anger, as it’s such an important part of his character and affects the way he reacts to things throughout the books; it just worries me that in the first episode it wasn’t as established. i. e. he hates dionysus on sight because he reminds him of smelly gabe, he hates the gods—is angry at poseidon—because, where was he when my mom and i were suffering at the hands of smelly gabe? ok i’m not gonna talk about more of this or of sally because other people have said it and i could write a four page essay of what the show got wrong plus i want to talk abt other things before this gets too long:

the monster scenes.

the mrs. dodds being a fury reveal felt sooo…weird? even the movie version did it better lol. it felt super rushed and strange how percy’s just standing there and the next he’s on the ground, but he had riptide with him so he just impaled her and then she turned to dust??? in the books, not only does she get percy alone, but grover tries to stand up to her—which is a big deal since he knows what she truly is and shows how much he cares for percy in that moment. percy has time to be genuinely terrified bc he’s alone with a literal monster and he’s about to die…and chiron throws him riptide just in time, but then he too vanishes so percy’s left wondering if he imagined everything. but no, in the show mrs. dodds comes out of nowhere and attacks him, and it’s so fast that percy doesn’t have time to dwell on wtf happened. the situation doesn’t seem as serious as it does in the book; in the book she tries to interrogate percy bc she thinks he’s the lightning thief, and when she doesn’t get her answer, she attacks him. this is another thing: the stakes. they don’t feel as high in the show because there’s no annabeth trying to ask percy what was stolen, no hellhound, no fates cutting a string, and no alecto/mrs. dodds interrogation. there’s not much of a lead up to the quest, really.

theeen the minotaur scene, which also feels super weirdly paced and there’s just not that same sense of urgency. again, other people have talked about this, so i’ll just stick to another main concern of mine: grover’s role in the scene. it was so strange how in the book he’s semi unconscious and in the show he’s fine (so fine that sally does something completely out of character and makes grover swear to keep percy safe? she would never put that much pressure in a child???) ok so he seems fine in the show, but then when they’re running percy’s holding him as if he can’t walk???? they’re not even fully sprinting, given that a monster is chasing them lol. (the problem with the stakes; i mean with the way they run and have an entire talk with sally makes it feel like they’re not in any real danger).

back to grover: he was perfectly fine, and he got percy back safe. not at all like in tlt, where percy has to practically carry him back, after loosing his mom and killing the minotaur. THEN percy passes out and later wakes up at the big house. this is important, bc grover’s entire THING is being percy’s protector, and he couldn’t do that properly bc he was indisposed. he felt awful. of course he did. his character arc is overcoming the guilt and insecurities—that he’s not a proper protector and therefore can’t search for pan; his main character motivation—by successfully completing the quest and helping percy retrieve the master bolt.

these are just little seeds that needed to be planted in the first two episodes of the show…so that the rest of the show feels cohesive and makes sense with what happens in tlt. if these character traits and scenes are looked over and not given proper importance/not replaced with something similar, then the show will have a different tone than it does to the books. i don’t think it’s necessarily bad, but it is disappointing that the details sprinkled in the source material are lost in translation. they may have seemed insignificant to the writers, but not to meeee!!!!!!

[hanafubukki]

Hello hello, sorry to barge in suddenly

I love ur content XD especially the family themed with Lilia. #1 Bat dad got me weak in the knees.

I do love to think that Lilia would be OBSESSED with his pregnant wife and unborn child, literally glued to his wife since he found out that she got pregnant and even when the child is born? Man won't let you alone.

What do you think? I love me some family fluff content with this bat dad

Hello Anonie 💞💚💙

Thank you so much 💞☺️ I’m happy that you like my posts. You don’t have to apologize Anonie, I enjoy getting asks.

Lilia with his family is an absolute fave of mine to write about. Him with babies?? *shakes you* my favorite kind of tea.

I was reading a manhwa and remembered this ask because there was this moment that a husband went through for his wife that had me going “Yes! Lilia would have that!!” 😆😎

✨sympathy pregnancy✨ it’s when the expecting partner (and in some rare cases, very close friends) experience the symptoms and behaviors of expectant mothers.

You know I’m just going to take this idea and run with it 🤣🫶

The day you and Lilia find out you’re pregnant is one of joy. It’s not a shock to anyone really. The way he’s practically by your side when he’s not with his boys, Lilia doesn’t hide the fact that he adores you.

He really doesn’t. In fact, Maleficia, herself, was waiting for the day she’d receive a letter about your pregnancy from Malleus. Everyone knew.

It was a good idea that Lilia spent some nights in your dorm.

When you start showing signs of fatigue and nausea, you visit a healer with Lilia by your side. Where you born receive the news. Both of you are over the moon, but Lilia looks ready to actually jump as high as the moon.

Your pregnancy comes with a few hiccups. Nausea in the morning. Fatigue. Appetite changes. Aches. It wasn’t easy for you once your pregnancy symptoms kicked in.

Throughout all this, Lilia was by your side. Helping you the best he could. If he wasn’t by your side, one of the boys was.

After a hard day of symptoms, of which Mrs. Zigvolt stated was normal for someone having a half fae and half human baby, Lilia couldn’t help but feel guilty. You’re human after all, it would be harder for you to deal with this baby. He wished he could help you.

The next few days, surprisingly, you felt better? You could eat more. Your body aches lowered and your fatigue practically disappeared.

But you noticed Lilia…seemed a little off. He tried to hide it but you knew his tics by now. When he suddenly got nauseous one day, you asked Malleus to call the healer.

The healer merely announced Lilia suffering from sympathy pregnancy. Rare amongst human and fae kind, but not unheard of. Eventually, it would pass.

You felt bad for Lilia but his boys on the other had:

“The dedication Lord Lilia serves is an example for us all!”

“Father will need medication to handle his symptoms.”

“How supportive you are, Lilia. Maybe I should ask the royal scriptors to write about your romantic tales.”

You knew If he wasn’t so nauseated, Lilia would be berating them.

Even after the revelation, Lilia was determined to stay by your side. Content that you were feeling well and full of energy.

He became the talk of town, but nothing he didn’t handle with pride and quips.

As time went on, the symptoms mellowed out. Soon, a new member of the family joined. Healthy and already loved more than the number of stars in the sky.

This kind of got away from me lol 😆 it’s been awhile since I’ve been this chaotic with an ask, especially for Lilia, so I hope you enjoyed. 🫶💞

You could probably see where I ran out of steam lol

The manhwa that inspired this is “I Failed to Divorce my Husband.”

[corroded-hellfire]

I love the AYW universe, whenever I get bored I come and choose a random part to read again anyways the newest update was really good, especially the NKOTB mention cause I'm a big fan of them too ❤️

Anyways a thought I had is what if reader shows Eliza NKOTB music at some point just like my mom did with me. I feel like Eddie would pick on reader for being a new kids fan but once Eliza is on the dark side he knows he'll have to put up with it

This reminded me of the home movie of my big sister doing this dance and now I want to find it lol. Also a big thank you to the lovely @lokis-army-77 for helping me when my brain forgot what words were 💕

Words: 1.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The end of May means that Eliza’s dance classes have paused for the summer, but her brothers are still in school, leaving her bored. Dance also helped burn off the three-year-old’s extra energy, which is now dropped in your lap.

After a week of no dance classes, an idea strikes you when Eliza stumbles upon a box from your childhood while playing hide and seek. 

“Hmm…” you hum as you walk into your room. “Where, oh, where is my little girl?”

The sound of a box shifting in your closet catches your attention. You smile to yourself and tip toe towards the closet. The shuffling continues as you reach for the doorknob.

Quickly, you yank the door open.

“Gotcha!”

Eliza is sitting in a cardboard box, various CDs and cassettes tumbling out and a couple clutched in her tiny hand. Your daughter grins up at you, her dimples heightening her already high level of cuteness. 

“What’s these, Mama?” she asks.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you say, sitting down on the floor in front of the box. “Oh, okay. This is music I listened to when I was a kid.”

“Like me?” Eliza asks.

“Mm, more around Luke’s age.”

“Can I hear?”

“Sure, baby,” you say. 

You pick up a small stack and start to go through them before one in particular catches your attention. 

“Hey, Liza. Want me to teach you a dance?”

Her large brown eyes widen, and she nods so quickly that it looks like her head is about to fly off.

“Yes!”

“Ugh, thank God I’m home,” Eddie sighs as he steps through the front door. 

He kicks off his boots and stretches out the muscles in his lower back. 

“Hey, you.” You smile at your husband as you stroll in the room to greet him. He smiles in return when you slip your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. “How was work?”

“Not bad,” Eddie says. “Not as good as this.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” you tell him. “But we have a special performance first.”

“Oh?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Luke want to read some Shakespeare for us?”

You laugh and drop your head to Eddie’s jumpsuit-clad shoulder.

“No, he’s doing his homework. Assured me he didn’t want to be here for this performance.”

“That scares me,” Eddie admits. “What about Ry?”

“He’s out with friends,” you say. “This is just for you. So, go get changed and meet me on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie yawns as he steps into the living room, scratching his stubbled jaw. He plops down on the couch in one of his old Hellfire shirts from high school and a pair of black sweats that are looking more faded and grayer these days. His mane of hair has been pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck and all traces of oil or dirt from the day in the garage are gone. 

“Thought I was supposed to be entertained,” Eddie says loudly, smiling to himself.

“In a minute!” Eliza shouts back from her bedroom down the hall.

Eddie laughs and stretches his arms out, resting them on the back of the couch. 

A few moments later, you come down the hallway and swipe up the remote that controls the stereo. The spot on the couch next to Eddie looks like it’s been waiting for you, so you grab it and cuddle up to his side. Your husband wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“You smell good,” you murmur to him. 

“Used some of your soap,” he replies.

You take another sniff and realize it’s your body wash from Bath and Body Works. A store where Eddie refuses to buy anything, yet always uses what you get. 

“Thief,” you tease before sticking your tongue out at him.

“A-hem-hem!”

Eliza is peeking around the corner from the hall and you’re quick to remember your role and nod at her.

“So,” you say, looking back at Eddie. “Have you heard that Eliza will be starting preschool in the fall?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and raises at the same time. It’s a look that says of course I have and where in the hell are you going with this?

“Yes…”

“Well, you know what that will make her?” You aim the remote towards the stereo and press the play button. “A New Kid on the Block.”

Bum-bum bum-bum buh

Bum-bum-bum buh

“Oh God,” Eddie whispers. 

A grin splits your face from ear to ear as you snuggle into your husband’s side and watch your daughter emerge into the spotlight of the living room. 

You wanted her to look as authentic as possible for the late 80s, but with Eliza’s wardrobe, that mostly meant finding the right hues of pink to put together. It works for her, but even if it didn’t, Eliza would make it work. 

First time was a great time

Second time was a blast

Third time I fell in love

Now I hope it lasts

“What did you do to our girl?” Eddie grits out quietly through his teeth as Eliza starts to dance. 

“She wanted to listen to some of her mommy’s music,” you say sweetly, laying your head down on your husband’s shoulder. “And she misses her dance class.”

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Eliza puts her hands on the waistband of her neon pink leggings and begins to shuffle her legs from side to side while hopping like the iconic moves from the music video. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Now, Eliza steps with her left foot and pumps her left hand up towards her right shoulder twice. Then, she switches and goes to the left with her right hand and foot.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Out of the corner of your eye you see Eddie grin. It makes you pick your head up so you can get a full view of his smile as Eliza bounces along to the beat. 

“She gives Joey McIntyre a run for his money,” you whisper.

“I’m going to assume that’s one of the members,” he murmurs back. 

You roll your eyes and silently vow to give this whole family a boy band education. 

The last chorus is about to start, and Eliza runs up and grabs your hand.

“Come on, Mama!”

With a chuckle, you stand up and join her at the front of the living room. Both of you position your hands at the top of your pants and begin to hop on one foot, bring them back together, then hop on the other. 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

Eliza giggles wildly as the two of you do this together. She looks up at you as you dance, her curls bouncing and cheeks pink from the small exertion of energy. 

A sort of lightness fills your body, your mind transported back to when you were hardly a preteen and learning this dance for the first time all alone in your room. The fact that you’re now doing it with your daughter in front of your husband makes you nothing short of giddy. 

Now, the two of you go on to the next move. Step with foot, pump hand, step, pump, switch. Step, pump, step, pump.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The right stuff

The song finishes and Eliza bows. Eddie cheers and you clap your hands until Eliza straightens and tries to tug you down in a bow with her. Instead, you give a deep curtsy and bow your head in Eddie’s direction.

“That’s my girls!” Eddie whoops as he claps. 

Eliza giggles and runs over to her father, launching herself in his lap. He catches her and lets out an oof.

You take back your previous position at Eddie’s side and Eliza flops down to lay across both of your laps. 

“I like that song!” Eliza states. 

“Me too.” You poke her belly, and she lets out an airy laugh. 

“You like it, Daddy?” Eliza asks.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at your husband. Eddie can practically read your mind: Go ahead, babe. You’ve made fun of me a thousand times for liking New Kids on the Block, now tell that to your daughter. 

Eddie looks down at Eliza before responding.

“I loved your and Mommy’s dance. You’re both very good.”

The dodged question doesn’t even register to the little girl; she’s just happy that her dad enjoyed the dance she learned today. 

“Maybe next time we teach Daddy a dance too, huh?” you say.

Eddie whips his head in your direction and narrows his eyes, making you giggle.

“Yes!” Eliza cheers, sitting up. “We’ll find a Daddy dance!”

“We’ll find a really good one,” you add. 

“Mama, don’t let me forget tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure her. “I won’t.”

Eddie lets out a low growl and leans in to nip at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You squeal and pull away from him.

“Daddy, no biting!” Eliza chastises. 

“What if Mommy likes it?” Eddie responds. 

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Eliza shakes her head. “Biting is bad.”

“But what if I’ve got…” Eddie pauses and leans so far over you that you’re forced to lay back on the couch cushion with a chuckle. “The right stuff?”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, despite being tickled by the dad joke. 

Eliza sighs and lays down on top of you, her head resting just above your heart.

“Isn’t Daddy so silly?” she asks you.

You grin up at Eddie as he winks at you.

“The silliest!”

[iiseult]

𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝒩𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓊𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒪𝓃𝑒: 𝒜 𝒢𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒞𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓈

CWs → fluff, angst, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy lol, time-period accurate sexism (but hopefully not much cause I ain’t writin allat), arranged marriage, the inevitable misery that this man’s tragic existence brings me, baldwin is originally way more in love than reader is, but don’t worry, you’ll come around!

Wordcount: 3.4k

Note: I can’t be bothered to do any real historical research, so this is surely rife with inaccuracies! Please let me know if there’s something about it that you know that I don’t know that I should know. Get it? Greatly appreciated! 

The first time you laid eyes on the King of Jerusalem, he temporarily blinded you. So strong was the high afternoon sunlight that reflected off his silver mask, so pure was the white color of his robes, trimmed in gold. The sight of him in that moment burned itself into your memory forever. 

The King’s horse, with a coat just as white as the rest of his majesty’s garments, came to a halt before you, whinnying and kicking up a cloud of dust as his gloved hands pulled back on the reins. You were in his way, and yet you couldn’t move. All you could do was stare up at the one part of him that was visible– his cloudy blue eyes, half-lidded and rimmed in red– and they were focused on you. Though it was hard to tell, it seemed to you his expression must have been soft, almost curious, so you held his gaze for as long as he would permit it. His lashes were blonde and soft, so much so that you were envious of the cheek that must have felt them gently brush against it whenever he blinked. Even if that cheek was hidden behind a mask. 

Your father was a wealthy lord, and your mother a distinguished lady, making you no stranger to nobility and the powerful auras that often surrounded them, but his was different. Whereas the gaze of any other King would make you instinctually bow, his made your body freeze and your blood run hot. His was like the light of the sun. It was something you wished to bask in, to savor. Though you had never seen him before, you knew this man was your king. Finally, your body responded to this intrinsic fact and you bowed deeply, your cheeks burning red as a rush of self-hatred overtook you. Only three seconds into finally meeting him, and you were already letting his powerful aura wipe away all that bitter disdain you’d been working on so diligently throughout the past week. 

“You may rise,” he uttered, his voice soft and smooth, like the feeling of woven silk against your fingertips. It was higher than you had imagined, a true tenor. Reluctantly, you straightened, doing everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes again, for that would be improper, and you didn’t want to risk exposing him to the hideous anger that was currently boiling in your heart. Yet. He studied you for a moment, taking in your fine clothing and well-maintained hair, which flowed freely down your back, and came to the conclusion that you must be a lady. Perhaps the one he had been reluctant to meet all week since he had learned of her family’s arrival. 

“My lady,” he began, tilting his head to the side, “Why are you alone?” 

You broke your oath to yourself and looked back up to him, caught a bit off-guard by his question. Truthfully, you were surprised he was speaking to you at all, when he could have easily ridden his horse away and locked himself in his room, as had been his habit since your arrival. You bit back a dry chuckle and fought to maintain your respectful demeanor. In all honesty, it absolutely enraged you that he hadn’t made any effort to meet you or your family. Although you had been told by everyone that he was a good man and an even better king, you wanted to see that for yourself, and so far he was failing to meet your remarkably low expectations. 

“I asked my maid to stay behind while I enjoyed a walk in your gardens,” you replied hesitantly. But why does it matter? 

He was silent. You shifted uncomfortably. 

“They are most beautiful, Your Majesty,” you added, hoping it was only you that felt the mounting tension. 

“What is your name?” he asked softly. 

“Y/N.” 

He hummed quietly, a sound that made your stomach flip, though you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad feeling. 

“So you are lady Y/N,” he stated, “and it is you who are to be my betrothed.” 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

That night, the King joined you and your family for dinner for the first time all week. His regent, count Raymond III of Tripoli, was shocked that he had finally agreed to leave his solitary games of chess in his bedroom. 

“What, if you don’t mind me asking, Your Majesty, caused such a sudden change of heart? Just this morning you were averse to the idea of taking a meal with our guests,” Raymond asked as he and the young king slowly made their way to the great hall. The boy simply replied,

“I met her.” 

