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wraithlafitte · 5 months

Text

bitchin'

pairing: dean winchester x reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), SMUT, only one bed~ enemies to lovers (kinda), unprotected p in v (encase before you embrace), hate sex, Dean calls reader "princess" mockingly, manhandling, slapping, spanking, big dick!Dean has all the audacity, dirty talk, degradation, choking, cum eating, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, squirting

word count: 4.7k

To say you were unhappy to be working with Dean Winchester would be putting it lightly. A massive understatement, in fact. But, as luck would have it, you needed backup on a vamp case; and when you called Bobby Singer for help, it turned out that Dean was the only hunter nearby.

Your jaw set uncomfortably as you dialed his number and held the phone to your ear. Asking for help from anyone was hard, but from this man? Practically your mortal enemy? A feeling of shame, or maybe embarrassment, crept into your stomach as you listened to the phone ring.

He's probably just watching it ring, you thought cynically. Who's to say he would pick up at all? Maybe he won't, you hoped.

There was a laundry list of reasons why Dean was the last person you'd want to work with on a case. He was reckless, had no respect for plans, and tended to go in guns blazing without regard for his own life, which meant that you would constantly be saving his ass. And boy, was he a pain in yours.

The cherry on top of the Dean Winchester disaster cake was that he hated your guts. You never really figured out why, but you assumed it was his misogynistic tendency to be completely contrary to any woman he met who didn't fall all over him. God forbid a woman doesn't care about his rugged good looks or roguish bravery!

When he finally picked up, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, dripping with self-righteousness. "Well, well. What do you want?"

You decided it would be best to cut to the chase and just get it over with. "I'm working a case in Nevada," you said calmly. He would not get you riled up. "Vegas. There's a vamp nest, been snatching homeless people. Tunnel dwellers," you added. "Not that it matters. People are people, vamps are vamps."

"What are you tellin' me for?" Dean asked gruffly. He was gonna make you say it. Of fucking course he was, because he just had to hold it over your head.

"Need backup," you said curtly. "There's at least five of them."

"So what you're sayin' is...." The smugness in his voice was unmistakeable.

"I need your help, you dick."

"Oh do you now."

You huffed, already fed up with him. "Bobby says you're the only hunter he knows nearby. Said you're in Flagstaff."

"Maybe I am," he said vaguely. "Bobby should know not to tell you anything about where I am or recommend me as reinforcements for you."

"He didn't want to, but I made him. Are you coming or not?" you said sharply.

I'll be there by nightfall. Don't wait up," he said teasingly and hung up, leaving you to listen to the tone, steaming.

Why does he have to make everything so difficult?

Rough pounding on the door of your motel room startled you up from your chair at midnight. Dean wasn't even in the room yet, and he was already tormenting you. You went to the door and jerked it open, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could feel the headache coming on.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said wickedly. He pushed past you into the room, dropping his duffel bags in the middle of the floor. He dropped into the chair you had just vacated and looked up at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," you warned him, eyes narrowing.

"Hey, I'm just excited to kill some vamps," he said, jabbing a finger towards you.

"Give it up. We both know you would rather be anywhere else."

"True," he conceded. "But let me just bask in the moment real quick."

You roll your eyes and return to your task, packing up your stuff. "Don't get too comfortable. We can't stay here. I was followed earlier."

"Perfect," Dean said sarcastically. "Of course you were."

You turn on him. "It can happen to anyone."

"Sure," he mocked. "So what's the plan, genius?"

Your face hardened. "We take the fight to them."

"Say no more."

The vampire's nest was in an abandoned warehouse (real original) that was a few streets away from one of the tunnels that the homeless had set up camp in. Chain link fence, corrugated metal, broken windows, the whole deal. And of course Dean wouldn't wait to make a game plan, sliding open a side door like nothing bad was waiting to jump him. In a vampire nest. At night.

All you could do was follow him, machete at the ready, and hope that the scuffing of his boots on the concrete floor wouldn't alert any vampires to your presence.

Dean ducked down, holding a fist in the air. You hurried behind him and crouched behind a shelf just in time to miss a patrolling vampire rounding the corner. Without missing a beat, Dean jumped out behind it and chopped it at the neck soundlessly. The body fell to the floor. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good.

You crept in the direction the fang had come from, Dean hot on your heels. He was so close you could hear his leather jacket creaking, smell his cologne, feel him practically breathing down your neck. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, then suddenly you hear voices. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, causing Dean to bump into you. You elbowed him and gave him a look.

Peeking around the doorframe, you saw what appeared to be the vamps' main hangout room. And there were a lot more than five of them, lounging around the walls, circling victims that were hung by their wrists from a beam.

"We can take them," Dean whispered in your ear.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" you hissed back. You tried to count the dark shapes in the next room. "There's at least ten in there. There's only two of us."

"We can do it." Without waiting for a reply, Dean busted down the door and started swinging. You had no choice but to follow as the vampires started coming out of their startled stupor and attacking.

Dean cut down two of them easily, their heads rolling on the floor before they knew what hit them. The rest, however, had time to react.

One of the vampires rushed you, just managing to avoid your blade as you swung it. She snarled and leapt towards you. You slashed her across the chest and she howled, clutching her shirt. You took the opportunity and decapitated her.

Someone grabbed you from behind, claw-like nails scratching your neck as it was forced to the side, baring your skin. You stabbed behind you, blade finding purchase, and used the distraction to cut off the fang's head.

Another vamp rushed you from the front. You swung your blade out in defense, but he just grabbed it and ripped it from your hand. Then, as if they could smell your defenselessness, you were suddenly swarmed, vampires clawing at your skin, your clothes, pulling your hair. Several hard punches landed to your gut and your face and the wind was knocked out of you as you fell to the floor, smacking the side of your head into the concrete. You yelped in pain and shock.

A boot pressed into the side of your neck and your vision was suddenly obscured by a heavy-set vampire bearing down on you, grinning. "Not so tough now without your little sword," he sneered, fangs descending. His mouth was smeared with blood and you could smell the tang of iron on his breath. You struggled to breathe as the pressure on your neck increased, your vision getting spotty.

Great, this is how I die....

As if in the distance, you heard Dean shout. The looming face of the vamp was promptly detached from its body, hitting the floor by your head. His body fell on top of yours, his gross bloody neck stump right in your view. The boot left your neck and charged in the direction of Dean's voice.

You struggled to free yourself from beneath the former vamp, ears ringing from your near-suffocation. You could hear the ensuing scuffle, all grunts and wet slices and heavy footfalls, but you had no idea who was winning.

Then, it was silent.

You held your breath instinctively, listening to a lone pair of footsteps approaching you. You found yourself realizing for the first time that you hoped Dean was coming. Better than the alternative.

Sure enough, Dean's hunt-beaten face appeared above you, screwed up with effort as he pushed the large vamp's body off of you. You sat up quickly, surveying the carnage, slapping away the extended helping hand. The shock of your near death experience wore off quickly, but the adrenaline from the fight did not, so your energy turned towards Dean.

"What the fuck, Dean?" you yelled, rising to your feet, wincing from the pain in your sides.

"What do you mean what the fuck?" he returned angrily. "I just saved your goddamn life!"

"After you endangered it!" you shoved him, scowling furiously. "Ten to two are not good odds! We could have fucking died! I almost did!"

"Hazards of the job, sweetheart!"

"There's hazards, and then there's suicide," you replied, fuming.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't have to thank me."

"I won't." You shoved him out of your way and made for the door. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"Not so fast, princess," Dean called after you. "Hunt's not over."

You froze in your tracks. "What."

"I didn't get all of 'em." You whirled around to face Dean, who was looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Your voice was dangerously quiet. "What do you mean you didn't get all of them?"

He made an attempt at a self-confident grin. "They saw me ganking their buddies like nobody's business, turned tail and ran. I was more concerned about saving your life than to chase."

You smirked tauntingly. "Oh, you cared about my life?"

Dean just shrugged. "Couldn't just leave you there."

"Whatever." You started walking to the entrance again. "Since you let some get away, I say we get a night's sleep. They'll probably be expecting us to come after them, so they won't hunt again tonight. We can pick up the trail in the morning."

"What do you mean you only have one room left?" Dean asked angrily, slamming his hands down on the motel counter.

The clerk looked at him blankly. "Just what I said."

You were at the cheapest motel you could find in the city that was built on tourism. You and Dean were both short on cash, so it seemed like the best option. It was this or take shelter with the junkies in the tunnels.

"I'm not spending the night in the same room as her!"

You hit his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Like you don't feel the same," Dean said exasperatedly, digging out his wallet. "Next cheapest is still too expensive. I'm basically broke," he whined, rifling through his meager collection of bills.

"What happened to all your credit cards, Mr. Fraud?" you sneered.

Dean glared at you. You glared back. After a few moments, the clerk cleared his throat.

"So, do you want the room or not?"

You dropped your bags just inside the door of the room. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dean pushed past you. "What- oh. Oh my goddd." He ran his hand down his face tiredly.

Staring you in the face was the decidedly lumpy surface of a double bed. One. That fucking clerk could've warned you.

You and Dean slowly looked at each other, then you made a mad dash to claim the bed, shoving each other out of the way, kicking, tackling, until you both lay tangled on the floor, still not in the bed. You had his arm pinned behind his back, but he was pinning you to the floor with his weight.

You jerked on his arm, panting, and he grunted painfully, digging his knee into your side.

"Say.. uncle," you gritted out.

"You first!" Dean rasped.

"No!"

You laid there for a few more seconds, then, almost as if it was painful, Dean asked, "Should we- call it a draw?"

You rolled your eyes and released him. He rolled off of you, getting to his feet. He didn't help you up, of course.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," he said spitefully.

"Well, neither am I." Your eyes narrowed.

You laid on the bed stiffly, positioned all the way at the edge of the mattress, as far away from Dean as possible. He was doing the same, and the blanket was pulled taut between you as you wordlessly battled over it.

You were steaming. You should have known that everything would go to shit if you called on him. He completely ruined what should have been a one-hour job, endangering your life and letting a few vamps go. He did, technically, save your life though. You were grateful, but you wouldn't tell him that in a million years.

Adrenaline from the hunt and your constant fighting with Dean coursed through your veins, keeping every sense on high alert. Every tug of the sheets from Dean lit a fire under your skin. His weight behind you on the bed filled you with a painful awareness of how touch-starved you truly were. As much as you tried to suppress it, tension began building in your core.

You shifted uncomfortably, squeezing your thighs together. "Ugh," you let out before you could stop yourself.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled through the darkness.

The sound of his voice, rough with tiredness, intensified how extremely horny you felt. You felt your underwear getting damp in spite of your hate for the man.

"God dammit," you said frustratedly, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Dean said, throwing the covers back and sitting up too. "Why can't you just let me fucking sleep?"

"Nothing," you snapped, taking a swig from your water bottle. Hydrating would calm you down, surely.

"Yeah, right," he snapped back. "What the fuck is wrong?"

"I'm really fucking horny, Christ!" you blurt, whirling on him.

"If I fuck you, will you stop bitchin'?" Dean demanded, fire and a deadly seriousness in his eyes.

You opened and closed your mouth, stunned.

He just smirked at you. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"You want me so bad, huh." He moved across the bed and settled right behind you, his face in your neck, inches away from your own.

"Shut up," you say, flustered, still trying to keep some semblance of control. But you couldn't deny the arousal pooling in your gut.

"Say the word," Dean said smoothly, breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

"Fuck," you whispered, cursing what you're about to do. You turned your head and smashed your lips to his.

Dean responded immediately, pulling you backwards and into his lap. He bit at your lips, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You made an indignant sound, battling him for dominance, teeth clashing in a messy display of pure desire.

Your lips only parted to rip off each other's shirts. You dug your fingernails into Dean's bare shoulders as hard as you could, trying to elicit some kind of reaction from him, which came in the form of a deep groan into your mouth. He broke away, panting, and flung you onto your back on the mattress.

Leering down at you, he placed himself between your legs. "That's how you wanna play, huh princess?"

He yanked your leg up by the knee and slapped the back of your thigh. An involuntary moan escaped your mouth, and Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

"Just shut up and fuck me," you whined, hitting his side with your foot.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Bad girls don't get what they want."

You sat up and came nose to nose with him. "If you think for one second that I am going to sit here and play submissive for you-"

Dean laced his fingers through the back of your hair and sharply tugged your head back. You moaned in response. A smile slowly grew over his face and he let go abruptly and shoved you back down. Your back barely hit the mattress before he was yanking off your sleep shorts and underwear in one go, tossing them to the far reaches of the room. You gasped as the cool air from the room hit your core, driving home the fact that you were now completely exposed to him.

"Aw, already so wet for me," Dean jeered, running a finger up your slit roughly. You flinched away from the sudden contact, heat spreading to your face.

"Don't flatter yourself," you gasped as he shoved a finger inside you, curling it vigorously, relishing the wet sounds your pussy produced.

Dean palmed himself through his pajama pants, groaning. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he added a second finger inside you, scissoring you open. At least he has the decency to prepare me, you thought.

He yanked his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a quick slap, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling.

"Don't whine," Dean said roughly, getting off the bed and kicking off his pants and boxers. You looked down, unable to help yourself.

You saw where he got all his confidence from. He was big. You practically quivered with anticipation. You loved a good stretch, and you liked it rough, and this was about to be both.

"Like what you see?" Dean mocked, shaking his cock.

"Looks like maybe your confidence isn't completely unwarranted," you admitted dryly. You could feel your combative spirit giving way to lust, but you weren't giving up that easily.

He winked, grabbed your ankles and jerked you to the edge of the bed, your thighs around his waist, your hair fanned out on the blanket behind your head. Dean took hold of your calves and pressed your knees up by your face, leaning over you and pinning you down with his weight again. Only this time, it was way hotter.

"Gonna be good for me?" he asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"In your fucking dreams," you spat.

In one fluid motion, he backed off of you, grabbed you by the waist, and spun you onto your stomach. You squeaked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, much harder than he hit before.

You used your feet, barely touching the floor, to push yourself back towards him, hoping he would get the point and just fuck you already without you having to ask him again.

"So fucking needy," he murmured in your ear. "Use your words, princess."

"Fuck you," you moaned, feeling his cock jerk against your leg.

"Mmm, that's not right," Dean warned, fingers digging into your hips.

You grit your teeth. "Fuck me."

Dean splayed his fingers over your ass cheeks, spreading you open for him, and thrust into you roughly, filling you in one go.

You gasped, feeling his cock throb inside you as your pussy complained against the intrusion and desperately tried to adjust to his size. He groaned as you clenched around him, pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

"Dean," you gasped out. "Don't be such a fucking tease."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, princess," Dean growled, his thrusts becoming faster. "You asked for this."

"Technically- you offered," you corrected, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure building inside you with each thrust.

"God, shut- up," Dean griped, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that hit just right, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

He just grunted, hips colliding against you, now just chasing his own high. You pressed your face into the bed, clutching the blanket with both fists, fortifying yourself against Dean's relentless pace. His fingers pressed deeply into your hips, carving out a place for him, letting you know you wouldn't be coming away from this encounter unbruised.

"God, you're so fucking tight," Dean rasped, slapping your ass. You moaned in response, unable to think of a witty retort. "Bet it's been a long time since you were fucked, huh?"

When you didn't reply, he slapped your ass again, on the other side, sending fireworks through your core.

"Bet that's why you're so desperate for me," he groaned. "Haven't gotten laid in a while. Bet that's why you're such a bitch, too," he added snarkily.

"Oh, fuck off," you mumbled into the mattress.

Dean pulled out, much to your chagrin, turning you onto your back again. "If you want," he said, eyes glimmering with mischief.

You pouted and whined, hooking your feet around his waist and trying to pull him back. You were rewarded with a sharp slap to your pussy. You cried out from the stimulation.

"Don't whine," he growled, pushing into you again on the last word.