King Baldwin knew he was running out of time. Day by day he could feel his body being eaten away by his affliction. How nice it would be to have a wife, someone to share his burden and rule alongside him until his time on this earth was at its end. But he never imagined he’d ever find a woman willing to throw her life away like that, or a family willing to condemn their daughter to such a fate. When Raymond told him of your noble family’s offer, he accepted, but not for the selfish reason of personal desire. No, he did so to ensure that Jerusalem would still have a chance at prospering after his passing. It needed to be done for the sake of the people. 

After your marriage ceremony, Baldwin planned on allowing his queen to live her life as she pleased, free of any obligation to spend time with him. He would not disturb her or expect affection from her. He knew she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. As far as he was concerned, you’d never be in the same room again, and that was just fine. But he couldn’t completely suppress every one of his selfish desires. Just once, he wanted to let his imagination go, to pretend he could love someone, and that she could love him back. Seeing you for the first time was what made up his mind. Something tender stirred in his heart when he heard you utter your own name, and he decided that just a few hours with you would have to be enough to tide him over for the rest of his life. So he went to dinner.  

Everyone stood and bowed as he entered the room. He took his seat at the head of the table and greeted each of his guests kindly. He permitted them to begin their meal, though he wouldn’t be participating. Normally, he had no trouble removing his mask in front of people at mealtimes, but your presence gave him pause. Surely you’d be repulsed, and it would be over before it even began. So he opted out of eating, instead choosing to watch you. 

You felt his eyes before you saw them. That same warm feeling washed over you, and it wasn’t due to the wine you were drinking. You looked up and, unsurprisingly, his masked face was tilted in your direction. You fought the instinct to look away and instead held his eye contact, furrowing your brows a bit. Why now was he making an appearance after days of neglect? How were you supposed to react to that? And what gave him the nerve? 

Next to you, your mother cleared her throat and whispered your name in a scolding tone. You shook yourself out of your inner monologue and uncreased your brow, which had unintentionally morphed into something closer to a scowl as your thoughts ran away from you. You smiled sheepishly at your mother, who did not look pleased, but she said nothing more about the matter. Next time you managed to steal a glance at the king, he was looking down at his empty plate. Good, you thought, Maybe he’s repenting for ignoring me all week. 

When your parents had informed you of the marriage they had arranged between you and the king of Jerusalem, you weren’t exactly thrilled. Being a queen sounded like a big responsibility– one you weren’t sure you even wanted. Yes, it came with a lot of upsides, like the lush palace you’d be living in and the loyal servants that would tend to your every whim, but it also came with the burden of raising a family and making important decisions for your subjects. Not to mention the totally random man you’d suddenly be sharing the rest of your life with. As far as you were concerned, your future relationship with King Baldwin was just a chore; something that was certainly necessary, but not guaranteed to be enjoyable. If you were lucky, the two of you would learn to get along, just as your own parents had, and a few years down the line you’d pop out a couple kids and then wait around to die. 

The rest of dinner was excruciating. You couldn’t relax, and your mother was absolutely insufferable, constantly checking to make sure you were sitting up straight and minding your manners. Your father was engaged in a riveting conversation with count Raymond, saving you from further scrutiny. By the end of the meal, you were about ready to retire to bed and stare at the ceiling for a few hours, but god had other plans for you, it seemed. 

“Y/N, you’ll be joining the king for a game of chess in the library while your mother and I discuss legal matters with the count. We will come to collect you when we’re finished,” your father ordered, giving you a stern look that essentially told you not to do anything that might jeopardize your future– whatever that implied. You nodded demurely, biting back a scream of frustration. And just like that, he was behind you. 

You felt his presence before he even said anything. A gentle heat emanated from his body, and a warm, slightly earthy smell wafted off him, like herbs and spices. 

“Lady Y/N, I will show you to the library. Please follow me,” he said, his voice vibrating in his chest, only mere inches away from your back. You shivered and turned to face him, but his eyes were unreadable, and then he was walking away from you. Left with no other option, you followed swiftly, maintaining a safe distance. He led you through the winding, echoing stone hallways of his palace, dimly lit by candles and torches, since the sun had set hours ago. You had to admit, it was a beautiful place, and you wouldn’t mind getting used to it, even if that did mean you had to spend the odd hour with your soon-to-be husband. Soon, you arrived in front of a large, heavy oak door, which he pushed open with ease. 

“After you,” he murmured, holding it open for you. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you shuffled into the room, immediately gawking at the towering ceilings and shelves upon shelves of books. There was a spiral staircase on each side of the room that led to a second floor balcony, which was visible through the railing encasing it. In the middle of the room sat a handsome wooden table with a chess board on it, the pieces already set up for a game. You always did like chess, but your two younger brothers constantly hogged the board and didn’t let you play, so you were forced to observe. It was rare that you actually got to play. 

“Have a seat, lady Y/N. You can take white,” the king said, pulling out the chair for you. Reluctantly, you sat down, raising an eyebrow and wondering why all the chivalry all of the sudden. It was a little suspicious, but you couldn't help but approve. He kept his gloved hand on the back of the chair until you were comfortable, and then helped you scoot closer to the table. You turned your head and looked up at him, and you noticed the subtle crinkle of his eyes and the softness dancing behind them. 

He was smiling.

The corner of your lip quirked up to mirror him– you couldn’t help it, though you had no idea why. And just like that, the sound of blood rushing in your head ceased, and a sense of quiet serenity fell over the room. The defenses you had put up to quell your nerves no longer seemed necessary. The contempt in your heart was ebbing away every moment you spent in his presence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding before, and made your first move. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The chess game was abysmal. It’s not that you weren’t able to hold your own, because you certainly were, but it wasn’t nearly as easy as you had hoped. Whenever you played with your younger brothers, they’d be wiped in about ten minutes. You thought that’s just how the game was; short and sweet. But already thirty minutes had passed and a winner was just beginning to emerge, and regrettably, it wasn’t you. You scowled as King Baldwin took your last rook. 

As you played, he intermittently broke the silence to ask you questions about yourself. At first it was mundane things, like what you enjoyed doing or what your favorite meal was, but it gradually became personal. You discussed your family, fond childhood memories, and your fears. Sometimes he would even throw you a bone and answer one of the questions himself, clearing away the shroud of mystery that surrounded him little by little. 

“May I speak freely, my King?” you asked tentatively, ignoring the game for a moment to let him know you were about to get serious. He folded his hands on the edge of the table and leaned back in his chair, studying you carefully. 

“You may, although I never wish you to speak conservatively in my presence.” 

You smiled thinly, choosing your next words very carefully so as not to overstep boundaries. 

“Why do you wear a mask?” 

The king bristled at your question, sucking in a sharp breath, and a wave of regret washed over you. But before you could take it back, he replied, 

“So nobody has to see it.” 

You didn’t know what to say. His answer wasn’t really much of an answer, and it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, but it sent a pang of pain through your heart nonetheless. Why wouldn’t he want people to see his face, even in the comfort of his own castle? 

He seemed to register your confusion, and a chill ran down his spine. Did you really not know, or were you playing a cruel joke? The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed that Raymond hadn’t told your parents the full truth in order to garner their approval. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach, for you would certainly leave him the moment you found out. He knew it was too good to be true. 

“My lady…are you not aware of my… condition?” he asked quietly, looking down so he wouldn’t have to see your disappointment. Your heart sank, and that rushing sound in your ears returned. 

‘Condition…?” you trailed off, swallowing thickly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

“Yes. I thought you knew… your parents…I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice strained. He took a deep breath before continuing. 

“My lady, I… am a leper. My condition has caused my nerves to degrade slowly, and I am already losing sensation in my right hand. My skin is covered in hideous sores, especially my face. I wear the mask… to spare you.” 

You stared. The room was spinning, not from shock, but rather from the sheer anger you felt toward your parents at that moment. They had tricked you. They had played a dirty, dirty trick and married you off, just so they could improve their own social standing, and they had done it all with absolutely no regard for your own wishes. No regard for the rest of your life, even. You slammed your fist on the table, the reverberations knocking over a few chess pieces and causing Baldwin to jump in his seat. He wasn’t expecting you to take the news well, but this was unprecedented. You seethed silently. 

Well, that’s just fine, you thought, Because once we’re married, I’ll be the queen of Jerusalem… and the queen is NOT accepting visitors. No exceptions. 

Baldwin stayed silent, his head bowed in resignation. He understood how you felt. It was a cruel situation indeed, and he wished he could go back and decline the arrangement, if only to spare you the unimaginable rage that spilled out of your gaze, which was trained intently on some unknowable spot in the distance. You stood abruptly, knocking your chair over as it hit the back of your legs, and he winced at the sound. But to his complete and utter surprise, you didn’t storm out of the room. 

Instead, you stormed directly towards him. 

Panicking, he rose from his chair, assuming a fortified stance in case you decided to get violent. He wasn’t too worried since he towered over you at an impressive six feet and four inches tall, but he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it, either. 

Instead of striking him, you thrust your hand out and grabbed his gloved one, clasping it firmly. He could feel you shaking, presumably with rage. 

“Well, King Baldwin,” you began, voice laced with venom, “let me see your face.” 

His pretty blue eyes widened, and he didn’t stop you as you reached up and placed a hand on his silver-plated cheek. If you wanted to see, it no longer made a difference to him, since there was no saving the situation anymore. You might as well lay eyes upon the man you had almost married. 

He slowly pulled off his hood, revealing a head of silky blond curls that tumbled down to his shoulders, and reached behind his head, untying the threads that held the mask to his face. You felt it give under your touch and removed your hand, letting it fall away and clatter to the floor. Finally, you beheld your king. 

“My lord, you’re…” you trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. Your eyes were wide, and he could see himself in your reflection. His pale skin, mottled with patches of red and pink, his lips, cracked and splitting at the corners, and his own sad blue eyes, one slightly clouded. The same face he saw every morning and every night. 

“I know. I can put the mask back on, if you wish. But really, you do get used to it-” 

You cut him off by reaching up and gently taking a lock of his curly hair between your fingers, tucking it smoothly behind his ear. He couldn’t help the blush that spread across his face; he had never been this close to a woman before, save for his mother and sister, and they rarely ever dared to touch him. Your gaze was so intense that he almost wanted to look away, but there was something supernatural stopping him from going through with it. And then, you spoke. 

“I cannot wait to marry you.” 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Note: I will add links to the other parts once I post them and idk when that's happening so stay tuned! Part 2

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › series masterpost › taglist

Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied. 

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes. 

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Once again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately. 

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods. 

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly. 

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield. 

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.01.2024]

[haechwrites]

sugar, butter, & the royal crown - L.DH

prince!lee donghyuck x baker fem!OC (no name!)

synopsis: prince donghyuck only has one princess on his mind, but she's not actually a princess. she's just the royal baker's granddaughter.

wc: ~17.1k

warnings: pet names used only so i don't have to namedrop lol. no other warnings tho!

A/N: this is my second longest fic i've actually finished hehe i'm really happy with this one and now i wish i had a prince haechan lol

-- some things to note first:

THIS FIC IS WRITTEN IN FIRST PERSON. if you see ♔, that means it's in haechan's pov written in third person!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As a child, life is all about the simple pleasures. It didn’t matter that I’d come home to a dark house carrying the faint snores of my mother. I was still reeling from the sweet taste of mangoes on my tongue, the slight dusting of sugar in my hair, and the lingering soreness from laughing in my cheeks. I’d quickly wash up, give my mom a quick peck on the forehead, and tuck myself in bed. Before I know it, the sun greets me again and I meet my grandma outside as she leads me to the palace. This was my routine and for my young brain, there was nothing ever wrong with it.

My grandma is the head baker at the palace. Since the separation of my parents, I have spent my days with my grandma at work. It was all I knew and I was content with it. Every sunrise, I’d have 30 minutes before I had to meet her outside. Together, we’d walk to the palace’s servant entrance and my grandma would give our favorite guard, Doyun, a warm smile and a promise to slip an extra pastry in his meal for letting me tag along. I’d walk past him with a finger to my lips asking him to be sworn to secrecy. He’d always return it with a wink and a small laugh. It was our little promise, though I’m sure no one would actually mind an extra guest on the grounds – especially a mere 7-year-old. 

Once inside the kitchen, I strap on the apron that the palace’s tailor secretly made specifically for me. Grandma told me that the busiest times in the kitchen were the mornings, so I always sit in the corner to let her start the day. I occupy myself for at least an hour before my friend comes to play with me. His entrance is always the same: a secret knock on the side door and a gleaming smile when I open it for him. 

Today he’s dressed up in a super fancy garment, almost like a uniform. I had never seen him in anything other than his casual button-up and pants, typically covered by an extra adult-sized apron we’d find laying around.

“Donghyuck! What are you wearing?”

“Princess!,” He’d squeal, pulling me into a tight hug. “It’s my special outfit.”

“Is it your birthday?” My nose scrunches in confusion, looking him up and down. Even if it was his birthday, I can’t imagine his servant parents could afford such expensive fabric. 

Donghyuck laughs before yanking a spare apron off its hook and pulling it over his head. 

“Nooo. I have something important to do today. That’s why I’m wearing this,” He explains, looking a little nervous.

“Oh wow. You look like the King. Or like a prince,” I say jokingly, but Donghyuck freezes. His eyes are wide like the time he accidentally ate the last mango tart I was saving.

Then he breaks out into an awkward laugh and smiles wide at me, “I am a prince… because you’re my princess.” He says with utmost confidence, before grabbing my hands. We’re standing the way I position my two play dolls during a pretend wedding ceremony.

I quickly turn the shade of freshly baked cherry pies and I tear my hands out of his hold.

“Donghyuck-ah! How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” I huff, crossing my arms. 

He snickers, “Hmmm… maybe one hundred more times.”

“One hundred more times?!”

“Yes, if you can even count that high,” he smirks, instantly easing the tension from earlier. He plops down onto my stool and looks up at me. “So what are we playing today? Or should we read? Or does Baker Grandma need help?”

I aimlessly kick the leg of the stool, thinking about what we could do today as I can see him anxiously bounce around in his seat. He looks like he’s running on limited time today. Sometimes Donghyuck disappears on me in the middle of our hangouts or doesn’t show up at all. I just assume his parents need help with their tasks just like how Grandma often calls me to help her bake. He’s never told me where in the palace they work despite the years we’ve been hanging out. 

“What if we help your parents today?” The minute the question leaves my lips, I hear a snort from the kitchen staff and Donghyuck goes into a coughing fit as if the flour seeped into his lungs.

I begin to feel myself turn red again and wondering what was so wrong till I feel a familiar warm hand on my shoulder.

“Ah Donghyuck, you’re here today?” My grandma looks at his attire with a suspicious gaze. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Her hands are on her hips and it feels similar to the times she’s caught me using the oven on my own.

Donghyuck starts shyly giggling while fiddling with the oversized apron my grandma is reaching to remove. I stand there in confusion as he looks like a puppy that was told he wasn’t allowed to play or have a treat. I want to help him but the look on grandma’s face is too scary to fight.

She’s slowly ushering him out the door and I’m holding his apron in my hands, watching him pout.

“Bye Hyuck,” I mutter, sad that our day was cut short before it even began. This was the quickest that one has ended.

“Byeee Princess,” He says with as much despair in his voice. He always has to be a little more dramatic than me. I giggle and wave him goodbye, spirits lifted by his antics. I see a smile grow on his face at the sound of my laugh before my grandma closes the door.

My loneliness returns as I stare at the wooden panels of the side door. 

“Did he have to go?” I ask, slumping back onto the stool he was just on.

My grandma turns to me with a quizzical look. I can’t tell if she’s angry, sad, or disappointed and then she’s crouched down in front of me. Her flour-coated hands are resting on my lap.

“Donghyuck got called by his parents. They’re very important people,” She starts slowly. Grandma has never talked about Donghyuck’s family or personal life before. It was never brought up in the past because I assumed he was just like me. Now that we’re finally beginning to talk about it, the hesitant look on her face makes me not want to know anymore. 

“Guards?,” I ask. To me, Doyun is the most important worker in the castle as he freely lets me in and out. Maybe guards earn enough to adorn such fancy clothes I saw Donghyuck wear.

“No, honey,” She glances back at her staff, and I notice they’ve been watching. They give me a reassuring smile, but there’s uneasiness quivering on their lips.

“Donghyuck… Donghyuck is the Prince.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♔

They found him. Donghyuck’s personal guards find him where they usually do when he escapes his tasks, and that would be at the palace kitchen. This time, they find him outside the door, rather than inside scarfing down mango tarts. 

Without any hesitation and with no room for him to trick them and run, they grab the tiny prince and bring him to the meeting he was meant to attend with the King. It was meant to be the first glimpse of his life as a future ruler, attending meetings with fellow diplomats and other boring princely things. Donghyuck does not understand why he can’t spend his day playing like a regular 7-year-old with his pretty friend from the kitchen. 

Despite having complained and whined his way out of most duties, Donghyuck had reached the level of maturity to know that this one he couldn’t fight. I mean, the tailor adjusted his royal attire just for this one-hour meeting. After having come to terms with sitting in boredom for an hour, Donghyuck did not expect to be dragged into more as he was about to skip his way over to the kitchen once the diplomats left.

“And where are you off to now, Donghyuck?”

He freezes in his tracks and a shiver ripples down his spine at the sound of her voice. He’s been caught again.

He spins around, plastering the biggest smile possible on his face. “Nowhere, Mother. Just strolling around until my tutoring session.” He hopes she doesn’t recognize this path to the kitchen.

“And is your tutoring session located in the kitchen today?” She asks, words dripping with a patronizing attitude. Nothing Donghyuck isn’t used to.

“Oh! I wanted to see if I could get a quick snack before. My brain needs food, right?” He hides his crossed fingers behind his back, praying she doesn’t call his bluff.

“And you’re not just going there to see that girl, are you?” She takes a step closer and Donghyuck is scared she can see the drip of sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead. How did she know about Princess? He wonders if his guard ratted him out… even after Donghyuck gave him half of his tart. The betrayal, he scoffs. 