"Sorry," you whispered in spite of yourself, gripping onto his arms as he cages you in with his body.

"What was that?" Dean said, grinning wickedly and thrusting into you sharply.

"Fuck-" you moaned instead, refusing to cooperate.

He wraps his hand around your throat loosely, putting slight pressure just under your jaw. Your eyes widened as he slowly increased the pressure, jeering down at you, still slamming into you at an incredible pace. Your body started to become overwhelmed with all the sensory input and your core tightened.

You knew Dean felt it, because he grimaced. "Gonna come, you little slut?" he taunted, reaching down with his free hand to rub harshly at your clit. A low whine released from the back of your throat.

His grip tightened around your neck to see your reaction. You gasped, straining to get a full breath in, your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

"Such a fucking slut that you're gonna come from being choked out," Dean said through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"Fuck- Dean," you choked out, both hands wrapped around his wrist. He eased up on the pressure some (he didn't want to kill you) and your hands moved desperately up his arm, gripping him tightly.

Dean was getting close, you could tell, but the question remained: would he come before you? And if he did, would he still take care of you? Somehow you doubted it. The self-absorbed jackass was probably going to cum inside you and fall asleep, like almost every other man you'd slept with.

Suddenly Dean lurched forward, shoving his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing heavily in your ear. You clenched in surprise (and also because a man getting desperate was one of the hottest things on the planet).

Dean groaned deeply in response and bit down on your shoulder, hard. You cried out, half from pain and half from the surprising pleasure it sent roaring through you, causing your cunt to squeeze down on him tightly. He practically whimpered, detaching from your skin and pulling out, pumping himself a few times before spilling onto your stomach with a moan.

He looked down at the mess he'd made of you, dragging his fingers through his cum. Then he brought those fingers up to your mouth and pressed them against your lips. "Open."

You scowled at him, once again determined to be contrary.

Dean glared back. "Open, or you don't get to come," he said harshly, forcing his fingers between your lips and teeth.

So he was planning to take care of you. Your neediness returned in full force, and you opened your mouth to allow him to shove his fingers deep into your mouth. You gagged as his fingertips hit the back of your throat, the taste of his cum filling your mouth. He pressed down on your tongue and you dutifully sucked on his fingers as he smirked down at the sight.

"Good little slut," Dean said nastily, obviously feeling proud of himself. He started to pull his fingers out and you closed your teeth, scraping his skin as he did. He slapped your cheek lazily once his hand was free. "Swallow it."

You glared, but did as you were told, sticking out your tongue to prove it.

Dean grinned. "Ready for your reward, princess?"

You moaned needily, throwing your head back and bucking your hips up towards him.

"Such a fucking whore," he chastised, bringing his hand to your clit and stroking around it lazily. A pang of arousal shot through you as you quickly approached the edge again. All thoughts of defiance went out the window as you grinded against his hand.

"Please," you whimpered, squirming under his touch.

"Since you asked so nicely," Dean mocked. He stuffed your pussy with three fingers at once, thrusting and curling them inside you. "Fuckin' dripping, princess."

He brought his other hand to your clit, thumbing it in figure eights in time with his fingers. You gasped as your core tightened. His fingers were bringing you so close to the brink and just keeping you there, never increasing the pressure just enough to push you over.

"Fuuuck," you moaned, panting. "Please, Dean! I need- I need-"

"You need what?" he teased. He twisted his fingers up to your g-spot, simultaneously ceasing his movements on your clit to press down on it hard.

"Oh, God!" you cried out, almost hyperventilating. The feeling of your orgasm building up was almost too much to bear. A dry sob wracked your body.

Dean nipped at your chest, gazing up at your contorted face with eyes so innocent looking you could've sworn, for a moment, that this was not a man you hated with your entire being, who was not currently doing the most sinful things to you with his hands.

You whimpered pathetically. "Please," you said in a small voice. "I need to come so bad." Your face flushed with shame as you finally admit what he's done to you, both with your words and body.

"All you had to do was ask," Dean said, sickly sweet. His hands sparked into motion again, redoubling their efforts. You let out a strangled scream as you were brought right back to the precipice, only this time, surely, he's going to let you?

It was like a pot boiling over, overwhelming heat spreading from your core out through your stomach, making your legs shake and your abs tighten. You made another strangled, desperate noise as you grinded down on his hand.

"That's it, princess, fuck yourself on my fingers," Dean goaded.

You struggled to catch your breath, eyes wide. Your face was hot and wet, and you realized numbly that tears were streaming down your face, running into your hair. He started to take his hands away, but your hands chased them, seizing them and bringing them back to your core.

Dean seemed surprised, but more than willing to fuck you past the point of no return. "Fuck, you just can't get enough, huh," he said, sounding mildly impressed. Your body shook as he all but stilled his fingers inside you, just rubbing your clit slowly until it became too much to bear and you pushed him off.

You laid there panting quietly, your body shivering from the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms you'd had in a while. For once, it seemed like Dean didn't know what to say.

You closed your eyes for a moment, then suddenly felt his hand on your clit again, rubbing vigorously. Your eyes flew open and you looked down to see Dean's face set in determination. You clutched at his wrist, trying weakly to get him away, knees trying to close around him, but it didn't take long for you to cum again with a shriek, heels digging into the mattress to push yourself away. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, and you felt a gush of arousal leave you. Dean looked delighted.

"I fucking knew it," he said triumphantly, holding up his hand to survey the mess.

"What?" you asked feebly as another shiver ran through your body.

"Knew you'd be so touch-starved I could get you to squirt," Dean explained smugly. He licked some of your arousal off his hand.

You threw your head back onto the bed exasperatedly. "God, I hate you."

"Could've fooled me," he returned, displaying his hand to you and smirking.

dividers once again by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

#dean winchester’s 45th birthday celebration #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn smut #spn fanfiction #supernatural smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #userwraith

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

Stiff Competition | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: After visiting your bakery one time, Bob has a crush on you. The only problem is, so do all of the other guys.

Warnings: Fluff and some swears

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bob quietly followed his friends inside the trendy, new bakery that opened near base. He had become so accustomed to the bickering between Hangman and Rooster, he found it almost soothing, even early on a Monday morning.

"No way," Bradley said, shaking his head at Jake. "You're wrong, and now you're just being stubborn."

Jake sighed calmly. "I'm just saying, there's no way anyone, Fred included, would pick Velma over Daphne. It's unrealistic."

Bradley grunted in response. "Whatever. Smart girls are always hot."

Bob just cradled his forehead in his hand and let the rich smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wash over his senses. All three men in their khaki uniforms shuffled forward as the line moved.

"Holy shit," Bradley and Jake muttered softly and in perfect unison.

"Do you see what I see?" Bradley asked, staring entranced at the sight before him.

"Oh hell yes, I do," Jake confirmed with a nod.

Bob immediately looked in the direction they were staring, and his breath caught in his throat. All three of them were now eyeing you up where you stood behind the counter. You were smiling at one of the patrons and filling a pastry box with donuts.

"She's kinda hot," Bradley whispered.

"Better than that. She's fucking gorgeous," Jake replied.

Bob silently agreed with them, noting the adorable smudge of flour on your cheek. He had always been a little shy, a little timid around women. And he was not about to get into a dick measuring contest with Bradley and Jake. He would just let the two of them fight it out, because Bob was never the one to get the stunning girl.

When it was their turn to order, Bob watched the other two men trip over each other to get to the counter first. You smiled at each of them in turn, your gaze lingering on Bob and making him blush.

"Hi! What can I get for you fellas?" you asked the three of them, and Bob completely forgot what he was going to order.

"Hey, gorgeous. What would you recommend?" Bradley asked in a deep and raspy voice as he leaned against the counter and peered at you over his aviators.

You chuckled and shook your head. "I would recommend the citrus muffin with orange zest."

"Perfect, I'll get six of those," he said, his smile twitching below his mustache. "I'm Bradley, by the way."

"And I'm Jake! And I'll get a dozen muffins." Bob watched Jake flash you a megawatt smile, and he wished he could be half as charming.