“There’s no girl, Mother.” Donghyuck decides it's best to deny it and stare straight at his feet. 

“You are correct, there will never be a girl. Instead, there will be a future queen. A princess for now and you need to begin meeting our potential suitresses,” The queen firmly states, grabbing his shoulders to steer him towards the library. Before he could stop himself, his chest bubbles with heat, and his brain is fogged with confusion. He can’t imagine anyone by his side but her.

“Why can’t she be my princess?”

The words spill out from his royal lips before he could catch them. There’s no missing the instant look of rage and disgust on the Queen’s face when her son’s true desires are revealed. Desires of the heart, but a complete disgrace to his duties as the Prince. Her eyes grow colder and her skin pales till her blush is the brightest hue on her cheeks. 

Donghyuck feels his throat go dry and the crossed fingers behind his back unlock. No luck can help him now.

“No more kitchen visits, Prince Donghyuck.”

The queen’s words are final. His shoulders slump lower and his feet are heavy as he drags them across the cobblestone trailing toward the library. It feels like there was a wall that slammed into the ground behind him, forbidding him from seeing her again.

“Yes, ma’am. No more.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

^ FIFTEEN YEARS LATER ^

The only memory of my childhood that lingered was the heat of the oven. Like I did every day at the age of 7, I continued to bake to keep that fire alive. There were days where the warmth was cooler than normal and my urge to bake waivered. Days like when my grandma stopped showing up outside my house every day a half hour after sunrise. Days like when my mother decided I was too much to raise when I stopped spending my time at the palace. And days like the one when I moved out of the city to live with my dad. 

However, there were also days where the flame was ablaze. Days like when I got my own personal baking set. Days like when I got accepted into a baking school. And days like today, where I return to the city that pushed me out fifteen years ago to open a bakery. Despite the dismal circumstances of the day I left, I always felt the urge to return. It never felt right that I moved in the first place. Confusion still envelops my mind when I think about how my grandma stopped taking me to the palace for unsaid reasons and how my mother was incapable of taking care of me due to it. There had to be something more going on. 

Outside of this mystery of my childhood, my main goal was to return with my own bakery specializing in my soon-to-be infamous mango tarts. I had visited the city for the first time since my move before to scope out bakery locations. But today was the day that I officially move in, to both my home and bakery, and kickstart my business. My first task was to put up a sign displaying the bakery’s name.

“Oh my goodness… so it is true!”

Warmth blooms in my chest; I would recognize that voice anywhere. I flip around and I’m greeted with her same sugary sweet smile. My grandma looks just as she did before but her hair is dusted white like the flour she worked with. But she still smelled like spiced apple pie, my eyes watered in disbelief. 

“Grandma!” I ran into her open arms and I could feel her chuckle. 

“Oh honey, it’s been much too long. Look at you now… a beautiful woman before my eyes,” She’s smiling widely and I can see her eyes take in my features. Fifteen years worth of change and growth. 

“I’m sorry we haven’t been in contact much. I could barely find the time to tell you I was coming back.”

“It’s alright. All that matters is you’re here,” Grandma rubs my arms reassuringly. “And are you here alone? Or have you moved back with a lover?” The childish gleam on her face makes me giggle and I quickly correct her that I’m single and focusing on my baking.

“Ah, I see. In that case, you must have more time than I anticipated. You must come with me to work one of these days. Just like old times. Consider it research for your bakery.” The way she sways with excitement makes it hard for me to turn it down, and I can’t deny the flutter in my heart at the idea of stepping foot onto the palace grounds again. It was where it all started for me. I agreed with a smile.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After a week of prepping the bakery, I decided to visit my grandma. To be completely honest, outside of the work I had to do, my nerves did play a role in keeping me from going earlier. But now that I’ve decided I’ve run out of excuses, I’m walking to the servant entrance of the palace a little before noon to give my grandmother the morning to solely focus on work. It makes me smile knowing I still remember the schedule of the palace kitchen. 

The streets surrounding the castle are quiet at this hour. I can still remember the hustle and commotion of the staff in the early morning, lining up to get inside to start their days. It was never daunting to be a young girl surrounded by a diverse array of people. It was thrilling and almost comforting and it was much better than staying home alone. 

When I reach the gates, I feel like I’ve traveled back in time because blocking my path is a young guard who looks eerily like Doyun, the guard I knew from before.

“How can I help you, miss?”

“Hi.” I’m inspecting his face. He has the same colored hair, but it’s parted differently. He has the same warm light brown eyes and his face is a little softer than Doyun’s. My mind can’t help but ask, “I’m sorry if this is a strange question but do you know Guard Doyun?”

His stiff demeanor drops like a curtain and the young guard’s eyes light up, “I’m his son, Yunseo! How do you know my father?” Suddenly I don’t see a guard in uniform, but instead a bright, inviting individual in his place.

“No wonder! I’m the granddaughter of the head baker. I used to greet your father every morning when I was a child.” 

“Oh yes! Yes, she told me you were coming. You can go right along in, just make sure she knows to sneak me an extra sweet treat.” He opens the gates for me.

“Ah like father, like son,” I giggle, slightly bowing to him as I enter.

“Do you remember how to get to the kitchen?”

I stare at the familiar worn cobblestone paths and nod, “I think so.”

The walk to the kitchen is shorter than I remember but the smell wafting from the windows is all the same. I reach the side door and I’m about to knock when I notice it’s creaked slightly open. I hear a voice above all the kitchen noise.

“Gran, please sneak something in my food today so I can get sick and stay in bed for the whole week. I do not want to court these women.” I peek my head in further to take a look at the man speaking. I let out a soft gasp when my eyes land on him.

Outside of his stunning beauty, he looks familiar. His tufts of chestnut brown hair are slightly waved as they curl around the nape of his neck. He often shakes his head to get the bangs out of his face, exposing his tan skin. If I look close enough, he has distinguishable moles on the plush curves of his cheeks. His rosy lips are wrapped around a piece of pastry and even when he’s talking with his mouth full, he’s still attractive. My eyes instantly widen when I notice his outfit: the royal attire.

A squeal escapes my mouth and before I could hide, the door is swung open by my grandma.

“You’re here!”

At the announcement of my arrival, the young man is dusting the crumbs off his hands, and looks like he’s about to make a quick escape. 

“Hi Grandma,” I give her a hug, not minding the flour sticking to my sweater. “I was just about to knock.” I let out a small laugh to hide the fact that I was definitely eavesdropping not moments ago.

“Grandma?” I hear the man say behind her. He decided to stay after realizing it wasn’t one of his guards coming to get him, but instead a pretty woman. An oddly, familiar, pretty woman. 

My grandma bites her lip to keep from smiling any bigger and she grabs my arm to present me to the man.

“Oh my. I forgot you guys know each other! It’s Donghyuck, do you remember, honey? You used to play with him every day as I worked.” The glint in her eyes is something more than just happy nostalgia and I give her a look.

“Pri-... Princess?” When the old nickname leaves his lips, I gasp and feel my cheeks bloom pink. The layers of the handsome man in front of me started to peel and I could see the little boy I spent my early life with. Most of my warmest days were spent with him. But I’m also brought back to one of the colder days of my childhood. The day I found out my childhood best friend was the Prince. 

At first, I didn’t understand why my grandma was so fearful of telling me who he really was. I was ecstatic to hear that Donghyuck was royalty. I was fascinated and curious to see what his life was like and how it compared to being the granddaughter of a palace worker. I soon learned that what I wanted to discover was not so glamorous. Because apparently, his life excluded me. I didn’t piece that together until a few years after my move. Why else did Donghyuck stop showing up and why else was I forbade from going to the palace with my grandma? When I came to the realization, I began to resent him and eventually, completely forgot about him.

“Prince Donghyuck,” I bowed, trying not to show any expression. He had his arm slightly raised like he was about to reach for me but his body stiffened at my curtness. My grandma even looks at me with confusion. “It’s… It’s nice to see you again.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be so polite. You guys were friends!” My grandma squeezes my arms, urging me to get closer. I stay in my place.

“He’s the Prince, Grandma,” I whisper through my teeth and I can tell he hears me by the dejected look on his face. I can’t get myself to look him in the eyes.

“It’s quite alright. I actually have to get going. Prin-... Sorry, It was lovely to see you,” The Prince ducks his head and leaves the way I came in. He looks back at my figure once more, thoughts churning, before he disappears.

My feet remain still and I’m staring at the place he stood. Staring at the pastry he bit into. He’s real and he’s back. And the door he walked through was the same one he used to leave me 15 years ago. The alarms rang in my brain and I quickly shook my head, grabbing a bowl and mixing whatever contents are in it. The faster I stirred, the more I begged my mind to stop thinking about Donghyuck.

“You’re overwhipping the cream.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♔

On every page he turned to, the words blurred and all Donghyuck could see was her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. She’s much taller now, and he naturally smiles remembering when she used to argue that he was only taller than her by a centimeter. Her hair was also longer and not bound in her classic two braids. Though he didn’t get to see her smile, he was sure that it’s brighter than before. After all, everything about her seemed to have grown more beautiful than before. Donghyuck wonders if he should be calling her “Queen” now with how wonderfully she’s aged. 

A delicate tap on his shoulder forces Donghyuck out of his lovestruck haze. “Prince Donghyuck, are you enjoying your book?”

He remembers that he’s in the library with one of his potential suitresses. He turns to her and almost wants to laugh. For the years that his childhood friend has been gone, it was the memory of her that invaded his mind whenever he was forced to go on these dates. But now that Donghyuck has seen her again in the flesh, he realizes how doomed he is and how these other princesses definitely don’t stand a chance.

During the fifteen years apart, Donghyuck’s gloom exacerbated the Queen’s determination to find him a future queen. Out of all his regular royal responsibilities, his courtships took the most time. He excels in all areas of his duties, but the one he can’t manage to succeed in is getting a wife. From playdates to formal dates, Donghyuck aged and remained single. And both he and the head baker knew why. 

Despite the Queen’s warnings to never enter the kitchen, Donghyuck found himself there every week whether it was to steal extra mango tarts or ask about the baker’s granddaughter. It was usually after failed dates when he’d trudge into the kitchen, completely drained of energy, and beg the baker to talk to him about his first love. Questions about where she is, how she’s doing, and whether she thinks of him spill from his mouth, and the baker would entertain him every time. Even if he only knew and could only remember the child version of her, Donghyuck still managed to compare her to every suitress he met. None of them stood a chance against his princess. And though with time he could recognize how silly this infatuation had gotten, he grew fatigued of courtship and this was the easiest way to go about it. The grandmother was wary of this long overrun connection as well, but at the same time commended him for his commitment to her granddaughter. She also didn’t have the heart to tell him to move on.

And now Donghyuck’s here, on another date and he actually has an image, a real person, to be thinking of. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think this is going to work out.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“So you are hiding from me?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” I drop the bowl of frosting at my feet and scramble to pick it up. A pair of far too expensive shoes enter my vision. I shoot up and my heart races, knowing exactly who it is.

“My prince,” I bow, meeting the ground once more. I stand upright and give him a passing smile.

“I like hearing you say that,” The Prince smirks. He swiftly scoops a finger of frosting before popping it in his mouth.

“Formalities,” I respond and I move the bowl out of his reach.

He chuckles and he starts to fiddle with an apron left on the counter.

“So you’ve been visiting at nighttime. Are you actually avoiding me?” He looks at me like he’s challenging me to say no. 

Yes. “No, I just prefer the kitchen at night.” I clutch the frosting bowl tighter and focus my attention on what’s salvageable.

“You mean my kitchen… which you’ve been sneaking into with the help of my guard.” I can feel that he’s moved closer and I wince.

“Yes… I’m sorry. My grandma said it’d be okay and my kitchen at the bakery isn’t finished being built. If you’d like me to stop coming, I can.” I start to untie my apron and his hand catches my wrist.

“No,” He blurts out. “There’s no need. Feel free to use the kitchen.” The Prince raises his hands in the air as if to give me permission. I politely nod and go back to fixing my frosting, ignoring the tingling I feel on my wrist. 

He doesn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he puts on the apron from the counter and leans in to watch.

“Um, what are you doing?” The Prince is tapping the table and humming as he stares at me.

“Hanging out,” He says matter-of-factly. 

“I see,” And that’s all that I can say because who am I to kick the Prince out of his own kitchen? So I just mix and continue doing my thing.

“Just like the old days. You do remember, right?” I make the mistake of looking up and meeting his eyes. He’s looking at me like his question meant more than just a test of my memory.

“Vaguely… It was a long, long time ago.” A time I don’t wish to relive.

There’s a short pause before The Prince replies.

“Well, I remember. I think I’ll always remember. You were my best friend… And those were probably the best days of my life.” He doesn’t look at me when he says this. In fact, he looks nervous to be admitting it in the first place. 

All I can do is nod, not knowing what to say to his confession. Especially when the feeling I get when I look back on those times is not as positive.

“Anyway… I’m planning on recreating those times.” Without thinking, I meet his eyes and he’s smiling hopefully. “So don’t try to hide from me next time. I’ll be here whenever you are. Think of it as your payment for using the kitchen.” 

The uneasiness and warmth in my stomach are hard to decipher. The thought of spending more time with him is thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I try to ease my nerves by mixing even harder and he notices before laughing. 

With my unspoken agreement, we spend the rest of the night in silence, just in each other’s presence. Every now and then he steals a bite of my makings and tries to lighten the air with a poorly made joke. And I don’t hold my laughter back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“And then, once the frosting is on, you can add the strawberries.” I demonstrate by putting the nicely sliced strawberries on in a thin layer. 

“When are you going to teach me how to make the mango tart?” The Prince pouts and bites the strawberries instead of putting them on the cake. I scowl and move the bowl away from him. 

“When are you going to stop eating my ingredients?”

He smirks and taps the counter, “When are you going to stop using my kitchen?” He tilts his head to the side to goad me.

I roll my lips into my mouth and stuff another strawberry in his face when he laughs. 

“Eat up,” I say sickeningly sweet.

Completely out of my control, my hangouts with Prince Donghyuck have returned. However, this time, I know he’s the prince and instead of every day in the morning, it’s 2 to 3 times a week at night. My excuse is that my kitchen in the bakery isn’t done being built, but to be completely honest, I could have it done by the end of the week. Maybe it’s because I enjoy my time with the Prince or maybe it’s because I actually do want the extra amenities I asked to be installed last minute… who knows? The end conclusion is that I find myself in the palace’s kitchen more often than I intended, and I find myself enjoying the Prince’s company more than I intended.

“Okay, your highness. Do you think you can stack these layers evenly?” 

He gives me a playful salute, mouth full of cream, as he hops off the kitchen counter. He stands by my side and takes the cake from my hands.

“You know… as much as I like hearing you call me ‘your highness,’ why don’t you ever call me by my name anymore?” 

“Because now I know you’re the Prince.” And I don’t know how it feels to have your name roll off my tongue as it did before, I think to myself.

The Prince lets out a low whistle. “Do you see me differently?” He trains his eyes to the level of the cake to get it precisely right. I watch him from above.

“It’s been fifteen years… so yes, I do see you differently.” I move to mix more frosting to coat the cake with.

“Okay,” He nods, thinking about my response. “So me being the Prince isn’t part of it?” He glances at me quickly with what I can assume is worry before he goes to add another layer of cake.

“Mmm… It is. Not a big part, but definitely a part. I think it’s mainly because you’ve grown up, We’ve both grown up. Maybe me more than you,” I tease. He sticks his tongue out at me and I make a face back. “Example number one.”

He finishes putting on the last layer and stands up straight to admire his work.

“What makes me different than before?” He takes the frosting bowl from my hands and begins icing the cake like I’ve taught him a couple of days ago. I take this as a break and I lift myself up to sit on the counter, dangling my feet.

“You’re taller than me, for one,” he gasps in fake shock and I hit him on the shoulder. 

“You’re dressed nicer.”

“That’s not a compliment for me, that’s a compliment for my stylist,” He corrects me.

“True, okay. You’re smarter than before, I can see you’re not skipping your tutoring sessions. And… you’re not as cute.”

At that, he perks up, frosting is long forgotten. “What do you mean I’m not as cute?” And with the face he’s making, I almost take back my words.

“Well, your highness, you were a boy before. Of course, you’re not cute now. You’re a man.” I roll my eyes as if that were the most obvious thing.

“If I’m not cute, then what am I?” He squints at me and I can tell I’ve fallen into a trap.

“You’re… You’re handsome. Now,” I mutter out. I quickly clear my throat and point to a bald spot on the cake. “Hey, you missed a spot.”

Without even looking at him, I know he’s smiling. “You think I’m handsome.”

“Alright,” I drag out the word. “You’re the Prince. Aren’t you supposed to be handsome so you can woo and marry a pretty princess?”

“Not exactly. Being ridiculously handsome isn’t a royal requirement.”

I let out a scoff, “When did I say ‘ridiculously handsome’?”

“You didn’t have to, I see it on your face.” He taps my cheek and I suddenly notice how close our faces have gotten. Before I know it, my face is blooming pink again and I can feel the warmth shoot from my head to the rest of my body. I launch myself back and adjust my apron. And he stares at me like he’s won.

“Okay, your turn. What’s different about me?” I look around the kitchen to get my heart to settle down. What is happening?

The Prince doesn’t hesitate. “Well, you’re just as beautiful as you were before. Maybe even more.”

I gasp at his words and look him in the eyes. There’s no hint of his typical teasing attitude; he looks completely genuine. My mind goes blank and my ability to respond is rendered useless. He seems to notice that so he brushes off his comment quickly, thinking he’s overstepped.

“Anyways, since we’ve discovered that the only thing that makes me different from before is that I’m exceptionally more handsome-”

“Didn’t say that.”

“-Then why don’t you just call me ‘Donghyuck.’ Like you did before.”

Maybe it’s because he called me beautiful. Maybe it’s because I like the idea of exclusively calling him ‘Donghyuck.’ Or maybe I’m excited to eat the cake we just made, but my heart is fluttering quicker than it ever has.

“Okay. Donghyuck.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“FIRE! DONGHYUCK! FIRE, FIRE!”

“OH SHIT!”

Watching the medium sized fire bursting from the top of the pot, I run to the fire extinguisher. I’m scrambling to grab it, swift to squeeze the white dust all over the burning stove, despite the dough covering my hands. I hear Donghyuck’s screams in the back and he’s grabbing my shoulders to hide. Once I see the last flame get coated, I drop the extinguisher on the ground, exhausted.

I feel his hands digging into my shoulder blades and I grab him by the jacket, turning him to face me. Knowing how to cover his ass, he smiles in shame, rubbing my arm.

“I swear I was watching the stove,” He whips out his baby voice and try my best not to smack the side of his head. He’s the Prince. He’s the Prince. He’s the Prince, I repeat to myself. 

“Your looks distracted me.” I slap him anyways.

He groans in pain, even though I could’ve slapped harder and I cross my arms to look as threatening as possible. 

“You burnt the caramel,” I whine, staring at the black tar in my brand new pot. “And my pot!”

He immediately attacks me with a hug, shaking me around, mumbling apologies. “I’ll buy you a new one, I promise! I’ll buy you three! Four? Seven!”

“Make it eight,” I huff, tearing his arms off me, only to weirdly miss them.

He gasps, hands against his head in shock. “You definitely dressed prettier today just so I could set your pot on fire and buy you twenty more… You’re evil,” He looks at me like I’ve masterminded the biggest robbery of the century. 

I narrow my eyes at him, lifting my hand to smack him again. “And you’re on timeout. No more baking today.” I start putting away the dishes I had ready.

“Hey! Who’s older here?” Donghyuck begins helping me sort the supplies into the pantry.

“I’m pretty sure I am,” I say, trying to remember if we told each other our birthdays back then.

“When were you born?”

“May.”

“Shit,” He mutters. He tosses the burnt pot into the trashcan, wincing at the char. “Okay, let’s keep the ball rolling. What’s your favorite color?”

I laugh, “Really? Also should I save this dough for tomorrow when we try again?” I hold it up to show him and inspects it.

“Yeah, why not? Just wear a trashbag or something tomorrow.” I kick him in the foot and he chuckles. “But yes, really. What’s your favorite color? I like red.”

“Purple,” I play along while saran wrapping the dough. “Favorite food?”

“Kimchi jjigae,” he spits out, with no hesitation. I nod along, remembering all the times he’s requested it as a midnight snack while we bake. “What do you like to do besides baking?”

“I like to go on walks. When I moved out of the city and with my dad, we lived near the beach. It was nice to just walk on the shore only five minutes away from me. I miss it sometimes. I should probably visit soon.” I tap the bowl mindlessly, trying to figure out my schedule.

“You should take me,” Donghyuck says. He’s right next to me now. “I always wondered where you went after I stopped seeing you. I assumed you were still in the city, until your grandma told me you moved-moved.”

“Ohh, no, yeah. I moved. It was hard leaving everything I knew, but at the same time, I learned so much when I was there with my dad. Come with me next time, and we can hangout on the beach. Nothing should be too flammable there.” I tease, bumping his hip with mine. He laughs with me, but I can tell his mind is somewhere else. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks almost guilty.

“You know, when I found out you were the Prince, I wrote down a list of questions. I was so excited to see what your life is like.” 

This grabbed his attention and my heart eased seeing his eyes light up a little more. The kitchen was relatively clean now, so I decided to prop myself up on the counter. Donghyuck always gets mad at the sudden height difference, but I can tell he loves it when he naturally wedges himself between my thighs like he does right now.

“Yeah? Do you remember any?” His hands were pinned on either side of my hips, forearms pressed against my outer thighs. It’s comfortable. I’m not sure when we got so comfortable. “This is kind of like ‘Princess and The Pauper.’”

I snort trying to remember my list. “I think I wanted to know how many crowns you had.”

“Classic question. I’m pretty sure I have three. My head’s kinda small, so it actually takes awhile for them to make it.”

I hum, investigating his head. “I can tell.”

“Mean.” He lightly pinches my thigh and I stop staring at his skull.

“I also wanted to know if you had any royal pets.”

“A cute, small, white dog. Yep.” He nods, like he’s impressed with himself for having such a basic dog and I have to laugh. 

“Any cool cars?”

“Tons,” He brags. “Okay, what does ‘Adult You’ want to know?”

There’s always been a question I wanted to ask him since I started hanging out with him again. It nagged in the back of my mind as I watched him, always happy, always cheering everyone on. Despite his bright facial expressions and body language, I could tell it was tiring, it must be. I never imagined the royal life to be hard, or as hard as my own, until I met him again.

I look at his face, checking for any signs that I shouldn’t be asking him. But he looks at me with such softness and openness, that I don’t hesitate to ask.

“Are you happy? Like… do you like being the Prince?”

His eyes widened at my question and he looks down at my lap to think. He takes longer than I expect, and I assume no one has ever bothered to ask. His silence is telling.

“Hey…,” I reach for his face to lift his chin up. “It’s okay to say you’re not. You don’t have to be all the time.”

He flinches like this was a concept he couldn’t accept for himself. I grab his face a little tighter so he really hears me.

“As long as you’re at least looking for your happiness, that’s all that matters,” I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “You deserve all the happiness, Hyuck.”

I can see his mind slowly wrapping around my words as something in his face shifts. He looks hesitant for a different reason.

“And what if I find my happiness in you?” I gasp, instinctively letting go of his face slightly. He’s fast to bring his hand up to keep mine there. His fingers slot between my gaps. He looks desperate to keep me here.

Knowing my words hold immense weight, I still don’t stop myself from saying, “Then I’ll be that for you, in whatever way I can.”

Despite me being vague, Donghyuck takes all that he can. His face blooms into a smile and I return it, knowing it was cause of me. He holds my hand this time and brings it down to my lap, sighing happily.

“Thank you.”

And for a split second, I’m scared for what I’ve promised. After all, he’s the prince and I’m the pauper.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♔

Donghyuck is the happiest he has ever been. Unlike how it was when he was a kid, he’s attending his classes, his meetings, and even having lunches with the princesses the Queen sends over. However, he can’t promise that these dates are leading up to a potential marriage. He’s doing just enough so that his mother doesn’t get suspicious. Best of all, for most nights, he gets to sneak into the kitchen and talk, bake, and laugh for hours.

The secret hangouts are going amazingly. He can tell she’s warming up to him as she did back then or maybe it’s just the fire from the oven heating up the place. Last week, the kitchen at her new bakery finally finished being built and he knows this because he hired his staff to make sure the job was done well without telling her. That day he expected her to come in and tell him that she had to stop seeing him, but she still showed up like clockwork – two to three times a week. 

Next week, her bakery is set to have its grand opening and Donghyuck hopes this isn’t what actually stops her from coming to see him. He’s even practiced his baking skills on his own and eaten less of the fruit while they’re together in hopes it doesn’t make her want to leave again. And so for the following week, Donghyuck is treading carefully.

“Do you need help with that, Princess?”

“Should I preheat the oven for you?”

“Here, let me tie your apron.”

“I’ll carry that for you.”

All of these mini acts of chivalry are met with a suspicious gaze and a light dusting of red on her cheeks. Donghyuck feels a sense of achievement whenever she accepts his help. And this all leads up to the night before her grand opening.

Donghyuck is lighting the last candle when the sound of keys unlocking the side kitchen door is heard. He quickly blows out the match before scurrying behind the table to greet her with a “Surprise!”

“Donghyuck! Don’t do that! God, I thought I was caught for sneaking in.”

He rolls his eyes at her lackluster reaction and reorients himself. 

“I said… Surprise!” He dramatically waves his arms around to show all the work he put into decorating the kitchen. She finally notices her surroundings and her eyes light up. Donghyuck can feel his heart soften, compared to how it was racing earlier trying to set all of this up without his staff.

“What… what is all of this?” Her hands are covering her mouth in disbelief. There are streamers and fairy lights gracing the walls and candles are littered all around the room. Donghyuck is standing in the center with a single cupcake in his hands.

“Congrats. I heard from the grapevine that your bakery opens tomorrow.” She laughs at his theatrics and sets her bag down to look at the cupcake he’s made. In messy red font, the top of the treat reads the name of her bakery. She almost wants to tear up.

“Only one? Are we sharing?” She takes the cupcake from his hands and he tries not to think too hard about her fingers touching his.

“Well, I made that myself, and I personally don’t trust that I didn’t mess up the recipe in some way. So if anyone’s getting food poisoning tonight, it’d be you.” He taps her nose. “Eat up!”

At that, her jaw drops and she keeps the cupcake at a distance as if it’s some nuclear substance.

“Do you secretly want me dead?” She laughs.

“Hey, when it comes down to a royal and a baker. The baker’s going.” Donghyuck mimics his throat being slit and bites his lip to stop himself from smiling too hard. He loves to mess with her.

“You are the worst. Way to look out for your people, your highness.” She begins to unwrap the cupcake, taking a sniff out of precaution.

“‘Your Highness’? Aw, Princess, don’t be like that.” He moves closer to her and she shifts back, tutting.

“Nope. As a baker under your kingdom, I will gladly sacrifice myself by eating this cupcake. Alone.” She dramatically curtsies before going in for a hesitant bite.

Donghyuck swiftly beats her to it and takes a large bite out of the other end as her lips touch the cupcake. Her eyes widen in shock and he sends her a wink before brushing the crumbs off his mouth.

“Now you can’t tell me I don’t care about my people,” He says while chewing the weird texture of his creation. Donghyuck smirks at the deer-in-headlights reaction she has on her face. 

She gulps, shaking her head so that her hair hides her blush. She sets the cupcake down, not wanting a reminder of how close his face just was.

“Well, it’s edible,” She jokes. Donghyuck’s tongue prods the inside of his mouth as he takes in what was supposedly a compliment.

“Says the one who took the smallest bite known to man,” He accuses, pointing at the cupcake.

“How was I supposed to take a bigger one when you practically shoved your face into it and devoured half?” Once again, she’s reminded of what just transpired and feels her cheeks growing warm.

“Ooo, did I make you flustered? Scared your lips were about to touch mine?” Donghyuck takes a step closer and brushes a nonexistent crumb off her lip with his thumb. He hopes she doesn’t feel his heart pounding like fireworks.

Like she can sense his fake confidence, she grabs his wrist. “Is that what you were thinking about when you took a bite? Kissing me?” She tilts her head to the side and his whole body buzzes.

Before he could crumble even further, he tears his hand out of hers. “Please. Like I’d let anyone touch these royal lips.” He turns around to calm himself down and pretends to busy himself with something on the fridge.

He hears her laugh behind him. “I bet they’re not as sweet as a baker’s.”

He turns around and narrows his eyes at her. “How did this grand opening celebration turn into you messing with me?” Accepting defeat, he resorts to fake anger and his signature pout.

“You started it,” She playfully rolled her eyes. “Anyways…”

With the softest smile, she says, “Thank you, Hyuck. I really appreciate you.”

He returns it, “Always.”

The rest of the night is filled with laughter and playful bickering as the two avoid finishing the mysteriously textured cupcake. Donghyuck makes multiple attempts to pit the blame on her as the teacher, and the soon-to-be bakery owner fails to leave and sleep early at the expense of the Prince’s whines. To be honest, the lack of sleep was worth it if she got to spend more time with him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Now that the bakery is well past its grand opening and flourishing greatly, I’ve gotten my days back. My employees are well-trained and seasoned and I feel comfortable taking days off when I need to. Oddly, my new opened-up schedule was somehow sensed by Donghyuck and I was invited to the palace during the daytime for the first time ever. I was nervous at first to be sneaking in in broad daylight, but he assured me that if I followed the steps he gave me exactly, I’d be fine – not that reassuring. 

As written in his note, I greeted Yunseo, the guard, as usual, and he gave me weird looks, going back and forth between the sun and my face.

“You know the sun is out, right?” He asked, still looking at me funny.

I gave him the most incredulous look. “You’re joking? It’s not nighttime?” I made an effort to crazily look around and he sighed.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d switch things up,” I shrugged, not wanting to reveal who I was meeting.

Yunseo nodded, “Fair… okay, be careful, okay? The palace feels a little frantic today.” With that, he opened the gates for me and I gave him a smile.

“You’re the best. Make sure to stop by sometime this week, I have pastries for you.” I waved goodbye as he promised to come. 

Following Donghyuck’s poorly drawn-out map, I realized our meeting point isn’t the kitchen and that he’s taking me on an obscure path that the Queen and King definitely are not aware exists. As I walk through centuries-old, dimly lit stone walls, I think about how many times Donghyuck has used these secret passageways and if little Donghyuck used these when he snuck out to see me, 15 years ago. I can imagine 7-year-old Donghyuck discovering these routes within the castle’s walls.

“Stop right there!” A voice echoes through the abandoned hallway.

My heart spazzes and as loud as my brain is yelling at me to run, my feet don’t budge. I curse under my breath and crumple Donghyuck’s map in my hands, remembering to kill him unless I die right here. And if I do happen to die here, then I have to make sure I return as a ghost, haunting that man for life. I turn around slowly, eyes half closed, to see who’s behind me, but there’s no one there. There’s no one in the passageway at all. I whip around a few more times to confirm and I notice a crack in the wall to my right. It’s a peephole overlooking the actual palace hallways.

Out of curiosity, I look through and I see the Queen, face as red as the beautiful gown she adorns.

“Prince Lee Donghyuck,” his name is spat out like bile. “You will follow my orders.”

Coming into view, I see Donghyuck. He and the Queen are in the middle of a heated argument. His head is hung low and I can see him playing with his sleeves like he does when he gets anxious. I wish to reach for him, but then I remember the wall separating us.

“Your majesty, I… I can’t. I don’t want to,” He hiccups, and if I can’t see the tears on his face, I can hear them. “I never did.”

The space in my chest feels as tight and narrow as the walkway I’m in and I want to look away, but I can’t.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You are the Prince and you are expected to marry a Princess. How dare you fool me for all these years?” As the Queen, she still carries her natural elegance, but her words burn like acid. She’s speaking to him at a normal volume, but her tone pierces your ears. 

“I-I didn’t mean to fool you. I tried my best, but I don’t love them. I don’t love the suitresses you send. And I need you to understand that I never will.” Donghyuck finally looks up and I can see the desperation in his eyes from where I stand. 

“Love?,” The Queen laughs bitterly. “I don’t need you to love them. You just need to marry one. As the Prince, what makes you think you have the privilege of being in love? Not when you have a country to rule.” There’s less anger in her words and more disappointment. 

Donghyuck winces, looking like he’s fighting back what he wants to say. His bottom lip is trembling and the grip he has on his sleeves is tight. His whole body practically shakes. Eventually, he lets go.

“If I’m not meant to love someone, then explain to me why I already do. Explain to me why I love her? Explain to me why I can’t have her?!” 

Tears are rolling down his cheeks like heavy rainfall. “I never asked for this!” He screams, and I wonder to which he’s referring to. 

My body is sweaty like I ran a mile and I feel like my breathing can be heard through the wall. He never mentions my name, but I know, I can feel, that he’s talking about me. My whole body is buzzing and I don’t know whether to feel ecstatic or sad. Despite my confusion, one feeling is clear: fear. Before I can hear what the Queen has to say, I run. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♔

“Oh God. Sorry, I was supposed to get here before you. I was supposed to be part of the surprise,” He smiles meekly, praying the puffiness from crying doesn’t make him look strange. He accidentally sniffles and hopes she blames it on the flowers and his chronic allergies.

She’s sitting in the garden chair next to the tea table Donghyuck had set up an hour ago. He scoped out a secluded spot in the royal garden and slowly put everything together. He moves to sit down across from her and she’s staring intently at the cup in front of her. 

“I asked Gran what your favorite tea is and brewed some for us. I know I don’t have your baking skills, but if we get hungry, we can sneak back to the kitchen,” he playfully winks, trying to hide the fact that he was in the worst state five minutes ago. Although he can’t bake, he can definitely make a good batch of tea. He hopes it hasn’t gone cold. 

He waits for a response, but she’s still frozen, chewing the inside of her cheek. Maybe he’s still on edge from his argument with the Queen, but she doesn’t look happy. This is definitely not the reaction he was expecting.

“Do you wanna try the tea? I bet it’ll amaze you so much, you’ll beg me for the recipe,” he teases. The teapot hovers over her cup, but she makes no move to accept it.

“Okay, no tea. That’s fine,” Donghyuck chooses to laugh it off. “Do you wanna walk around? Most of the garden is secluded so we don’t have to worry about someone catching us.”

“Would that be so bad?” The first words she whispers strike him with confusion. Her voice is dry like she just strained it.

“Huh?” He tilts his head, scooting his chair in closer to hear her.

“Would that be so bad?” She says, unable to bate her anger. “Being caught with me? Would his royal highness hate being found walking with me?”

“Hey,” Donghyuck grabs her hand from her lap, interlocking his fingers. “What’s going on?” She tears her hand out from his hold like it stung and he feels like he’s making mistake after mistake.

“I-I’m sorry, is this too much? I wanted to do something nice for our first date outside of the kitchen. Was this a mistake?” He starts to stack the plates, quickly discarding his work. “I usually don’t plan these myself, so I’m sorry if this is bad. I-”

Donghyuck sees her wince in his peripheral and feels her hand on his wrist as he’s about to haphazardly dump the tea in the bushes. Her hands are cold today.

“Date?” The word leaves her mouth as if it made her sick.

The alarms go off in Donghyuck’s mind. “Date? Did I say date? Sorry, I actually mean-”

“Donghyuck,” she cuts him off. He can see her harshly swallow. “Why are you doing this?”

He blinks. “I… I wanted to do something nice for us. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Donghyuck can feel himself beginning to ramble.

“No. Why have you been hanging out with me? If it’s because you feel guilty about ditching me all those years ago, forget about it. I don’t care anymore.” She looks at him with so much intensity, not only trying to convince him, but convince herself that none of this matters.