"A dozen muffins?" you asked Jake. Your eyes skimmed back over Bob's face with an amused glint in your eye.

"Actually, I'll take two dozen," Bradley said, changing his order and glaring at Jake.

"So you want a total of three dozen muffins?" you asked before turning toward the bakery case. "Okay.... seems excessive," you muttered.

Bob watched you intently as you packed up bakery boxes of muffins and entered them into the register. You must have known what was going on here, but you just smiled at the three of them as you worked.

"Anything for you?" you asked, flashing Bob a smile that made him feel a little nervous. "You're awfully quiet back there."

"Uh, just a small coffee, please," he muttered, getting out his wallet and trying to stay cool.

"One hundred and twenty eight dollars is your total," you announced, and Jake and Bradley both tried to get you to take their credit cards at the same time.

"I've got it, I insist," Bradley said.

"Use my platinum card," Jake announced loudly.

"Use mine. His will definitely be declined," Bradley replied, trying to nudge Jake out of the way.

You carefully took one in each hand and said, "Um... I'm just going to split it between both cards. How does that sound?"

When the enormous quantity of muffins had been collected, and you handed Bob his coffee, he forced himself to meet your eyes. "Thank you, miss," he said softly, as your fingers grazed against his. "You have a lovely day."

Bob watched you bite your lip as he tucked five dollars into the tip jar and nodded his head at you.

"Thanks. See you soon, I hope," you called as he turned to leave. Bob glanced back one last time as he exited the bakery, and you were still looking at him.

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

On Tuesday at lunchtime, Bob was about to eat the sandwich he had packed, but Jake suggested going back to the bakery.

"I hope she's working again today," Bradley said, grabbing his car keys.

Jake nodded enthusiastically. "Hot little piece like that, she's gotta have a boyfriend."

Bradley snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time I've stolen a girl from another guy."

"What makes you think she'd pick you when I'm available?" Jake asked.

Bob just tuned them out until they all arrived at the bakery. He was hoping to see you again too, but he just wanted to listen to your voice and watch you smile. He'd let the other two do most of the talking. They were good at that sort of thing.

"Gorgeous," Bradley called you. "How've you been?"

"Fine," you replied, once again smiling at the three of them. "What can I get for you today? Another coffee for you?" you asked Bob, and he just nodded in reply. He didn't need more caffeine today, but he wanted you to hand him the cup again. He'd just give it to Phoenix when he got back on base.

Bob listened to the other two men once again order more pastries than anyone could ever need, and this time Jake pulled a massive wad of cash out of his wallet and insisted on paying for everything. Bradley had a sour look on his face that he tried to hide when you smiled at him and handed him two bags of food.

Then he stood to his full height, chest puffed out. "Thanks, gorgeous," Bradley said, sliding his aviators back into place. Bob watched Jake try to stand as tall as Bradley, failing and looking ridiculous in the process. Bob just closed in on himself a little more, trying to blend his tall frame into the background.

"And your coffee," you said, handing the disposable cup to Bob with another beautiful smile. His hand shook when he accepted the cup, and a little bit of the beverage sloshed down the sleeve of his flight suit and splashed onto the counter.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bob muttered, setting down the cup and reaching for the napkins.

"No, it was my fault," you assured him. "I'll clean it up, you don't have to."

"Bob!" Jake called from the doorway. "What's the holdup, man? You coming?"

"Uh, I'll meet you at the car," he replied, mopping up the drink and drying his sleeve.

"Your name's Bob?" you asked him softly.

He glanced up to meet your warm gaze and nodded once. "Yes. I'm Lieutenant Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob," he said quietly.

You smiled and told him your name. "Here you go, Bob. These are on the house. Sorry I spilled your coffee."

Bob took a small paper bag from you and picked up his coffee cup once more. "Oh, that's not necessary. It was my fault."

"I insist," you told him. "See you again soon?"

He looked down at his feet and smiled. "Yes. See you again soon."

"I can't wait."

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

On Friday morning, Bob was a nervous wreck. He'd been thinking about you all week, but he knew the other guys had been, too. They had been talking about you a lot, but Bob was too shy to tell them he was also interested in you.

He'd given the coffee to Phoenix the other day, but he smiled when he opened the bag and found a croissant. His favorite. It seemed like you knew. And it was flaky and perfect, and he couldn't wait to see you again and get another one.

"Bakery time!" Bradley announced. "Time to visit the hottie. You coming, Bob?"

Bob fell into step behind him and Jake, but then Reuben and Javy were joining as well. "Everyone's coming today?" Bob asked, squeezing into Reuben's car along with the other four.

"Yeah, can't wait to see this girl," Javy said.

"Heard she's sexy," Reuben agreed.

Bob just stared out the window and sighed. He was just going to have to get over his crush on you. It was the only way to keep his heart from breaking. He wouldn't look at you, and he wouldn't talk to you. And he definitely wouldn't eat another croissant.

He shuffled into the bakery behind the others, and there you were. He tried to look at all of the baked goods in the case, but you greeted him by name. You greeted only him by name.

"Hi," he managed, and the other four guys turned to glare at him.

"Gorgeous, what would you recommend today?" Bradley asked you.

"Blueberry muffins are good today," you replied, and you started packing up a box full at Javy's request.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Reuben asked, leaning so far across the counter, he may as well have just jumped over.

"I'm the owner and primary baker," you told them, and Bob was so impressed.

"Wow, gorgeous. Your muffins are really famous around here. We can't stop coming back for more," Bradley said, smirking at you. But you were looking at Bob again as he inched forward.

"Did you make the croissant? It was very good," he told you, unable to look away.

You beamed at him. "I did. They're my specialty."

Bob swallowed hard, all four guys looking at him in surprise now. "Could... uh, could I have another one? I'll pay for it this time though, if you don't mind. It was delicious."

"Of course, Bob. Anything you want." You turned to get a bag ready, and Bob thought he might faint.

Jake turned and mouthed at him, "Anything you want?"

Bob just shrugged and made his way toward the register. He was pouring sweat in his flight suit, trying to stay as calm as possible. You met him at the other end of the counter and smiled as you slid a bag and a small coffee his way.

"Three dollars," you told him softly, as if you could tell he was nervous, but you didn't seem to mind.

"What about the coffee?" he asked as he adjusted his glasses.

"On the house."

Bob quickly paid you for the croissant, as he could already hear Jake and the others getting restless.

Jake leaned across the counter as you ran his credit card. "You interested in pilots?" he asked with a smirk.

You just swiped the card and handed it back to him. "You're all pilots?" you asked, smiling at all of them.

"Nah, Bob here is just a backseater," Reuben said loudly, slapping Bob on the back and nearly spilling his coffee.

"Oh, so Bob's the brains of the operation? Sounds about right," you said, sending a subtle wink in his direction.

Bob's ears felt a little fuzzy and his collar felt a little too tight. Maybe he had imagined the wink. Yes, that must be it.

The guys all hooted, and Jake said, "Well sure, Bob's smart and organized, but that's not as exciting."

You just shrugged. "Still sounds exciting to me. Hope you guys all have a safe flight this afternoon. Enjoy your croissant, Bob."

He floated out onto the sidewalk with the others, still in a daze.

"What the fuck, guys? She likes Bob the best?" Javy said in disbelief as they all walked back to the car. "Hangman and Rooster, you two really dropped the ball."

"Does she?" Bob asked quietly. "She likes me?"

Reuben shoved half a muffin into his mouth and grinned. "You should ask her out, man."

Bob thought about asking you out the whole drive back to base and as he walked to meet up with Phoenix. When he finally opened the bag to eat his croissant, he saw that you had put three inside.

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

Late Saturday morning, Bob paced around outside of the bakery with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He'd peeked in through the window and saw that you and another girl were working, but he'd lost his nerve. He was on the verge of heading back to his car and calling it a day when the door opened, and he could smell the croissants.

"You can do it," he told himself and rushed inside before he could turn around.

"Bob!" you called with a bright smile. "Back for more croissants?"