“Princess, please. No, it’s not out of pity. You know that.” He shakes his head almost violently, begging her to believe his honest intentions. He was shocked he had to convince her in the first place, always assuming she knew his heart better than him.

Completely ignoring him, she continues, “And why aren’t you married yet?”

“W-what?” Similar to whiplash, Donghyuck feels like his brain has just been jostled. Are his ears tricking him and forcing him to relive the traumatic conversation he just had with his mother? Why is this topic being brought up?

“You’re the Prince,” she says like it’s an unwavering fact. “You’re meeting with princesses weekly. You’re meant to rule side by side as King and Queen. Why… why aren’t you married yet?” She asks and her eyes are ice cold like her hands. 

She too closely resembles the older woman who was just yelling at him moments ago. The casing around his heart begins to harden and the feeling he gets from the girl in front of him is now anger. The same bitter taste returns in his mouth.

“Are you serious?” He looks at her and the Donghyuck she knows has washed away. Betrayal, rage, and sorrow are painted across his face. It was like she was looking through the peephole again.

“Don’t ask stupid questions you know the answers to,” he mutters, words barely making it past his tight lips. He’s breathing much harder than before.

“Answer me. Why. Aren’t. You. Married.” Her hands are gripping the edge of her knees to stop them from shaking. 

Donghyuck stares at her for a long time, eyes flittering over every facial feature, confirming that she actually wants to hear the answer. Her face is firm and her question is set. He takes a deep, pained breath and leans back slightly.

“It’s because I love you.” Not like the confession he imagined in his head, Donghyuck reveals his long-term feelings like this was their end and not their new beginning. The period at the end of a sentence. The last page of a hardcover book. The last second on a timer.

She simply nods, stiff in the neck. She excuses herself before standing up, bowing, and walking away.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That’ll be $6.06. Would you like your receipt?”

The cash register dings with another purchase and I slump back in my chair as the customer leaves. It was a slow and agonizing shift with only two more hours till closing. It’s also been a slow and agonizing two weeks. 

I’m haunted by what went down at the royal garden almost every hour of the day. At first, I was using every chance I could get to skip work and wallow at home. But suddenly the plants in my room reminded me of him and the teacups in my cabinets smelled like the tea he prepared for us. So for the second week, I decided to dedicate myself to work. I’ve been coming in every single day and overworking myself to the point where my employees don’t know what to do but stand around. I debate whether or not to let them leave early when a familiar head of brown hair walks in. My heart picks up its pace and it’s like the teacups all over again.

“Donghyu- oh. Hi, welcome!” I smile wide, trying to hide the previous disappointment drawn on my face. The customer gives me an awkward smile back and begins browsing the pastry racks as I mentally slap myself.

I slump down to the floor behind the counter and silently groan in my hands. Why does every male brunette customer these past two weeks remind me of him? And why are there so many of them? Like every other time I’ve confused a customer with Donghyuck, the guilt begins to creep back into my system and I get flashbacks of our last conversation. 

“Why aren’t you married?,” I mock my own voice. “Are you stupid?” I repeatedly hit my palms against my head when I hear a ding from the counter bell. I quickly shoot up and brush the bangs out of my face, hoping the customer thinks I’m at least slightly normal.

“Hi, how can I hel- Grandma!” On instinct, I glance behind her, foolishly hoping he’s hiding behind her tiny frame, and my shoulders slump when I’m met with no one. So now I’m really imagining him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, composing myself.

“Just checking in on you. I notice you haven’t been coming to the kitchen because when I come in in the mornings, my counter is actually clean,” she jokes. I smile sheepishly and nervously adjust the apron string around my neck. 

“Sorry, it’s usually Donghyuck’s fault,” I quickly clear my throat, answering a little too fast. “The Prince, I mean.”

Grandma’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of his name and she looks down at her feet, suddenly fidgety. I notice her change in demeanor instantly. 

“Speaking of him…”

“We don’t need to,” I cut her off. “Speak about him, I mean.” I wince at how suspicious my words sound.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I’m just curious… if anything happened between you two.” She whispers the last part, looking back at the customer to make sure he can’t hear. She clears her throat and steps behind the counter with me, naturally rearranging the bread in the display case. She busies herself while encouraging me to speak.

I gnaw on my lip, tapping the counter, debating if I should finally talk it out with someone. I’ve only been talking to my employees about bread starters and yeast.

“We fought.” I admit.

“About?” Grandma loads the case with more bread. I start passing them to her one by one. 

“He told me… he told me he loved me.” I press my lips together and I hear her head hit the top of the display case and the bread hit the floor. “Grandma! Are you okay?”

I crouch down, grabbing the top of her head to inspect, and she’s giving me the most incredulous look.

“He told you he loved you?!” She squealed at an embarrassingly non-discrete volume, making the customer drop the pastry in his hands. He’s looking around, frazzled, and I can see him debate whether or not he should pick it back up.

“Don’t worry about it! I’ll clean it up!” I screamed from behind the counter. 

“Grandma, keep it down,” I curse through my teeth.

She’s rubbing her head and shaking it in either pain or confusion.

“I know, I know. A Prince saying he’s in love with the baker’s granddaughter is farfetched and unrealistic. I get it.” It’s what has been circling through my brain every day.

“That’s not what I’m confused about, dear.” She looks like she’s debating what to say next. “Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” At the end of my question, and like a universal sign, the door jingles and the mailman is rushing in, hair swept back by the wind. 

“Sorry! I forgot to drop this off this morning. It’s urgent mail.” He salutes and is out the door as quickly as he enters. 

On the counter is a letter with the royal stamp. My stomach feels queasy assuming this is the first contact I’ve had from Donghyuck since our fight, but I can’t help the naive smile that breaks out on my face. I rush to open it, not worrying about the papercuts. Every doubt that was just in my head disappeared and my grandma interjects, hoping to bring me back down from my high.

“Sweetie, wait. I need to tell you that-”

To the owner of Princess Bakery,

Prince Lee Donghyuck will be celebrating his union with Princess Nam Soohae on 26 May, 2023 at the royal garden grounds. The royal family requests a wedding cake to be made with your expertise and culinary skills. 

Please accept this royal assignment with details soon to come.

Signed,

The Lees

The words on the page silenced me and my thoughts, my breaths barely leaving my lips. My eyes kept darting across the paper; the calligraphed words are being repeated over and over again in my brain. 

Prince Lee Donghyuck.

His union.

Wedding cake.

Realization finally dawns that this isn’t the love letter or apology I was expecting from Prince Donghyuck. A breath finally escapes and it’s shaky as it wavers in the air like an offkey music note. A heart-stopping pain envelopes my chest and it seizes up to my eyes. The whites of the paper burn my irises. I catch a teardrop splattering onto the parchment. I’m haunted with images of Donghyuck at the altar with someone else. And then I’m thinking about the garden. And us. 

Surprise.

Our first date.

Because I love you.

Because he loves me? Because Prince Lee Donghyuck loves me? Prince Lee Donghyuck who is getting married to an actual princess in a week? Suddenly, it feels like the floor’s unsteady and the oven temperature was turned up to the highest. The letter wrinkles between my fingers and the ink smudges with salty tears. 

This is what I was afraid of. And yet this is what I set myself up for. I knew I should have stopped seeing him. I knew it the moment mango tarts began to remind me of him. The moment my secret ingredient of love found in every bake was powered by him and his place in my heart. Even though I meant to stop this from happening during our talk in the royal garden, that small teaspoon of hope was still sprinkled in my mind. That hope stayed every time I saw a plant, a teacup, or a brunette. But now it’s dissolved.

A new feeling washes over me. One that I haven’t felt once these past two weeks. Not false hope. Not heartbreak. And not regret.

Anger. 

“Don’t blame him.” 

My grandma’s words slice through the red and her hands on my arms attempt to calm me down. I look up through wet lashes, lips trembling.

“Donghyuck… Prince Donghyuck had no say. The royals… they never do.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my grandma?” I clench my jaw to stop the shaking, slightly regretting my bitter words. 

Her grip is softer. “Oh honey, I am. And that’s why I’m telling you not to waste this energy on being mad at him. What you guys share is beautiful, don’t let this taint it.” She takes the letter out of my hands and physically turns me to face her.

“Shared,” I corrected her.

“Share,” She corrects me. “Your love for each other is seen by everyone. I know it can’t flourish the way love is supposed to, but at least cherish it for what it was.”

Her words reintroduce more feelings. Sorrow. Frustration. 

“I was really hoping this time it works out…” She voices my thoughts.

At this point, I’m hiccupping between breaths, caught between reliving the past and hearing these explanations. The world was never meant to have us together it seems. But at least I was told this time we had an ending.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next royal letter came two days after the first, and I was called to spend a week in the royal palace to test out different wedding cakes. I essentially had no choice but to say yes as the royal chauffeurs picked me up every morning to take me there. It felt like those sunrises with my grandma when I was seven but the butterflies in my stomach turned into bees. Unlike the past, I prayed I wouldn’t run into Prince Donghyuck, but with him having requested I make his cake, I’m sure he knows I’m here.

My grandma designated a portion of the kitchen to me as the head baker and it mimicked the old days as much as it could. That was until I got a visitor on the second day.

“Good morning! I’m Princess Nam Soohae.”

My eyes widened and my whisk fell out of my grasp as I took in her presence. She’s beautiful. She’s an actual princess. Her bright, toothy smile would’ve made anyone smitten if it weren’t for the fact that she was about to marry the man I loved. The pretty pink dress she wore was tinted green through my eyes. I shook my head, trying to remind myself of my place. 

“Good morning,” I bowed. “I’m the baker in charge of your wedding cake.” My smile faltered only slightly with the mention of the union.

She giggles and I almost want to laugh with her. “I know that, silly. I was sent by the Queen to sample some. Or should I say my future mother-in-law.” She bites her perfectly manicured nail with excitement.

Soohae leans her hands on the counter and peers at the bowl in my hand.

“Is there any to try right now?” Her head surveys the kitchen like a kid looking for cookies. It’s genuinely hard to dislike her.

“Um, I have a few cakes placed to the side to cool right now. There’s no frosting on it yet, but I’m sure it’d be good to try the base first!” I move to grab one of the trays and she flutters to follow me.

“Ooooh!” She gushes. “I’m so excited to try it. My own wedding cake, can you believe it?”

“No.” I almost drop the cake. “I mean, yes? Sorry. Getting married to the one you love is… it’s a crazy thing.” I cut a piece of cake and place it on a plate for her.

She doesn’t hesitate to take a bite and as she chews, she thinks. 

“I don’t love him yet, to be honest. This cake is really good, by the way.” I start cutting a slice from the other cake to sample. “But I know I will love him eventually. I already get butterflies when I look at him. I trust that he’s the one for me, I mean have you seen him?”

Before I can agree, and thank god she doesn’t give me a second to, she continues, “I know it’s silly for a person in my position to believe in the one. But I really, really do think it could be him. The other day he brought me my favorite flowers, like how did he know?!” She pops a bite of the other cake in and her eyes light up.

“Oh this is the one! Don’t even think about giving me another,” The Princess reaches for another bite and applauds me.

I laugh and make sure to note to go with the lemon base and not the mango one. As my hands are about to toss the mango cake away, my mind stops me and I consider whether Donghyuck would prefer this instead. The clanking of the Princess’s fork on the plate, finishing the lemon cake slice till it’s crumbs, reels me back and I let the cake fall into the garbage. It feels eerily like a metaphor.

For the rest of the week, Princess Soohae visits me and taste tests the frosting, fondant, and other things she wants. With every passing day, I hear more about Haechan and I can feel that her words have turned fonder. Coincidentally, her sweet tooth has gotten worse and the final components of the wedding cake are a complete sugar bomb like her personality.

On my final day, the Queen joins her. The last time I saw her majesty, she was berating the Prince as I secretly watched. It felt like I was in that hidden passageway again as she watches me prepare a slice of the wedding cake for her. My hands shake, placing the plate down in front of her and her gaze is sharp. It’s interesting how harsh her energy is when her facial features are as soft as the Prince’s. She looks like she’s been through a lot and I wonder if Donghyuck will experience the same thing when he fulfills his role as King. Like she can tell I’m thinking about him, The Queen’s eyes narrow. 

“I hope you enjoy,” I bow, and she doesn’t say a word. Princess Soohae on the other hand is completely bubbling over how good it turned out and how her guests are sure to love it too. 

The Queen simply nibbles on a piece and nods along. The black and white vibes almost give me whiplash as I stand there, watching the two of them. A sweat forms on my hairline and I’m internally glad this is my last day. I can’t go through this any longer. 

And like a karmic jinx, the kitchen door opens and a familiar brunette walks in. This time, it is him.

“Oh my! Prince Donghyuck!” Princess Soohae scrambles off her chair and bows both gracefully and clumsily. I bow as well, trying hard to hide the immediate blush on my face I get whenever I see him. I wonder if I can stay bowing so I don’t have to meet his face. The last time we saw each other was when we talked at the royal garden, and as much as I prayed I wouldn’t run into him here, truthfully, a part of me also hoped I would.

As soon as I force myself to stand up straight, we lock eyes and the strain in my chest loosens like a snapped thread. I can feel my lungs fill with air and it’s relieving to see him again after so long. It hurts in the best way as I’m overwhelmed by his presence. That familiar brown waved hair, the sunkissed tan skin, and the plump smiley cheeks. Everything is how I left it but his expression is not one I expected. He’s in complete shock and I don’t know what to do but look around the room to find something that would cause such surprise. I quickly glance at the Queen, and for the first time since she sat down, there’s a small lift in the corner of her mouth. Is she smirking?

“Princess?” He tilts his head, still staring at me before he realizes what he just called me. “Princess! Princess Soohae! I came to get you.” He runs over to grab her hand and the lifted cheekbones on her face tells me she’s grinning. 

“What- uh- what’s going on?” I’m fixated on the way he fiddles with her hand as he looks around the room for answers. 

“Cake testing? How did you forget, silly?” Princess Soohae laughs as she playfully pats his cheeks. Everyone in the room can tell she’s head over heels and my stomach hurts. As I’m clutching my stomach and the Prince stares at me quizzically, there’s one person in the room watching all of this go down.

“She’s the wedding cake baker we outsourced, Prince Donghyuck.” The Queen says calmly, gesturing to me. She tells him like it’s his first time hearing this and I’m taken aback, my movements making the utensils on the table quiver slightly.

“He didn’t know?” My mouth was too quick to voice my thoughts. “His highness, I mean.” I bow in apology.

“No. No, I didn’t.” His hands are at his side now, gripping the fabric of his sleeves. The shock left his face and now he’s staring at me with pity and then silent anger when his head turns towards the Queen. My eyes follow his and she returns his look as if to challenge him to say more. 

Completely obvious to the shift in atmosphere, Princess Soohae raves about the final wedding cake decisions and begs the Prince to try a bite. He turns her down without sparing a glance and asks her to leave with him. He doesn’t give me a second thought as he breaks eye contact with the Queen and drags his future wife away. There’s no stopping the ache that fills my chest again, slow but strong like the rising tide.

“So he still likes you.”

Snapped out of my haze, my ears don’t believe the words I hear coming from the Queen’s lips.

“Pardon?” She’s looking at me now and it’s a mixture of disappointment and disinterest etched on her face. The warmth on her face has depleted. 

“My son. Prince Donghyuck. He still likes you,” she laughs dryly. “After all these years…” 

My eyebrows furrow and I feel myself getting dizzy. Maybe this is all some sort of hallucination and the Queen isn’t talking to me right now. I grip the counter for support, and she doesn’t wait for me to respond.

“You know, I thought I handled the issue 15 years ago when I asked the head baker to stop bringing you here. I was stupid to think it would be that easy when he purposely sabotaged every date I set up for him the years after.”

She’s twirling the fork on the plate now and the scrapes make me flinch. The kitchen no longer feels like a safe space for me right now as her words slowly suffocate me. 

“And when he started to actually go on these dates this year and report back to me that they’re going well? I was foolish to think it was him beginning to try. I saw you one day, back in this kitchen. Back in his life. It all made sense and it made me so angry.” Her hands grip the fork handle. They’re dainty, but if you look close, they’re calloused, indicating years of work. Her face appears the same. If it weren’t for the terrifying state I was in, I would’ve wanted to comfort her. She looks up at me, and I felt tinier than I did before, her eyes piercing into me. 

“Do you not understand the life I’m trying to set up for Donghyuck? He’s the future king. He needs a queen, a real queen to survive in this world. As the queen, I know firsthand what he needs. My king wouldn’t be anywhere without me and his mother who set me up with him. You’re not fit for this role and you never will be.” She finally sets the fork down with a clatter. 

“Listen to me, and let him go. It’s what’s best.” Her threatening nature fades as quickly as it came and she gracefully stands up, brushing the nonexistent debris on her gown. The Queen gives me one final look, waiting for me to bow and essentially agree, before leaving the kitchen. 

The air returns and I grasp my chest to let myself breathe. Tears prick the corner of my eyes as I choke back sobs.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Remember, it’s the room on the right hallway. Third door. And if anyone sees you, don’t tell them I sent you. I’ll get in trouble.” My grandma hammers in the details one more time, waiting for me to nod in confirmation.

It’s the end of my final day and she asked me to deliver pastries to a room in the palace before I leave, saying her workload is too large to be going herself. I figured it’s one more thing I could do before I never step foot in the palace again. I almost turned her down earlier in fear of running into the Queen. Just the thought of that happening makes me feel sick, but I know I won’t be seeing her again after this anyways.

I scoff, “So you’d rather I get sent to the guillotine?” I tease her with an exaggerated horrified look. 

She easily flicks my forehead, despite our height difference, and I grab it wincing. “You’re lucky I don’t chop off your head myself with that attitude of yours.” She sneers at me and I giggle.

“Fair…,” I playfully mutter, soothing the area between my brows.

Her directions sent me to a room with beautiful brown double doors. I smile at the two ladies standing outside of it and I’m about to explain why I’m here before they cut me off.

“Pastry delivery for the Prince?” They say in unison.