He took a deep breath and headed toward you. He noticed you were looking at the flowers in his hand, but you didn't say anything or rush him to respond, which he appreciated. You just smiled and leaned on the counter.

"Yes, I would like another croissant," he muttered, and you pushed up from the counter to get it for him. "Actually, I would like two. But you need to let me pay for both of them today."

"Okay. Sure, Bob," you said with the tiniest smile as you put two into a bag. But now you didn't look as happy, and he wanted to kick himself. How had he messed this up already?

He met you at the register, and you asked him, "So, are the flowers for your wife? Or your girlfriend?"

"Oh, neither," he said, lifting them a little higher. "I don't have either of those."

You looked up at him and bit your lip. "Who's the extra croissant for?"

Bob watched your lips as you waited for him to answer. He was sweating, but he was in too deep to turn back now. "I, um... thought maybe we could eat them together. When you're done working. If you're not too busy."

Your smile lit up your face again. "I would like that."

Bob's smile matched your own. "You would?"

"Yeah," you told him with a nod. "You're so sweet. Much better than your friends. Are those flowers for me?"

Bob looked at the floor as he felt himself blushing. "Oh, yeah," he said, handing them to you. "Of course they are."

He watched you disappear into the kitchen for a minute, only to reappear without the flowers or your apron. Then you joined him on his side of the counter. Without any hesitation, you placed one hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"Let's go for a walk," you told him, and Bob's heart was absolutely pounding for you. "I know a nice bench, perfect for eating croissants."

Bob felt you lace your fingers through his, and he held your hand in his larger one. "Lead the way."

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

This fic is for my Bobby loving friend Alex!!! @bradshawsbitch

Thanks to Alli @beyondthesefourwalls for giving this a read for me.

I hope I have done our Loverboy Bob justice!

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@mak-32

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@endofdays56

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

#robert floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob top gun

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luxaofhesperides · 7 months

Note

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary.

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over.

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up.

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people.

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good.

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule.

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls.

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again.

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence.

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored.

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts.

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him.

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret.

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground.

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone.

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own.

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back.

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this.

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull.

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve.

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him.

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone.

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something.

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met.

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition.

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers.

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face.

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set.

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across.

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member.

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family.

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door.

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom.

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them.

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating.

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever.

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter.

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again.

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents.

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start.

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #theyre just so casual in this fic #duke gets kidnaps. nbd tbh. saved by a glowing flying guy. nbd. duke clocks dannys identity instantly. nbd.#theyre just chilling. no time to freak out they on a mission to get milkshakes!!#sam is cackling once they leave and people start trying to figure out who they were and how audacious they were in leaving like that #lots of people ask bruce abt duke and his actions. the other siblings are trying so hard to get info abt danny from sam but shes not cracki #dick asks jason to follow them and get info bc this milkshake date is now an urgent mission. jason blocks him.#damian and sam do bond over animal rights and environmentalism later tho. they just share protesting tips and best ways to cause a scene #once again peppering in ocs bc i love making ocs #(<-says the girl literally writing an original superhero novel bc she cant stop making ocs. as if this is news to anyone)#thanks for the prompt!!!

754 notes · View notes

ao3commentoftheday · 7 months

Note

Hi! I saw a post here on tumblr that said that authors shouldn't let people put their works on a collection (I think it was because then the admin of the collection could delete it or something like that). Is that true? I read all the info on collections in the faq of ao3 but I couldn't find anything about that so I'm confused.

The owner of a collection can't delete anyone else's work, no. But what they can do is set the collection to "unrevealed". This removes the works from being visible to users on AO3, other than the author of the work and the collection admin(s).

Collections were originally created to support fandom events. Some of those events would be connected to a specific day, so authors would add their works to the collection as they finished writing them and the collection wouldn't be revealed until whatever the specified date was. On that date, the works would all become visible on the Archive and subscribers to those authors would get the emails in their inboxes.

With people using collections for personal organizational purposes, and perhaps not realizing what their settings were doing, problems started happening with works "disappearing". User settings used to make it so that anyone could add a work to a collection without asking the author's permission. That changed several years ago. Now, the author needs to agree first and authors also get a notifcation email if a previously open collection gets set to unrevealed.

An author can remove their work from a collection at any time.

If you're a reader who uses collections to organize fics, I recommend collecting a bookmark of the fic rather than the fic itself. If you try to collect a work, the author has to agree. If you collect a bookmark, you're the only one it affects and having an unrevealed collection still leaves the work up and available for anyone who wants to read it.

#asks and answers #how to ao3

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bizbat · 4 months

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your jason todd hcs are sooooo good omg!!! do you have any hcs specifically for when he has a crush on the reader, like how he might act, specifically if the reader is oblivious and really doesn’t think that she’s his type / thinks he’s joking if he says anything flirty?

When They're In Love - Jason Todd (Crush Edition)

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms + Pet names used for reader.

~ You can find part one of these hcs here, and part two here.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ These can be read as a sort of part three/prequel kinda.

~Fic at the end.

~ Tw for : Blood, Knives, Needles, Vomit. (All slight)

~Thank you for asking! Hope you enjoy, sorry this took so long :(

You would never know that Jason has a crush on you.

For the most part, he wont talk to you any differently than he will anyone else.

Maybe he won't jokingly insult you, or be super sarcastic around you, but I think that's kind of as far as he'd go.

Unless you're a close friend or family member, you'd probably have no clue he had a crush based on the way he talks to you.

But the little actions and things he does for you are so obvious.

He's the type to hold open doors for you, all the while staring other people dead in the eye as it shuts in their face.

He somehow always just "randomly" has your favorite snack on hand, or a whole collection of books by your favorite author.

I think he'd be touchy, unless he knows you don't like being touched.

If you like or don't mind it, he'd have his arm constantly thrown over your shoulder, always be leaning against you, always resting a hand on your hip.

If you're shorter than him, he does that super annoying thing where he rests his elbow on your head.

He is so lame omg.

But bc he's kinda like this with everyone, no one would fault you for not understanding his hints.

He's like the opposite though.

You said hi to him this morning? You must be in love with him.

You smiled at him today instead of Dick? He's already planning the wedding.

What's that? You said he smells nice? Have his babies. (If you can/want to)

Our delusional king.

He doesn't think you don't get his flirting.

He'd think you're fully aware and are flirting back.

Again, our delusional king.

You probably won't get it until something really serious happens and he comes to you instead of Bruce or Roy.

He'd probably try to get into things you're interested in.

Listens to all your favorite songs, reads your favorite books, etc.

And he's not subtle about it bc he is in fact, a loser.

He'll recommend a song by your favorite artist and then be like "idk why but this just reminded me of you lol"

LOSER. Can you guys tell i'm a big believer in the "jason todd is secretly a massive loser" agenda? Cuz I am. :|

And then he listens when you go on rambles about how great the things you like are and how much they mean to you.

I said he'll do things just to hear you talk about them, and I think he'd do that when he has a crush on you too.

He just loves your voice and likes hearing you talk.

He smiles at you so softly when he thinks you aren't looking.

You could be bumming out and he'll look at you with heart eyes like yeah, future spouse right there.

I don't think he'd be a big user of social media, but if you were, he'd get a whole account just to like and comment of your pictures.

user94820860038466 commented: You look very pretty in this picture.

Comments like an old man bc he has very little understanding of the internet.

He'd probably help you take pictures and fight with other people in your comment section if they're too down bad or creepy.

He doesn't strike me as the jealous type bc once again, he's so delusional he pretty much already thinks you're dating.

Nicknames nicknames nicknames.

Calls you so, so many nicknames.

Angel, doll, sweetheart, maybe even babe.

He constantly talks about you when you aren't there.

Lian and Roy know so much about you before they even meet you.

He'd do anything for you.

The store is actually about a mile in the other direction, but yeah he can get you your favorite drink.

He does not like that food at all and the owner of the store despises him, but he will not return to you empty handed best believe.

He was actually going to wear that hoodie today, but it looks so much better on you you should keep it!