Like a horror movie, my jaw drops and I lose my instinct to run. One thing I do know is to make sure I yell at my grandma later as I nod and tell them they’re correct. She completely set me up.

On another occasion, I would’ve appreciated the doors to Prince Donghyuck’s bedroom more, but right now, they look like the gates of Hell. I attempt to swallow whatever saliva was left in my suddenly dry mouth as I brushed my hair out of my face. The ladies allow me to knock on the door. My palms are sweaty as I shakily knock on the varnished wood, hearing it echo into the space on the other side. His room must be huge.

No responses are heard. This was my out, but my body was telling me not to leave, even though my mind was screaming to run. Instead of knocking again, I turn the knob and almost wish it wasn’t unlocked, but it was.

There he is on the other side, scribbling at his desk. His back is facing me and I watch the muscles in them move with vigor. I haven’t seen him work this hard since he convinced me to teach him how to make a creme brulée and accidentally made scrambled eggs with the yolks.

I shut the door behind me and hope it catches his attention, but it doesn’t. I gulp, realizing how very real this situation is and I almost want to throw up knowing I have to speak.

“Hyuck.”

I hear him inhale and he spins quickly out of his chair to look at me. Different to how it felt seeing him in the kitchen earlier today, his face is softer, accepting my presence. My heart floats in my chest, wondering why I was so nervous to see him when just the sight of him oozes comfort. He looks at me like he’s feeling the same way. I see the longing in his eyes and the way they warm, I close my own to stop myself from giving in too much.

“Princess.”

His voice is fragile and his choice of words makes me shut my eyes harder, scared that I’d lose all my resilience and run straight into his arms. He doesn’t correct himself this time, and he says it again with more confidence.

I finally peel them open and force myself to act cold. Just an hour ago I was finishing his wedding cake; this fire has to be extinguished.

“Princess Soohae will make a great queen.” I move to set the pastry basket down on a table near me.

“It’s not what you think. I was going to-“ He turns around in a frenzy and grabs the paper he was just writing on. The Prince takes a step closer and it takes all my strength to recoil. It takes all of me not to be swayed by the obvious hurt on his face. This will be good for us, I have to remind myself.

My hand is up, drawing the line. “You don’t have to explain. It’s not what I’m here for.”

He hesitantly puts his arm down, eyebrow twitched in confusion. The paper is still in his hands.

“I got you a gift,” I partly smile. “A wedding gift and I guess, also… a goodbye gift.” With that statement, I break away from his stare, fixating on a corner in his grand room. 

I hear paper wrinkling. “A goodbye gift?” His voice gets lower and it causes me to wince. It feels like all the tension in the room gathered in the small vacancy in my chest and the overwhelming pressure makes my eyes sting. I can already feel the tears build up as I play with the hem of my shirt. 

“Mhm,” I painfully affirm. “The wedding cake. It’s both my gift and my goodbye. I thought you requested it when I first got the royal letter,” I laugh at the situation, trying to stop myself from letting him see me cry.

“Turns out it wasn’t you, but regardless. You’re getting married and I can’t be here anymore. So I left it in the kitchen. Obviously, it’s not a goodbye-goodbye, since I’ll still be living here in the city, but… No. Yeah, it’s a goodbye,” I nod to myself, trying to unravel the knot in my throat. “I guess you took my advice, huh? Congratulations, your highness.”

The silence from him is thick and it leaves a sour feeling in my stomach. It calls me to look up at him, and his eyes are icy cold. The sweet honey brown is as dark as coal.

“This is your response?” His words are robotic, I can feel the venom on his tongue as it pricks at my heart.

“S-sorry?” I tilt my head, not understanding him. It felt terrifying to make him repeat himself in the state he’s in.

“I told you I loved you. I’m assuming this is your response.” My eyes flicker to the paper in his fist, no longer readable. Neither is his face as he gives me the blankest look. It makes me want to cry more knowing this is how I will remember our last moments.

This time, I do take a step towards him but he’s shaking his head aggressively, lower back pressed against the edge of his desk. Now I know how he felt.

“If you want to hear me say ‘I love you’, you know I can’t do that.” Just having those three words leave my lips causes a tear to roll down my cheek. 

“Because I’m the Prince?” This time, his expression changes to match mine. I can feel the frustration and pain radiating off of him, and all I want to do is to tell him what he needs to hear. But I just nod, forcing a distance.

“So it always mattered. What if… what if it was 7-year-old Donghyuck asking his princess? What would you have said? You didn’t know who I was back then. I was just… just Donghyuck.” He sighs, his body is limp as he settles onto his desk. I notice his frail build, worried that he’s been eating less.

I smile, fondly remembering the ignorant bliss from 15 years ago. But then I’m forced to remember our situation now, our ugly situation where our hearts are demanded to stay silent. 

“I would’ve told him I loved him too.”

And with that, all strength is gone as I sob into my palm. I’m trying to force the wails in, but my body is shaking. My legs feel weak and he’s over here and his arms are wrapped tightly around me in a second. I can feel his heart beating against my arm trapped between our bodies and his breath shakily blowing on the top of my head. One hand is holding me tight and the other is brushing through my hair as he shushes me. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” He repeats. A part of me thinks this is to calm himself down too. 

I know I’m right when I slowly pull myself back and see the red in his eyes and on the tip of his nose. My hand flinches as I’m about to caress his cheek. His breath is steadier as it now fans across my face and his eyes are lidded like they’ve finally got some rest. My hesitation vanishes as I let myself cup his face, trace the constellation painted on his cheek, and feel the sweetness of his lips on mine. The warm sensation that envelops my body makes me gasp and Donghyuck tightens his embrace on me, refusing to let go. He tasted better than every sweet treat I’ve had combined. He was intoxicating and my whole body buzzed like a sugar rush. 

I close my eyes tighter, savoring the feeling of his lips, wanting to remember every trace — letting myself be selfish this last time. He’s sugary, cozy, and soothing like the afternoon sun on my back. His mouth moves with such ease against mine and it feels like I’ve been kissing him my whole life. The feeling of his tongue gently nudging my bottom lip jolts me back to reality and I push away, seized by the cold air of his big room again. 

I bring my hands to my face, hoping to cool down the flush. The Prince is breathing as heavily and in sync with me, and all I can hear is our matching breaths and the ringing in my ears. I have to end it here. 

“Um. Congratulations on your wedding,” I say in one breath. I don’t dare look at him as I quickly bow, scrambling to his door. 

“Princess! Wait,” He grabs my wrist, almost too tight. “I can’t go through with this. Please, I-I only want to marry you.”

“Your highness…”

“Don’t. Don’t call me that. Say my name, please. Call me Hyuck. Call me Donghyuck. Anything but that. Just don’t-“ His teeth are chattering and he blinks away the tears. “Don’t leave me again.”

Without a second thought, I’m shaking my head ‘no.’ Even with tears blurring my vision, I can see the hurt on his face and I feel a part of my heart rot. It pains me just as much to reject him, but the Queen’s words swirl around in my head, unrelentless. I’m forced to leave him and my heart here and I want to scream, but I can’t. He notices that. It reminds him of himself.

Letting the finality of my decision settle in, he lets go of me, taking in a shaky breath. This was our end.

I restrain myself from taking any steps towards him as I reach for the door behind me. The wooden panel swings open, gliding past my extended fingers as I’m met with the face of the Queen.

That same hand shoots up to touch my lips, remembering what just happened in here and I bow till my hair grazes the tiled floors. 

“Your Majesty,” I squeak. She looks at me with a million emotions and plants her glare at the Prince. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, her face twists into anger, dissecting the situation. I take this as my cue to leave but the Queen shuts the door behind the both of us. I don’t hear the Prince make any moves to save me.

“What were you doing in there?” She angrily whispers between clenched teeth. Not sure what comes over me, but the fear I felt before is gone. Instead, I’m left feeling numb.

“Don’t worry. I was just saying goodbye.” I swallow, bracing myself for her reprimands. 

A beat passes, before she speaks, this time in a normal tone. “Are you done?” 

I nod, “Yes, and I’d like to be excused from attending the wedding to serve the cake.” The Queen’s eyebrows quirk up, shocked that I’ve made a request. I look her straight in the eyes so she knows I mean it.

“I can’t… I can’t be there for that. I believe I’ve done all the preparation I can and I am not needed to actually attend.” My confidence waivers, and I draw my attention back to the ground.

“Fair enough. You don’t have to attend. I’ll tell the other bakers to serve it.” I take my chance to meet her eyes again and I can almost see concern on her face. I shake my head of that ridiculous thought, and offer her my best smile.

“Thank you, your majesty.” I bow before dragging my feet off the palace grounds. Hoping to never set foot in here ever again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Bells. I plan to remove all bells from my bakery. The royal wedding bells have been ringing all morning and I don’t need any more reminders moving forward. 

I spent the whole night crying after leaving the palace and then my anxiety kicked in, trying to get me to map out my life without him. Naturally, I planned to pour myself into work and here I am, out of bed, manning the shop by myself on his wedding day. I may have cried into a batch of dough in the morning, but baby steps are important. This is only day one anyways.

I realized I made a mistake leaving the house when I overheard everyone in town talk about the wedding of the century. I even let my employees off for the day, mainly to have my space to wallow alone. Practically everyone was outside the palace gates, waiting to get a glimpse of the couple. The streets were currently empty and I wonder if I should just close up shop. 

Right when I was about to count up the cash and close out the register, the bell on the door jingles. I’m halfway into the one dollar bills when I roll my eyes at the sound, pressing my lips together to stop a groan. I make a mental note to remove the bell before I leave.

I look up to check on the customer and I see a man with, of course, brown hair surveying the bread on the back wall. All I can see is the back of his head as he peruses. I scoff to myself at the instant fluttering of my chest at yet another brunette customer. Is no one blond anymore? Are gingers that rare for me to never encounter one in my bakery?

I finish counting the ones and I move onto the fives when I realize he’s still standing in the same spot. I’m organizing the bills in my hands as I examine him. Normal guy. Black hoodie. Jeans. 

Maybe he’s just really indecisive. I can see him tapping his foot from the counter. I decide to offer help after I finish counting the five dollar bills.

With the last dollar to count, I place it in the tray and slowly walk over to the man. As I get closer, my stranger danger instincts kick in and I suddenly regret my decision. His foot is still shaking and from this close, I can see him fidgeting with his sleeves in front of him. I grab a pair of tongs from the closest case and approach him.

“Excuse me, sir? Can I help you find something?” I have the tongs gripped with both hands, discreetly but ready to swing. 

I see his body tense and my breath hitches, thinking I’m really going to have to hit this man with my makeshift weapon.

He turns around painstakingly slow and I raise the tongs instinctively to block my face, before letting out a squeal.

But then I see his face. And different bells go off.

“Oh my god. Hyuck?”

The bags under his eyes are prominent and I finally notice the way his hair has been pulled in different directions. His lips are dry as he cracks a sheepish smile. He’s rubbing the back of his neck and notices the kitchen utensil in my hands.

“Were you gonna hit me?!” His mouth is open in surprise and he’s taking the tongs from my hands. I let him and put my hands up in defense.

“You were standing there for so long, all fidgety! I’m alone in here, what was I supposed to think?” I fight back, taking the tongs back and clutching it close to my chest.

He lets out a long sigh, seemingly frustrated with himself as he runs his hands through his hair. I hate that I find it attractive.

“Wait.” He looks up at me through his lashes, swallowing. “What are you doing here?” I ask. He blinks, knowing that question was coming. 

I expected to feel sick awaiting his answer, but instead my heart is racing, anticipating his next words. I almost feel that false hope I felt a week ago, and I try hard to deny it. But the way he’s looking at me leaves me with no doubts. 

I’m about to push him out the door when he digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. The wrinkled piece of paper from yesterday. He plays with it in his hands as he thinks about his next move.

“I was drafting a request to get the law changed.”

His words peak my interest. I set the tongs down and let him continue. Wrapping my arms around my waist for security, I’m fearful of what he has to say next.

“I’ve actually been working on it for the past two months.” He flattens the paper out in his hands. “You caught me finishing the final draft yesterday. I didn’t expect it to take up until my wedding day…” He laughs, unhumored by the situation. 

He hands it to me. “This is an old copy now, but it’s actually already being reviewed by the King. Right now. Being who I am, I fled just in case.” 

He looks at me anxiously as I read the top of the page, the words in bold:

Formal Petition to Repeal the Royal Marriage Ordinance 

Written By Prince Lee Donghyuck

My eyes don’t believe what’s written, like the royal letter I received not too long ago, requesting I bake the royal wedding cake. The same royal stamp and all rests in the top left corner. 

This time, I can read the words clearly. They settle into my chest, leaving me with such a funny feeling. I read the text and I can tell it’s written by him. I imagine him staying up every night after we meet in the kitchen, working by himself on this proposal. All of his hard work for the past couple months was printed on this very paper. All this work… for us. 

I feel my cheeks wet from pure joy and I cover the smile straining my mouth. A rush unfurls through my body like sweet, sweet sugar and I look up to share it with him. 

“Donghyuck… You-?”

“Marry me.” 

He gets down on one knee, holding my free hand. He’s rubbing that one spot on my ring finger and it feels unreal. The gleam in his eyes reminds me of the toasty fires in the oven, the glistening mangos on his favorite tart. His smile matches mine, nervous just slightly, and I want to paint this memory in my brain forever. The love and desperation in his eyes are begging me to think of him. Think of us. Every fear that had been eating away at me the past month was overcome by his pleas. This paper and his actions are proof that we can happen.

He continues, 

“Princess, please marry me. I’ve only wanted to marry you almost my entire life. I know that sounds crazy, but how can I doubt my obvious soulmate? You always come back to me, but I still don’t want another reason for you to have to leave. So please, trust me and trust us. Forget everything and everyone else and say you’ll marry me. If this petition doesn’t pass, I’ll continue to fight. Just…

Say you’ll be my princess forever.”

I tug his hand softly to get him to stand up. He obliges and I free my hands to hold his face. He finally breathes and closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I can feel him relax and his hands rest on my hips, drawn like a magnet. My mind is bouncing back and forth trying to contain the frenzy in my heart and the steady warmth of my core. I tap his eyelid lightly with my thumb and ask him to look at me. He opens them slowly, fear still trickling in his irises. I smile at him.

“My Prince,” His breath hitches. “I love you too.”

Donghyuck wastes no time tucking his head into my neck and lifting me against his body. He spins me around between the cases of bread and I giggle, feeling his heart beat erratically against mine. He softly lets my feet touch the ground and we’re looking at each other again, tears adding sparkles to his eyes. I wipe them away instantly.

“Thank you for coming back,” he whispers, but it feels like he said it with his whole being.

“Always.” I say with just as much commitment.

We’re cherishing the moment together, laughing at how happy we get to be, when the wedding bells go off once more. I look at him with confusion and he shrugs, just as lost.

“I can’t believe my wedding cake is going to waste,” I pout, remembering all my hardwork. And he squeezes my hip at my choice to be silly, snickering.

“I can’t believe you went with a lemon cake. Do you even know me?” He teases, pretending to be hurt. I gasp, slapping his chest.

“I’ll make sure to go with the mango tarts for ours.” I press a soft kiss on his lips and he smiles with me, pulling me unbelievably closer. 

“I like the sound of that,” Donghyuck hums.

“I’m sure you do.” I laugh.

Donghyuck and I stand there in each other’s arms for as long as our legs allow. We talk about the past, how it felt to leave each other. We talk about the garden and I admit to catching him talk to his mom, which explains everything he needs to know. Even as I’m profusely apologizing, he’s doing the same, saying sorry for putting me in such a situation. I choose to ask about Princess Soohae and he bites his lip nervously, telling me he hasn’t handled that predicament yet. I almost drag him out of the bakery at the sound of that. We even go over his repeal proposal and I call him out for some typos.

Eventually we move to the kitchen, doing what we do best, and what we’ve done for years, waiting for someone to find him. The Prince and his Princess.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A/N: i hope you enjoyed!! pls like, reblog, reply, whatever!! if u want hehe

[leandra-kinard]

The Tommy timeline is making me insane

We know the 911 writers are REALLY crap about timelines. I mean, just within the Eddie Begins episode there are several dates that just don't add up. I love those writers, but they can't even count to 10, lol.

Tommy was never supposed to come back, so him being in his late 20s-ish in 2005 when Chim joins the 118 was of no consequence, but now that Tommy is back, that makes it really difficult to say how old he really is.

Some people have speculated that he's 45, but I find that too old. Lou was born in Nov 1984, which makes him 39 currently. I could see Tommy being 1-2 years older than that AT MOST.

So let's say Tommy was born in early 1983 and go from there.

He would have started school at 6.5 and finished HS at 18 years old in 2001. Which means he could have joined the army that year and started training to be a helicopter pilot.

There's a program called "From Street to Seat", also sometimes called "High school to Flight School", so that is a possibility. Training would have been around 2 - 2.5 years until he'd achieved the rank of Warranty Officer and be a fully trained helicopter pilot in late 2003. After that, you have to enlist for TEN years at minimum to repay them getting you through flight school.

At that point, the US had entered the war in Afghanistan and just started the one in Iraq.

Tommy could have been stationed anywhere in the US, or been deployed to one of those countries, or at first, as a still very young officer, been deployed to an allied country like Germany. In the early 2000s, there were many bases in Germany where US soldiers were stationed, only serving short missions in Afghanistan or Iraq. So that's an option if we don't want him to be permanently stationed inside a war zone.

Now, how did young Tommy leave the army early so he ended up being a firefighter just two years later?

Well, there's always medical discharge, but if it was for any injury, him already being a member of the team (and by the looks of it no longer a probie) in 2005 is a bit tight. He'd have to recover from his injury, then apply, then be accepted, do the basic training at the academy (18 weeks) and his probie year... so yeah, that's really a very tight timeline.

Another option would have been Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Back then, army members could not be actively asked if they're gay and therefore fired for it, but if they voluntarily disclosed/confirmed it, they would be kicked out.

If he was lucky (and probably the version I'm going for in my fic), and had a very lenient superior officer, he might be offered medical discharge for depression. Usually, that can get you out of the army pretty quickly.

So, to recap:

Born between Jan/June 1983

Finished high school summer 2001, joined the army

Finished flight school in fall 2003, was deployed somewhere or in service in the US

Found out/discharged in early 2004

Started LAFD academy in summer/fall 2004

Started his probie year end of 2004

Just finished it when Chimney joined in (should be late) 2005, at now 22 years old.

Still an incredibly tight timeline, and I wish Chim joining had been more like 2007 or so, but alas. It works.

You are welcome.

And I need to lie down. God I hate inconsistent timelines, lol.

Oh and I just looked it up, and apparently you're only a probie for 6 months at the LAFD, so I guess that makes it a little easier.

I mean, if you shift things around a little, you could even make him only 40 now, born in summer 1983 instead of early. Maybe he was initially gifted and able to enroll in school at just barely 6 years old.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 5 : Befriending The Enemy

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

(Really love how I worded my notes for this chapter on ao3, btw!)

The sudden sound of water rushed into a bowl as the three Titan eggs continued to remain comfortable in their bed.

Seconds later, the door to their room began to open.

"Ah," the Titan let out in relief as he stepped inside, a piece of toilet paper clinging to his foot as he took a seat in his rocking chair.

"Now," he began, reaching for the thick hardcover he placed on the floor.

"Back to our story." He flipped to the fifth chapter.

...

"Oh, Philip."

The atmosphere's blackness slowly fades as blue eyes slowly open, revealing a view of Caleb.

"Philip," Caleb coos out a second time, his smile soft as he stands above his brother's bed, wielding a pitchfork.

Philip's eyes slowly begin to shut.

"Philip!"

"Gah!"

The younger teen jolts up.

"What?" Philip groans out in a groggy tone, soon sitting up as he scratches the back of his messy bed head.

Philip watched as Caleb's smile got bigger, a look of alarmed excitement appearing on the blonde's face. "There's a witch in our home!" he exclaimed.

The news caused Philip's eyes to widen. "A witch?!" he repeated in shock, clutching his covers.

Caleb confirmed with a nod of his head as he continued. "She broke in not too long along. I have no doubt that I saw her downstairs."

A hand gestures at Philip to quickly get up. "Come on, Pip, don't just sit there! I can't defeat this she-demon alone! I need your help!"

As Caleb races out of the room, Philip quickly springs out of bed, briskly grabbing his wooden sword from under his pillow before rushing after his brother, his heart pounding.

Despite his nervousness, he was equally enthusiastic about aiding his brother in fighting a witch.

Both teens were passionate about witch hunting and eradicating evil from Gravesfield.

...

"Caleb?" Philip whispered out as he slowly entered the dim dining room. "Caleb? Caleb, where are you?" Philip wondered where on earth the elder went. "Did you get the witch?"

Suddenly, a thought came to Philip that he wished he hadn't thought of.

"Oh no..." As he hurried to the front door, the brunette felt an uneasy tightness in his stomach. "No, no, no. The witch didn't. She didn't take him. She didn't! Did she...? No!"

Philip's only companion in life was Caleb, and he was afraid of losing him, especially to a witch. As anxiety swirls in his mind, Philip opens the door and sees--

"... Oh, hi!" Mr. Kookman, walking by, pauses in place as he greets Philip with a wave.

Henrietta, by her husband's side, proceeds to cluck.

The pair were taking an early morning romantic stroll together.

"Oh... hi," Philip greets back with an awkward smile and waves before closing the door.

As he turned around, he immediately let out a high shriek as he faced a figure much taller than him that appeared to have a skeletal visage.

As Philip fell back onto his bottom, he began to hyperventilate as he pursed his lips and attempted to breathe slowly, only to hear familiar chuckles come from the figure.

Caleb couldn't help but collapse into laughter upon seeing Philip's reaction as he fell down, kicking his feet gleefully in the air as he rocked back and forth, Philip's wooden mask slipping from his face.

As Caleb continues to chortle like a child, we get a freeze frame of him, and the show switches to an art nouveau style with entertaining facts about him listed on screen.

Name: Caleb Wittebane

Age: 17

Desires: To become a famous carpenter who travels the world! (And to someday meet Queen Elizabeth I! Oh, wait…)

Likes: Being older, of course… and cardinals.

Fun fact: He might find ways to sometimes skip church, but shh, don't tell anyone (especially not Mr. Town Minister).

As Caleb's laughter gradually fades, he sits up and wipes a tear from his eye, only for a large brown Bible to strike him right in the face.

An enraged Philip gets his own freeze frame with facts.

Name: Philip Wittebane

Age: 13

Favorite Weapon: His Bible (both literally and figuratively)

Favorite Food: His brother's flapjacks

Is totally in love with: Jesus Christ

...

The early morning had soon turned into early afternoon as Caleb stood before his bedroom door, a small, guilt-ridden smile on his face.

It was evident that someone was preventing him from entering inside, mainly due to the door being locked.

The thick tension in the air was palpable to Caleb as he started speaking.

"Come on, Pip, I said I was sorry," the blonde explained with a nervous laugh. "Please don't stay mad at me. You have to admit, the look on your face was pretty hilarious."

Caleb released more anxious laughter with the hope that his brother would join him as a sign of forgiveness, but instead, he was met with cold silence.

Caleb sighed as his laughter dissipated, his guilt now weighing heavily on him.

"Hey, Philip." He knocked gently on the door. "I truly am sorry for what I did. I shouldn't have woken you up so early in the morning just to pull a prank on you."

Caleb heard a miffed huff come from behind the door.

"Your prank was stupid!" Philip growled.

'Oh, he's speaking to me now. That's a good sign,' Caleb thought to himself. "I know, I know, but--"

"Say it!"

Caleb sighed. "My prank was stupid," he muttered out, his voice filled with shame.

"And?"

The blonde hung his head.

"And I'm sorry. I wish to make amends with you, Pip."

Reaching behind his back, Caleb proceeded to pull out a flyer.

With a grin starting to form on his face, he said, "Your favorite witch hunter is holding a book signing for his recent autobiography at the library today."

"He... is?" Philip asked, a spark of interest in his voice.

Caleb nodded. "That's right. I figured I could take you."

Caleb was aware of his brother's copy of "The Ways of a Witch Hunter" by Matthew Hopkins as he saw him reading it regularly, with Philip engrossed in every word written on the pages.

"..."

Caleb briefly chuckled due to the silence. "What? Don't believe me? Have a look for yourself."

The room door slowly opened, and Philip poked his head out to see his brother happily holding a flyer with a picture of his hero and the title of his latest book.

Blue eyes immediately sparkled at the paper, and before you know it, Philip soon shuts the door.

Caleb laughed, knowing that his brother was getting ready. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs, Pip."

...

Philip couldn't contain his excitement as he and Caleb walked through town to the library.

The brunette was practically buzzing with joy at the thought of getting to meet the man he looked up to.

'Maybe if I share my knowledge of witch hunting with Mr. Hopkins, he might offer me an apprenticeship!'

Philip squealed in his mind as he and Caleb arrived at a long line that began outside and led inside the library.

The queue of people was lively, as everyone was eager to have their book copies autographed by Gravesfield's handsomest hero.

...

As the line slowly progressed forward, Caleb became more and more exhausted with every hour that passed, but Philip remained cheerful and held onto his book tightly with anticipation.

...

"Look, Caleb!" Philip directs his finger at Matthew Hopkins' author table.

He and Caleb were now inside the library, waiting in the center of the line.

"We're almost at the front!"

Matthew was occupied with writing his initials on the title page of his book for a woman who was clearly captivated by him, her eyes glistening with love.

He gave her a suave wink after he finished and returned her book, and she nearly fainted from his charm.

Next in line to have their book signed was a man grinning ear to ear as he handed his book to Matthew.

Hopkins proceeded to open the book to the title page and placed the nib of his pen on the page.

Upon starting to write, he stopped as soon as he noticed the scratchy, hard-to-see texture of his lines.

"Hmm," he quietly hummed. "It seems my pen's run out of--"

The profound number of hands reaching out to Matthew with spare pens as soon as he said that startled him.

He soon smirked. "Ink," he finished, giving his hair a good toss.

The witch finder general gladly took a pen from the nearest hand, which caused the crowd of fans to roar and squeal with fanatic cheers.

As soon as Matthew started signing, we are greeted with a freeze frame of him in an art nouveau style, complete with fun facts about him.

Name: Matthew Hopkins

Age: 24

Status: Gravesfield's greatest witch (hunter???) (finder???) general.

Capabilities: Is able to detect the Devil's mark on a witch a mile away (or so he says).

His best assets: You take a wild guess.

...

"... Huh? Oh, yeah, we are," an absent-minded Caleb acknowledged his brother's comment as his eyes were glued to the wooden lantern clock on the wall.

'She'll be arriving at the house soon...,' Caleb thought to himself as the clock struck three.

He gazed at Philip.

"Uh, Pip, you'll have to excuse me, I need to use the bathroom."

Caleb tried his best not to look like he was lying.

"But, Caleb--"

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon!" The oldest assured as he stepped out of line and quickly headed out of the main entrance of the library without delay.

Philip narrowed his eyes at Caleb as he left but decided to take his word that he would indeed return.

After all, the oldest had no reason to abandon his younger brother in line and suddenly go somewhere else.

That's not like him at all, Philip believed.

...

After another hour and so of waiting in line, it was finally Philip's turn to approach Matthew Hopkins' table.

An overly conceited smile crossed Hopkins' lips upon seeing the exuberant teen dash to his table.

The youth's admiration of his greatness brought him joy.

"GoodafternoonMr.HopkinsmynameisPhilipWittebanewouldyoupleasepleasePLEASEsignmybook?"

The bright-eyed boy spoke at such a rapid pace, which made Matthew let out a small, lighthearted laugh.

"I don't see why not," Hopkins said as he took the handed book and opened it to the title page.

As he began to sign his initials, Philip's grin glowed as he screeched heavily with excitement in his head.

"You said your name was Philip, correct?"

"Yes!"

"I see. Doesn't that mean--?"

"Lover of horses? Yes!"

"I see."

After Hopkins was finished, he gave the book back to Philip.

"I'm too busy doing God's work, so I'm not much of an artist," he admitted with a chuckle.

Upon opening his book, Philip noticed a poorly drawn stick figure horse drawing next to Matthew's initials.

With a gasp, the brunette squeezed his book with affection, swaying back and forth.

"That's okay, I love your drawing! I'll treasure it forever! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, Mr. Hopkins! I hope to be as great a witch hunter as you when I'm your age."

Matthew chuckled cockily. "Well, you'll never be as great as I am, but there's always room for second best."

"Second best," Philip repeated in wonderment, imagining himself as such. "I'll aspire to be that then! Thank you so much!"

...

After the book signing event came to an end, Philip was walking through the woods as the vibrant orange sun was starting to set.

He breathed out a small huff, clearly cross, as his boots crunched down on the autumn leaves that dressed the soil.

As upset as the brunette was at Caleb's dishonesty and departure, at least he got the chance to interact with his favorite hero.

Nonetheless, he was still angry.

After some thought, he decided that he would give his brother the silent treatment as soon as he got home.

...

After reaching his front door, Philip opened it and stepped inside.

Upon hearing bubbly giggles coming from the kitchen, he paused.

Philip then frowned.

'Looks like he brought a girl home,' the brunette thought to himself as he sighed, shutting the door.

That must be the reason why he left him alone in line.

After muttering a not-so-nice insult under his breath, Philip proceeded to the kitchen.

Upon arriving at the entrance, Philip instantly froze as he watched the shocking scene taking place in front of him, his book falling from his grasp.

He was soon struck by a wave of terror as he covered his mouth.

"... I picked this pumpkin a few days ago, so might as well use it before it goes bad, right?" Caleb chuckled fondly as he was preparing pumpkin soup with a girl who looked to be around his age.

However, this was no ordinary girl.

She wore a scarlet colored cloak with a hood that she had on while a black bird was nesting inside on her head.

The teen's dress looked like something an otherworldly explorer would wear, and while the length of her auburn hair was unknown due to her hood, she had fluffy bangs that covered the entirety of her eyes.

Her demonically pale skin, golden eyes, pointed ears, canine teeth, and exposed ankles led Philip to clench his fists.

"Witch!" he shouts before charging at the girl to attack her, only for Caleb to take notice and quickly intervene.

"Whoa, Philip, wait! No fighting in the house!" Caleb informed, extending his arm out to prevent Philip from harming the girl.

He glanced at the girl and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry about him. This was the little brother I was telling you about."

"WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SAYING ABOUT ME TO HER!" Philip demanded with a growl.

Caleb rolled his eyes, causing the girl to giggle. "His name is Philip. And Philip, this is ******."

"******?!" A shocked Philip repeated. "That's no human name!"

"******!" ****** beamed out her own name in utter delight as we get a freeze frame of her in an art nouveau style with character information about her.

Name: ****** ****** ******

Age: 17

Species: Witch

Adores: Palismen and making weird noises

Crimes: Arson

"She's a really good friend of mine."

"FRIEND?!"

"We've been seeing each other for quite some time now."

"FOR SOME TIME NOW?!"

"Mostly when you're either asleep or away."

A happy, hawk-like screech escapes ****** as she waves at Philip, but the brunette refuses to wave back and shoots a glare at Caleb.

"What are you doing?! Stop smiling at her and kill her already!" Philip ordered loudly.

Caleb rolled his eyes a second time.

Philip bared his teeth.

"If you don't do something about her, I'll let the town minister know that you've been seeing a witch this entire time! You know that's a sin!"

When Philip noticed the worried expression on ******'s face when the minister was mentioned, a smirk appeared on his face.

"Oh, yeah?" Caleb began, crossing his arms as he smiled serenely but threateningly.

"Since we're on the topic of sin, I'm certain that Mr. Town Minister would be very interested to see those inaccurate drawings of Christ in your journal. You know, the ones where you give him massive muscles and chest hair."

Philip's face flushed immediately, and he scowled. "Fine, I won't tell then!" he shouted with a stomp of his foot. "... AND STOP GOING INTO MY JOURNAL!"

Caleb chuckled.

Knowing that she would be safe and far away from the minister's clutches, ****** screeches happily as she hugs Caleb.

During their hug, Philip rolls his eyes and grumbles bitterly under his breath, but soon notices the expression his brother sends him as ******'s back is turned.

Caleb was smirking at him as he winked.

He then proceeded to put a finger on his lips.

Philip's eyes widened in sudden understanding, his smirk even darker than Caleb's as he nodded.

'Heh, their friendship isn't genuine. Caleb definitely has a trick up his sleeve,' Philip chuckled darkly in his thoughts.

...

As ****** carefully ladled servings of pumpkin soup into bowls and placed thick slices of bread on small plates, she failed to notice the two shadows looming over her with eerie smiles... until she finally did and turned around.

She smiles when she sees that it's just her two friends, Caleb and Philip Wittebane, who were both smiling affectionately at her.

Knowing that she would be sharing supper with them brought her immense joy.

[its-time-to-write]

Hi! I requested the last Jamie tartt/Kent!Sister that’s not phoebes mom.

Do you think you could another one with phoebe and Roy spending the day with them and phoebe making Roy jealous of how she adores Jamie? And reader just getting baby fever,and Roy figuring out she is and freaking out. Lol sorry it’s a lot! Thanks and love ur writing✨💜

Your wish is my command! I’m trying to get out of my writer’s block, so hopefully I’ll have more fics out tomorrow. We’ll see!

would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

Molly is at work. Again. Which means you’re watching Phoebe with your brother, Roy. You point out that Roy doesn’t technically have to be here, but Phoebe vehemently protests that he does. 

“Who will be the princess?” she asks, and you decide not to tell her that you wouldn’t mind. You sneak photos of Roy in the tiara to send to Jamie under the express condition that he never show anyone else. Jamie tells you that seeing the photo is enough for him. 

Jamie is not scared of Roy, by the way. Sure, he’s dating the youngest Kent sibling and sure, Roy hates his guts, but it’s all a show, innit? 

At least, that’s what Molly tells you both when you’re sitting at her kitchen table, distraught at 11pm. 

But regardless of Roy’s feelings, he’s going to have to get over it because you love Jamie and he’s here to stay and that’s that. You’re actually meeting him at the park (per Phoebe’s request) and then the four of you are headed to lunch and a movie. 

Jamie’s waiting on a bench by the time you make it to the park, and he lights up at the sight of you. He stands to greet you, but is intercepted by a running Phoebe. He puts his footballer reflexes to good use as he swings her high into the air as you shake your head grinning, and Roy just shakes his head. 

You watch Jamie put Phoebe back on the ground and begin some elaborate secret handshake and, like lightning, you’re struck with a feeling of oh shit.

“Oh shit,” you breathe aloud. 

Roy takes a sideways glance at you and his frown deepens.  “No,” he says, but you’re not listening. 

Because all you can think about is Jamie swinging your own kid into the air, or holding a tiny baby, or teaching a toddler how to kick a football.

In fact, it’s all you can think about the entire time you’re out. You forget to breathe as he teases Phoebe about her lunch order and Roy has to elbow you and say, “For fuck’s sake.” 

Phoebe is holding Jamie’s hand and skipping on the way to the movie while you and Roy walk a ways behind them. His knee’s hurting him a little bit, so you’ve linked your arm around his.

“Just like when we were kids, huh Roy-o?” you grin.

Roy snorts. “Don’t really remember us walking fucking hand-in-hand, unless it was me dragging you away from Molly and her fucking marshmallow shooter.”

You shudder. “You know she used to lick them so they’d stick to us, right?”

Roy grimaces. “And you want a kid with marshmallow-licking genes with fucking Tartt? He’s practically a fucking child himself.”

You open your mouth to protest but Roy shakes his head. 

“Don’t fucking argue with me, I see how you fucking look at him when he’s with Phoebe. Can practically hear the fucking wedding bells.”