~ Drabble Starts Here. ~

It's just like every other night in Gotham City. It's cold, and wet, and it smells like smoke and garbage that's been left out in the sun.

The only barrier between you and the chilled, musty air outside is a single sheet of glass; the fire escape window of your fifth floor apartment. It's comforting. The glass is, of course, bulletproof, and the seal around the sill is tight, so no gases ever manage seep in. It pays to have a decent landlord, especially in Gotham.

It's funny, but you really never think about that window. You mostly keep it shut and locked, except in the summer, when you can smell your neighbor in the building next door cooking all types of delicious aromatic dishes, or when it's just too hot and you decide the risk of heatstroke is greater than the risk of airborne psychosis. It never occurs to you just how well it keeps you safe, just how well it keeps things out.

It occurs to Jason, though. In fact, it's the only thing on his mind as he's gripping his side, frantically trying to prevent too much blood from seeping out of his body.

He'll probably chastise himself later for not being more gentle or respectful, but he's lost too much blood to be thinking straight. With his free hand, he bangs on your window, praying that you're A) at home, and B) not listening to music. He's not too worried about the first one, he knows you never leave your lights on when you're away, but the second one, he's not too sure about.

He bangs, and bangs, and bangs on the glass, a loud, thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk that immediately rouses your from your sleep. You jump up from your spot on the couch, an open book falling from your lap as you dart into your room to grab the knife Jay gave you for protection, before returning to your living room, keeping your back to the wall.

You hold the blade in front of you, nervously gripping the hilt as you listen to the banging, making sure to stay just out of sight as you cautiously creep closer and closer to the noise. It isn't until the banging dies down that you finally get close enough to see the cause.

You gasp at the sight, dropping the knife and trying to tug the window open, before mentally yelling at yourself to unlock it. You drag the weakened behemoth of a man into your apartment, carefully placing his upper body on the floor in front of your window and removing his helmet. Your hand moves to his side, firmly pressing down on his wound, as you stare at him, mouth agape and eyes flooding with concern.

He laughs, a dry chuckle that just sounds like it hurts. "What took ya' doll?" You wanna smack him, but you can do that when he's not bleeding all over your hardwood floors. You tell him to wait, as if he could go anywhere in the state he's in, before rushing to grab the emergency kit he forced you to keep.

"Let-ngh- let me do it." He groans as he attempts to sit up, trying and failing to pull the tweezers from your hand. He doesn't even have the strength to sit back up when you gently push him back down. You clean his wound, all while he holds back winces and groans. You don't hold back, focusing on cutting and cleaning and stitching and wrapping, berating Jason for coming to you of all people.

"What d'ya mean? Of course I'd come to you?" Jason manages between harsh breaths. "Who else would I go to?" He seems genuinely confused, you're his girlfriend, you always come to him when you need help. Why wouldn't he come to you?

"Oh, I don't know, Jason, maybe Bruce, or Roy, or literally anyone else with training to handle this kind of thing!?" It comes out mean, but through his pain he can tell it's coming from a place of true care. You're worried. One of the strongest, most skilled people you know is bleeding out on your floor and you're panicking. Of course you are, you've never had to sew someone up, or dig a bullet out of someone, or try to hold down bile from the heavy smell of blood.

Your hands are shaking like crazy. This isn't a slight graze you can put a bandaid over and seal with a kiss, this is a life threatening wound on someone you care about, and all they've been doing since they came to you is make stupid fucking jokes and try to take things from your hands.

Jason can tell it's getting to you.

It should be the other way around, what with him bleeding out in your living room, but he quiets down, gripping your wrist with his non-blood covered hand. "Hey," He gently strokes your skin with his thumb, repeating himself when you don't move your eyes from his wound. "Hey, look at me Y/n." It's just stern enough to make you obey, without sounding like he's mad at you. "It'll be okay. I'm in good hands." Jason smiles at you, tired and reassuring. It calms your nerves just enough for you to finish sewing his wound shut.

You sit back when you're done, taking in your work once you wrap his stomach with gauze. Jason turns just enough to catch a glimpse, smiling up at you with his stupid, charming smirk. "Not bad, doll. Told ya you had it covered." He lays back, smiling up at you as he lays his head on his arm, the one on his non-injured side. Though he doesn't seem to bothered by the end of it all, you can't say the same.

He takes in your features, your tired, glossy eyes and your pouting lips. It makes his smile drop. You look away, your sad eyes not meeting his own. "I . . . what? What's wrong Y/n?" Jason winces, moving to rest on his elbows to get a better look at your face. "Was it the blood? Or the- was it the window? I'm sorry about that, by the way." You shake your head no at all of his suggestions, taking a breath before turning back to face him.

He can feel his heart hurt at the sight of unshed tears in your eyes. "I . . . I was scared Jay." He pushes himself all the way up when you take your lip into your mouth. He ignores the pain shooting through his side when he pulls you into his arms. "Hey, hey, hey, scared of what? I'm okay. You did good." Those tears finally spill when your arms wrap around his waist, loose as to not further irritate his wound.

"You could've died Jay, a-and I wouldn't be able to-to help you! I can't help you!" You sob into his shoulder. He holds you tightly, pressing his lips to your head as he rubs your back. "Please, please don't cry. I'm okay now, you helped me. I'm all better now." He rocks you both gently, trying to console you. "Sides, if I was gonna die, I'd be happy if it was with my girl."

What?

You freeze in his arms, and he knows he said something wrong. He just doesn't know what. His brain moves a mile a minute as he tries to figure out what it was before you get even more upset. Though, his brain completely shuts down when you stare up at him with those cute, confused eyes. The tears have slowed down, and he's at least thankful for that. "Your . . . girl?" Now he's confused too. "What-what do you mean by that?"

He has to do a double take. "What do you mean? You're my girl, like . . . girlfriend, you know?" Every second that passes only confuses the two of you more. "I'm your girlfriend?" "Ar-aren't you?" You blink at him. Were you? Are you? "Am I?" Somewhere there was cognitive dissonance, Jason just doesn't know for who. "Yeah, we're dating, I thought?" Though, he doesn't feel so confident about that now.

"Oh," You feel your ears grow warm, for the second time now your eyes don't meet his own. "I . . . I didn't know that." You wish you could hide right now, but he's still got his arms wrapped around you. "I mean, unless you don't want to, then-then I'm sorry-" Jason feels maybe even more embarrassed than you as he finally drops his arms, grabbing his helmet and moving to crawl back out the window he came in through. His bullet wound is completely forgotten by now.

He stops when you grip his jacket, shyly staring at the floor as you speak. "No! I w-want to." Your eyes darty up to his, before losing confidence and dropping back to the floor. "I want to be your girlfriend," It comes out a whisper, and when he's silent for a beat too long you worry he's suddenly changed his mind.

"Good. Great. Yeah." He drops back to the floor, sitting cross legged beside you. Internally, he's doing backflips in his mind. "Cool." Later on, he'll ask more questions, but for now, he's satisfied. "Yeah." You shyly play with your clothes, twiddling your thumbs as you sit in silence. You feel like a little girl who just admitted to her crush that she likes him. "Are you-" "I didn't-" You interrupt each other, both of you gesturing for the other to continue. It's a bit of a fight, but Jason makes you go first.

"I was gonna ask if you were hungry. I have some, um, pretzels and stuff. If you want." Jason nods. He follows you into your kitchen, where the two of you quietly and contently eat the iron rich foods you looked up. "What were you going to say, by the way?"

Jason looks up from his plate, the haphazardly prepared meal helping him feel better, though his heart feels pretty good right now anyways. "I didn't know that you didn't know. I thought," he laughs nervously. "I thought, we were dating this whole time." He laughs again when you shake your head. "I didn't know! I thought . . . I don't know, that I wasn't your type, or something."

That's probably the most surprising thing he's heard you say today. Okay it's not, but it's the thing that most catches him off guard.

"Of course you are! You're so sweet, and cute, and nice, and pretty, and you smell really good, and you're funny, and I like your voice, and the way you d-do things . . . and . . . other stuff." Jason stops himself before he can ramble for hours about every single things he loves about you. You wouldn't mind if he did, though. You hide your pleased expression with your hand.