You check to see if Jamie’s looking (he isn’t) then you punch Roy in the arm. “Fuck off, Roy. You love being an uncle. And Molly keeps asking when me and Jamie are going to take another step in our relationship, and maybe this is it. I mean sure, he’s a footballer and like probably the best one Richmond has ever seen-” Roy interjects with an oi- “and generally footballers don’t even want to settle down, but he’s dating me, and sure, it’s probably a little to fuel his obsession with you, I mean come on, our family has great eyebrows so it’s not a surprise that Jamie and I are together and fucking hell, Roy, he’d be such a great dad.”

Roy says, “You talked to fucking Molly about this?” like he’s been betrayed by his best friend.

You shrug with the one arm that isn’t held in his. “We all grew up in the same home and you didn’t realize that Molls is fucking nosy? Come on, Roy.”

Roy says, “Fucking hell,” and then you’re at the movie theater and unable to continue talking.

—

It is fucking late and you’re back at Jamie’s house. It’s just you two, and you’re in the kitchen with the dim lights on. You stayed at Molly’s after the movie while Roy cooked dinner, then stayed till she got back from the hospital. You and Jamie both decided you weren’t tired, which is why you’re on the floor of the kitchen eating out of a tub of ice cream.

You’ve both made a considerable dent when you put your spoon down and say, “Jamie.”

“Hm?” he asks, mouth full of mint chip.

“Do you-” you hesitate. “Do you ever think about where this is going?”

Jamie swallows and is silent, so you continue talking.

“I mean, obviously we don’t have to talk about it, I know that it’s a lot and we’re kind of just messing around, right? And with football and all that you don’t really have the whole settling-down kind of lifestyle, and anyway if you do it should probably be with a model or a pop star, especially since you’ve got the whole Beckham look going on right now.”

Jamie rolls his eyes and laughs. “That’s what you think? I’ve got the girl of my dreams and you think I’d dump you for a fucking model?”

You shrug without meeting his eyes.

“Oi,” Jamie says softly. “Is that really what you think? Or is this about something else?” He nudges your shoulder with his.

You sigh and turn to face him. “Look, I’ll tell you, but don’t fucking laugh or I’ll get Roy to mess you up.”

Jamie nods.

“I have baby fever.”

Jamie breaks into a grin and despite yourself, you mirror it.

“Don’t fucking laugh!” you protest, “It’s a real thing! And I have it so fucking bad, that all I could think about today is how much I wanted to go home and fuck you. I have no idea what we even did today. And Molly is always on me about giving Pheebs a cousin but I think it would actually kill Roy if I had a kid, because he still thinks of me as his baby sister even though I’m a literal adult.”

Jamie is shaking with poorly suppressed laughter and you shove him with your shoulder. “Why are you laughing, Jamie?” you giggle. “This is a real issue!”

Jamie is practically wheezing, doubled over and holding his sides. 

“Babe,” he manages to get out, “usually I’m the one who’s thinking about fucking you all the time. It’s fucking hilarious that it was you. Now you know what it’s like.”

Good lord, this boy. 

“And,” he continues, starting to wind down, “I didn’t realize Molly was talking to ya. Would’ve said something sooner if I knew.” He takes the ice cream out of your hands and pulls you onto his lap. You’re facing him, straddling his thighs. He places one hand on your cheek and the other on the back of your neck. “Love,” he says, “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it a fucking lot, actually. I want all that shit with you, a wedding, kids, whatever. I ain’t ever letting you go.”

You smile and thread your fingers through his hair. “Oh yeah?” you ask. “What else have you thought about?”

Jamie’s eyes darken and his tongue darts between his teeth. “Well,” he says, hands sliding from your neck to your waist and under your shirt, “though about all the work it takes to make a baby.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, except it comes out as a gasp because his hands are tracing soft patterns on your skin and you’re barely keeping yourself together, but you manage to breathe out a, “What else?”

Jamie smirks. “Well babe, pretty sure we’d have to be somewhere other than the floor to get the whole experience.”

You’re on your feet in a flash and pulling Jamie up the stairs to the bedroom. You’re good with this type of future planning.

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ the wreckage of the world ࿐ྂ “that must be so confusing for a little girl”

summary: getting high after Hinata and Takemichi's wedding was a great idea. all four of them were single as hell and what better than to get smoke the loneliness away. that is until the topic of the past comes up

pairing: baji, kazutora, chifuyu x f!oc (platonic), (kind of)izana x oc

notes: takes place during the final timeline. lol basically everything I wished to hear so this is 100% a self-insert. my life story in a fic cuz all of what happened to oc happened to me lol. written in third person

warning: recreational drug use(marijuana), alcohol use, intoxication, shotgunning, friends with benefits(Izana), suggestive talk, mentions of past abusive relationship, mentions of child abuse(kazutora), mentions of domestic abuse(kazutora's mom), mentions of vomiting, description of verbal abuse, manipulation, past toxic relationship, platonic kissing, platonic cuddling

word count: 2146

“I’m so fuckin’ single” Kazutora whines, sprawling across the floor of Baji’s bedroom 

The air is filled with odd-smelling smoke and the scent of alcohol. “This taste like shit” She mutters and takes a huge gulp of the wine straight from the bottle

“Why are you drinking it then?” Baji asks and grabs it from her and takes a chug himself 

Chifuyu on the other hand, looked on the verge of tears as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He often looked like that lately. Ever since Hinata and Takemichi’s wedding had been confirmed he always looked like he was zoning out, dreaming. Was he sad? Maybe. He looked more relieved like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Like… Like he lived lifetimes. But that was a stupid thought so she didn’t think too much about it. Chifuyu had always been the sentimental type anyway. No doubt he’d get emotional when Takemichi was now married. She looks around at all three of them, Kazutora holding a joint, Baji taking sips straight out of the wine bottle and Chifuyu also with a joint. “You guys need to get partners” She says shaking sprawling and moving closer to Chifuyu to break him out of whatever trance he was in “This is just sad”

“Says you” Baji mutters “Single ass mother fucker"

“Fuck off” she mumbles and reaches over to Chifuyu for the joint but he moves his hand over and leans into her instead

At reflex, she parts her lips and Chifuyu’s lightly brush against hers before he exhales smoke into her mouth and she inhales, holds it and then exhales. “Fuck that was hot,” Kazutora says with a sigh, passing the joint to Baji, and trading it for the bottle “We might as well date each other”

Chifuyu laughs. “Izana won’t be too happy about that”

That catches Baji and Kazutora’s attention. “Shut the fuck up,” Baji says “no fuckin’ way!”

“Out of all the Sano siblings you had to choose the crazy one?” Kazutora says sitting up, almost dropping the bottle “bitch I swear to god”

“Fuck off” she mutters and grabs the bottle from him “It’s nothing serious”

“Didn’t seem like nothing serious with the way he was looking at you at the wedding” Chifuyu teases as she takes a large gulp from the bottle

“Shut up I didn’t know this. You’ve been fucking holding out on us!” Baji hisses, exhaling a cloud of smoke

Their eyes are heavy and red-rimmed, movements are a bit slow. “No, I haven’t” She grumbles and kicks Baji in the thigh which wasn’t as hard as she wanted and more of a tap than an actual kick “It’s nothing serious I swear… We just… Y’know…”

“YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING?!” The three of them yell at the same time and she groans, her cheeks turning red

Her flushed cheeks were enough for them to know their assumption was right and income the questions. She and Izana started off as really more of a drunken spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. It was really an accident. But, Izana was good. Like really good— which started their whole friends-with-benefits relationship. “He’s lowkey scary though” she says trading the bottle with the joint from Chifuyu

“And you’re into that shit,” Chifuyu says rolling his eyes and taking a sip of the wine then making a face at the taste “This actually tastes like shit. Who got Rosé?”

“Fuck off I like it” Baji grumbles and grabs the bottle from him

“Doesn’t matter if I’m into that shit” She mutters and takes a drag from the joint, laying her head on Chifuyu’s lap “We’re not serious”

Chifuyu flicks her forehead and she purposely exhales onto his face. “He looks serious though” He says

“Awe fuck, does this mean no more shotgunning?” Kazutora says with a pout, exhaling a cloud of smoke

Baji kicks him. “Obviously fuckin’ not unless you want that crazy motherfucker to kill you and then us”

She groans. “I just said we aren’t serious” She grabs Chifuyu by the collar of his dress shirt and pulls him down, blowing smoke into his mouth which he gladly inhales

“Oh~ Chifuyu~. Izana’s gonna kill you now” Kazutora says teasingly while moving closer “Both of you be kissin’ the most”

“Shut up” Chifuyu grumbles and takes the joint from her “Why don’t you wanna make things serious? Sure he’s crazy but he doesn’t seem that bad unless he’s got side hoes or something”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and just looks up at Chifuyu from where she’s lying on his lap. She doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. But maybe the alcohol and the weed-induced high was making her lose-lipped. “What if he hurts me?”

Her words make them laugh. “You think Mikey won’t beat his white-haired ass?” Baji asks her and Chifuyu and Kazutora start to laugh even harder

But when she doesn’t laugh or even smile like she usually does, they get worried. She has a distant look on her face as if she’s thinking about the past. She looks… sad. “Hey” Chifuyu says snapping his fingers in front of her face after exhaling a cloud of smoke “Has Izana ever hurt you?”

She shakes her head no. “He’s not like that… He’s nice… He’s nice to me”

Kazutora is leaning over her now as she lays in Chifuyu’s lap. “Then what was up with the question? If he’s nice to you then…”

Abuse was a sore topic for Kazutora. He got sensitive about it quickly especially since it was something he went through as a kid and what he watched his mother go through. It still affected him somewhat but he was mostly over it now. However there were times when his past would get the best of him like the other day when it looked like Draken was yelling at Emma and was about to hit her, Kazutora punched him across the face. Needless to say, the conversation after had been pretty tear-shedding (mostly from Emma and Shinichiro). “He’s nice,” She says quietly “I just… I dunno…”

“It’s not I dunno if you’re bringing it up,” Baji says and puts the bottle down, also moving closer to them “You’re clearly afraid of something”

Oh, how she hated her friends for knowing exactly what she was thinking. Baji grabs her by the shoulders and makes her sit up. Now she’s completely surrounded by the three of them. The joints were burned out, they’re high and very drunk. But maybe she needed to be a bit more drunk to finally have this conversation with them after years of running from it. “Remember back in 11th grade… we were all busy… I didn’t see you guys for months?” she asks them grabbing the bottle and taking a swing from it despite the gross taste

They all nod and wait for her to continue. “I had a boyfriend for like 9 months… I think he hated me”

They’re shocked. Clearly, they don’t know what to say. She thinks the same. Had any of her friends said the exact same sentence word for word to her she wouldn’t know what to say either. “What… what the fuck you can’t just leave it like that” Chifuyu says, his voice slightly slurring and nudges her “elaborate”

She shrugs and takes a swing from the bottle. “He wasn’t always like that. Like he didn’t always hate me… I think… He was nice and we started dating. Then 3 months in he suddenly started getting really weird. He didn’t like what I wore, how I acted, he didn’t like my hair—”

“What the— why wouldn’t he like your hair?” Baji asks clearly angry now “I love your hair. What a fuckin fucktard”

She doesn’t say anything. Chifuyu reaches his hand over and runs a hand through her curly strands and silently urges her to continue. “He-he never hit me or anything like that. He was just mean all the time… I dunno I just… He hated everything about me and I dunno why” her words start to slur as the alcohol hits “He hated me so much… I was with him for 9 months… took me 3 out of the 9 to leave him.. Was so scared…”

They don’t say anything for a moment. Kazutora reaches over and grabs her free hand. The room is now completely silent. She just sits there in the middle of them on the floor holding the wine bottle. Finally, Baji speaks up first. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks “We could have helped or I dunno, beat his fuckin’ ass”

She chews at her bottom lip nervously and clutches the bottle a bit tighter. “Was scared… Thought you guys would blame me… He never hit me so I thought… I thought…”

She didn’t have to say anything else for them to understand what she meant. Verbal abuse was often overlooked. Not many people considered it even to be abuse. It was sickening and clearly, she had been a victim of it. Oh how horrible the three of them felt. “Why’d you stay so long?” Kazutora asks, his voice quiet as if talking to a crying child

The bottle is pulled from her grasp so she can’t take another gulp out of it. “Um… He kept guilt-tripping me to stay… I guess I kept falling for it” she mumbles and feels ashamed of herself

They don’t know what to say. She doesn’t either. They sit in silence again for a moment till Chifuyu says “you know you didn’t deserve that right?”

She just nods. She knew it. She knew she didn’t. Although sometimes her thoughts got too loud and it did feel like it, she knew that in no world would she ever deserve to be treated that way. “Did… He ever tell you why?” Baji asks

She thinks back to the past and laughs a bit, sounding bitter. “He said I was ‘too perfect’”

They narrow their eyes and at the same time say: “What the fuck?!”

She remembers hearing it come from her ex’s mouth after they broke up. She was apparently too perfect. Perfect grades, perfect family, perfect social life, perfect friends, perfect skin, perfect hair. He hated it. He hated her and her entire existence. Hearing it after they broke up made her angry. How dare he? How fucking dare he do that for some petty reason. Her ex just wanted to be a stain in her so-called perfect life. “That motherfucker” Baji says angrily “What kind of messed up reason is that?”

“Beats me” she mutters then looks at them “We’ve broken up… It’s been years, it’s fine”

It’s clear to them that she no longer wants to talk about it. They can’t help but think that had it not been for their idea to get high and drunk after Takemichi and Hinata’s wedding this topic would have never come up and they would have never known. It’s sickening for them to think anyone could do that to their friend. Their dear friend who is the sweetest girl they knew— who dropped everything for them when they’d get hurt in their youth after stupid gang fights, who would patch them up, who would scold them, who would make them food, who would help them with their homework. Their dear friend who deserved the damn world, the sun, the moon the stars and everything after. Kazutora, Baji and Chifuyu were devastated to hear about this. They somehow end up in a cuddle pile on Baji’s queen sized bed with her somewhat in the middle. “I’m gonna be sweating in the morning” Chifuyu mutters as he is also unfortunately in the middle with her

Kazutora’s arms are wrapped tightly around her middle and her back is pressed against his chest while she’s facing Chifuyu who’s got her head on his bicep. “So uh… Did you really not tell anyone?” Baji asks, his long lanky arms going around both Chifuyu and her

“Uhh… Told Emma…” She says “She was the one that pushed me to leave him and then swore to never tell anyone”

Chifuyu presses a kiss to her forehead, her nose then a soft peck to her lips. “That’s good… At least someone knew… Wish we could have beat his ass though…”

“You think we could find him now and beat him up?” Kazutora suggest, his face pressed into her hair

“No need” she tells them

“What do you means?” Baji asks

“Mikey beat him up… Emma accidentally told him about a month after it ended and Mikey put my ex in the hospital”

“Ohhh~” they say simultaneously 

Chifuyu is gazing at her with a soft expression. He presses another chaste kiss to her lips and Kazutora reaches over her body to smack him. “Izana will rip your face off Chifuyu, no more kissing her” 

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Liu Kang x Friendzoned Reader: Saving Kotal

This could be a sequel to the chapter you get friend zoned, idk ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Standing aside from the group of Outworlders, you all waited for the three to come back: Liu Kang, Kung Lao, and the one that secretly makes you spite everything, Kitana. Maybe it was a good idea you stayed back. It would've been a shame if the pettiness inside you acted on the intrusive thoughts. You kept everything down though, knowing your feelings weren't important in this matter.

Kitana was to convince Baraka to side up with her to rescue Kotal and defeat Shao Kahn, hopefully all of them weren't shredded down there. It felt awkward being around all these Outworlders too. But no worries, they all return with the allegiance of Tarkata.

Letting out a small smile you went to them. "Glad you guys are back." Glancing mostly at Lao since you were still bitter about the other two. Liu sensed your vibe, awkwardly nodding at Lao before walking off with the princess.

The hat wielder pulls close to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you two walked closely. "So we all are going to the Kolosseum," You already were aware of the next dangerous leap. "Liu wishes for me to tell you that you don't have to go. It is very dangerous."

You scoff and push away from Lao. "So what? He couldn't tell me himself? Maybe he actually just doesn't want me to go because... of her."

Lao grimaces. "See, this is why he made me speak to you." He murmurs before clearing his throat. "No. He just thinks it wouldn't be fair for you to risk your life for something mostly for Kitana. Though the realms are at stake. But it's up to you if you wish to not participate. He understands."

"I'll go." You sigh. "And Lao," You place a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be his messenger. You're too much of a good friend for that." You walk off.

He smiles at you when you walk away and as you go completely out of sight, his face drops into a frown. "Shit."

---Time Skip To Kolosseum---

You stood far back as Kitana lead the large group to the doors of the caged battle arena. As they were forced open, you could tell any second late, Kotal would've had his head bashed in. Standing back, you could barely hear what the princess and Shao Kahn spoke of.

"-exactly like you, 'father'." That's when the battle began, Kitana striking Shao with her fan blades and everyone else getting into it. You fought smoothly, knocking any foe that approaches off their feet with easy defeat.

Turning your head, you see Liu fighting honorably as well, but it would seem he didn't hear the enemy approaching behind him, readying his sharp weapon. Without any hesitance, you rushed to that swine, heart pumping in fear he would strike him.

You deliver a strong high kick to the back of the opponent's neck, sending the heel of your shoe through, making the swine choke up on his own blood. The sound made Liu jump back and his eyes widen as you pull your heel out, watching in despise as the Shao Kahn follower collapse dead, blood seeping from the hole you caused.

"You came!" Liu looked at you with warmth. "Why?"

"I'd give my life for you." You cross your arms, looking away blankly. You said it so simply, he stands there confused. He always sort of thought you disliked him ever since he had to put you down. The champion would've understood if you resented him all the way, but he was happy you came through.

"I owe you mine's now." Liu bows gratefully to you.

You scoff and roll your eyes. He is confused to why you step towards him until you wrap your arms around him, his mind fading out as everyone else was dying in the background and the audience cheers with glee.

But he smiles and returns your embrace, resting his chin on your head.

You two hugged it out for long up until you hear a pained yell from Kotal. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ I do a little trolling in this chapter lol