"Me too." It's quiet, but no longer shy. "I like all that "stuff" about you too."

#bizbat #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanons #dc headcanon #red hood x reader #red hood #jason todd #dc x reader #lian harper #roy harper

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qierxing · 1 year

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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

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simpxxstan · 8 months

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double take

pairing: prince!joshua x f.reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage au, royalty au

summary: some lovers are star-crossed. some are destined to rise from the ashes. and some lovers are bound together by duty, but lovers nevertheless. joshua hong thinks fate is too cruel, but little does he know, that there are stars moving to keep his destiny alive.

word count: 22.7k

rating: 18+ (mdni please!)

warning: there's a ton of angst. death of wonwoo, who is joshua's brother, in the past (not graphic), smut warnings: mentions of masturbation, vaginal penetration, nipple play. alcohol and heartbreak. wonwoo is gay. reader has some body image issues, some descriptions of a midsize body and insecurities related to that.

a/n: i poured my heart and soul into this. took me over two months to complete. i hope you enjoy this!

p.s. there are lyrics from ten songs in this fic. i hope you can find the songs! else, i can link them later if you can't find out or guess them. i'd recommend listening to them while reading their particular parts, really sets the mood.

알잖아 우리 사이엔 말보다 더 중요한 게 있잖아

“You know, there are more important things between us than words”

As soon as the doors open, everyone gasps in awe, looking at you with adoration, jealousy, and sentiment all at the same time. The numerous cameras flash, there are audible gasps spreading across the room, the Choir instantly starts playing the traditional music played at a wedding. The room is decked up in pink and white roses, your favourite, and there are beautiful lights decorating the entire room. The glistening white sparkles off the floor, the walls, the tiles and the decor. Your parents already have their eyes moist; your friends are smiling widely, as they stand with their bouquets ready as the bridesmaids. The entire room beams with the joy of the wedding of the century.

And yet, he, whose attention you seek, does not even flick an eyelash. His deer eyes remain curved upward in what you know is a fake smile of endearment, his lips pursed in a false look of affection. You know he does for the cameras, he knows you know it too. You feel he doesn’t really want to be here, he knows you feel it too. You hadn’t expected him to really want this, and yet your heart had hoped against hope. But he had not proved you wrong.

Prince Joshua wants to be anywhere but here.

Prince Joshua wants to be with anyone but you.

Prince Joshua wants to do anything but this farce.

The Choir starts a new song, indicating that it is time for you to step forward towards the altar, where the priest is waiting for you. Your to-be husband is waiting for you. As your heart aches, you make your way towards him, your eyes avoiding his at all costs, while his remain fixed on you. He’s searching for something. An equal apathy towards this wedding? An equal irritation towards the partner? Any hope that you’d call this event off right now and free him for the torture? Last night you had almost been tempted to do so, thinking that at least now he would not treat you as poorly as he had been treating you for the last five months. But you know too well, you cannot give him that satisfaction.

You’re too in your head through the rituals, hardly paying attention to what vows he makes, barely caring about the reactions of the audience, not even listening to the priest’s statements. You were spiralling, trying to avoid his gaze which was fixated on you.

Oh god, can we get over this fast?

“Do you, Joshua Hong Jisoo, take Kim Y/N as your duly wedded wife?”

Is this even a question? This interviewer in my dream gets dumber and dumber. Obviously, it’s a-

“Yes.”

You’re quickly snapped into focus when the answer makes you realise this is not a dream. The priest now asks you, “And do you, Kim Y/N, take Joshua Hong Jisoo as your duly wedded husband?”

This is the moment. You breathe in, breathe out. It’s a millisecond to disaster.

“Yes, I do.”

Joshua had not foreseen this moment five months ago when he had been called back to his country at midnight, after an emergency call from his mother. Brain dulled with grief, thoughts about you had definitely crossed his mind, but not in this way. He had only thought of how you must be coping up with the news, given that you had been next to Wonwoo when the accident had taken his life. He wondered, if it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his body for him, how much worse was it for you. On returning to the palace, he had seen your lifeless face, staring at the night sky, a look he had never seen on your otherwise bright face.

Living away from his family for the past 7 years meant he was not feeling the grief as actively as his parents and you, who had spent much more time with Wonwoo these few years. He knew he would have to comfort his family, but he had no idea how. How could one comfort a mother of the loss of her youngest son? How could one comfort a father from the death of the apple of his eye? How could one comfort a woman who had just lost her dearest best friend and fiance?

To any other royal offspring, these would seem the most worrisome responsibilities. However, to Joshua, who had willingly given up his throne to his younger brother, who, he was confident, would be able to rule much better, the thought of becoming the Crown Prince was the most daunting. When he had turned sixteen, his father had asked him whether he wanted to become the Crown Prince. Almost immediately he had said no, convincing him to let Wonwoo take the lead. At the age of nineteen, when Wonwoo had come of age to become the Crown Prince, Joshua had left for the States to continue his education. At the age of twenty-two, when he had returned to his homeland for a 6 months break, the longest since leaving for the States, he had realised how good his decision had been to let Wonwoo take over. Wonwoo had both skill and the youthful spirit the people of the kingdom needed. His calmer and smarter personality meant he could shoulder the responsibilities better than Joshua ever felt he could. Plus, Wonwoo was a crowd favourite, being the maknae of the Royal Family, and yet the smartest of the lot, as his parents and elder brother had tagged him affectionately.

The public had, of course, not taken Wonwoo’s death well. They had been incredibly supportive of Wonwoo becoming the Crown Prince over Joshua (their polls on social media had been another reason Joshua had left) but now it was just augmented as the general image for Joshua was that of the Prince who had Fled. Princes had to be strong, mentally and physically. Careful, enigmatic, and visionary, like Wonwoo. Not deer-eyed, delicate, and cowardly, like Joshua.

Why should we trust anyone who ran away from his duties of being the eldest, to rule us well?

Indeed, the modern Royal Family had stepped past the norms of age hierarchy, but the mathyung usually took up the reins of royal duty. Instead, Joshua had effectively fled from his duties, not just stepped down and aside. He had been away from his country for a solid 7 years, how would he ever know what the people needed? They strongly protested against Joshua becoming the Crown Prince now, but there were no other progeny left to take up the responsibility.

Needless to say, the entire country was mourning the loss of Wonwoo desperately, albeit for different reasons.

Joshua had soon realised that he had no time to grieve. As soon as the funeral was over, he had to get to work. But how would he survive in this earthquake shaking up his life?

The first step was getting up-to-date with everything that had happened in the country when he was away. Some of it, he knew. Learning the rest was not a tough task. After dropping out of the PhD program he was pursuing in the USA, he had ample free time in his hand to learn every new fact his advisors fed him.

The second step was understanding how royalty worked. Having stepped down from his duties as a teenager meant he had never received training per se. He had to relearn traditional etiquette he had forgotten, familiarise himself with the advisors and royal support system, and thoroughly practise his new duties.

The third step, of course, was making himself popular and loved among the public. The PR team had come up with a long list of actions he should consider to improve his public image. His parents had rejected many of them as unnecessary, and said, "There's only one thing to be done. Marry Y/N."

Joshua had looked at his own parents incredulously. How could they suggest such a step?

When you all were children, he had considered you nothing more than a playmate. An interesting woman, intelligent, witty and warm, a rare combination, he had realised, as he had made acquaintances with more and more people. Of course, you were always closer to Wonwoo. Joshua had known you would end up marrying each other. Everyone had already planned out your wedding with Wonwoo before you had even turned thirteen. Hence your engagement with the Crown Prince last year, had come as no shock to anyone.

Over the years he had come to consider you as a friend. One he met only during summer breaks, always by the side of his little brother. Lately, he had tried to think of you as a sister-in-law. It was funny that he hadn't thought of you as that sooner. He had anticipated the engagement anyway.

"I'm sorry, that's not a possibility I want to consider."

"Why?" Your father had asked you.

"She's my sister-in-law. My little brother's intended. This would be the worst way to take his place."

"Jisoo-"

"No. If you want me to marry someone, I'll be ready for whoever you choose fit. Just not Y/N."

And yet here he was. Swearing his wedding vows to you. Destiny had really done him dirty.

If you had thought the wedding was a trial, the wedding ball was like the guillotine. Under the attention of at least three million people and a million more cameras, your cheekbones ached from putting up the fake smile. Joshua was nearly always at your side, making small talk with the numerous people who had come to wish you congratulations, ranging from the common people to the elite crowds. His body was inexplicably close to yours, but never touching. You could smell his perfume, but never hear his breathing. You could see his smiles, but never feel the warmth.

You knew why he was marrying you. The country needed a royal leader who knew them and related with them. Joshua was a westernised man, who forgot to bow on most occasions, forgot to speak formally sometimes, forgot even the most difficult letters of the Hangul script sometimes. You were the perfect mix to satisfy that gap- the daughter of the royal counsel, not even the offspring of a royal clan, educated in Hangul history by your own choice, and a close friend of the Princes. You were well aware that your engagement with Wonwoo had been immensely popular- the result being that you had already become the official face and honorary member for many societies and organisations of the kingdom.

And now that Wonwoo was gone, but obviously, you had been requested by the King and the Queen to marry Joshua.

And you had taken it in your stride. It was another responsibility for you to fulfil towards your people, who you had become quite affectionate towards since becoming the Crown Prince's fiance; towards your parents, who had dreamt of you becoming Princess since you had developed a friendship with the young Prince; and towards Wonwoo, who you knew had wanted this match since your first Spring Dance, when both of you had guessed each other's secrets a little too accurately.

You knew Joshua would never love you. And frankly speaking, you hadn’t expected love in this kind of setup. Even when agreeing to marry Wonwoo, you had zero romantic feelings for him, only seeing him as your best friend. And when your best friend asks you to rule the kingdom at his side, to be his companion in the tough times, to be his closest person forever, how could you ever say no?

And so, you had agreed to this arrangement with Joshua. You had imagined that he would be equally practical as you, and see this as a familial duty he had to complete. You had imagined he would at least be courteous, friendly and civil with you.

But you were, oh, so wrong. He had been anything but civil with you these five odd months.

If the wedding had been disappointing, then the dance after the wedding was … just sad. As Joshua stepped closer to you, his aura radiating with the white suit he had donned for this day, he could feel your breath heavy on your face. Free from the burden of conversation (usually, ladies would keep pestering him with questions and sad, unsuccessful, forceful attempts at flirting with him). He remembered hearing from the dressmaker how you had fussed about each detail of the dress, but Joshua had no doubt, every version would’ve looked good on you. And all that fuss had definitely paid off: the sweetheart neckline showed off your collarbones beautifully. Your neck was empty save one diamond pendant (which the royal family had gifted to you on your eighteenth birthday, how sweet of you to wear this memory on this special day). There were tiny flowers in your hair, bright yellows against the dark brown. Then there were your cherry lips-

“Joshua.” He sees those lips mould themselves into his name first, and then hears them (light did travel faster than sound). “Hmm?” He whispers back, his voice gravelly from the fake laughs he had to laugh through the day. “I think I just… sprained my ankle.”

It doesn’t register in his mind at first.

A millisecond later, you’re suddenly tripping and wincing, and it hits him. His first instinct is to pick you up in his arms and take you away from the room, afraid that if you have to walk your injury may worsen. His second instinct is to signal to your aide from the corner of the huge hall. His third instinct is to drop the hand from your shoulder and call out loudly for help.

But he follows his first instinct. Picks you up, in the bridal style the audience had been waiting to see all day. There are swoons and gasps all around, but the most surprising reaction is from you. He half expects you to thrash him, or even screech out. But you only gasp and quickly start saying something, in a low tone that he can’t properly catch, so heavy- why’re you doing this- Joshua- put me down- I’m okay- just- ugh!- argh!- Joshua please. He tunes your voice out, breathy and desperate. He tunes out the noises in the hall. He tunes out his assistants and bodyguard stepping closer to you both, trying to understand the emergency. He just focuses on you.

Your mouth spelling out different words, your eyes widening in surprise, your cheeks becoming red with embarrassment. The way you keep protesting and yet your hands clutch his shoulders. The way your dress rides up to reveal the culprit ankle. The way your hair moves when he walks towards the door, and straight up the stairs, time passing painfully fast, and yet slow enough for him to truly feel close to you for the first time, on this day which is meant to be so special to both of you.

But when he reaches your room, he gently brings you down to the floor, your aide already by his side. “What has happened, Your Highness?” “Y/N seems to have sprained her ankle,” Joshua says as he leans you against the sofa, carefully stepping back, allowing your maids to gather around you like fireflies.

“I just… I don’t usually wear such high heels… I’m not used to them. So while I was dancing-” He can see your face flush, your eyes blinking rapidly, gulping after every word, and avoiding his eye. He almost smiles endearingly, at your little movements. But he dares not, lest you think he’s mocking you.

“You don’t have to explain Y/N. It’s natural. Jiyoung, please do not let the Royal Princess wear high heels again,” he addresses your aide.

“Can you speak to the guests? I’ll be down as soon as possible, Joshua.”

“Y/N, can you not fret? Come down when you can. And I’d honestly feel better if you didn’t come down, and instead took rest. It’s anyway been a long day for you.”

And he leaves the room, his long suit flowing behind him, as he puts on his best smile for the worried guests waiting downstairs, ignoring the immense urge to go back to your room, remove those bloody heels and take your delicate foot in his hands, to see exactly what was paining you.

To say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Uneasy. Skittish. Shocked. Your heart pounding in your chest. The absence of the warmth of his touch. The ghost of concern in his eyes when he had carried you through the hall.

Oh, how shameful.

As a woman of public presence, you had never cared about your image, nor your appearance. You knew the rumours about your weight, how your broad shoulders were just like Wonwoo, just like any man, how your hips looked like you’d given birth three times over, how you were utterly unfitting for the beauty standards of the kingdom. But you could care less about these statements- you simply had no time for beauty, and no value for looks.

And yet when Joshua had picked you up, quite effortlessly, if you may add, your heart had skipped a beat, your brain a neuron, and all you could think of was how embarrassing it was. How he must be regretting this grand gesture as soon as he realised just how heavy you were, how he was doing this all under public scrutiny just to keep the audience happy, how he must be feeling burdened with the thoughts of handling the party alone. Your guilt had just driven your embarrassment to greater heights, until you were speechless and unable to do anything. You had searched for any sign of discomfort, irritation, or regret on his face, but they had completely disappeared- in fact, those had been all the emotions you had seen in the last few months, but at that moment, Joshua seemed like a different man. Could it be… no. You wouldn’t let your foolish heart take flight again, like the thirteen year old you would have.

Sadly, Joshua was right. Your ankle felt better after the medic had checked it and given you a painkiller, but there was no escaping the dull lull of sleep clenching on to your eyes as soon as those awful shoes were off and the tight gown had been relaxed on your body to make you comfortable. It had truly been a long day, and your brain was on overdrive with all the overwhelming events of the day. Too many thoughts confusing you.

Will he be disappointed in me? I can’t consummate the marriage. Does he think I balked on him today? For all he knows, I might as well have feigned the injury to cling on to him like a desperate woman, or worse, run off from the party organised in our honour. Did he think I was pretty today? What will the public think about me now that I’ve run away from my own wedding party? Wedding… you’re married to Joshua Hong now… for good. But would he ever consider you his wife?

To avoid the thoughts from spiraling into worse demons, you let yourself fall into the easy trap of sleep.

ii.

당신이 그리워하는 것은 그대일까? (그대일까?)

아니면 미화된 기억 저편의 그때일까? (그대일까?)

“Is it you that you miss? (Is it you?)

Or is it that time on the other side of the glorified memory? (Is it you?)”

That night, Joshua Hong could think of no one but you. Tired, and yet, sleep eluded him. You had sent no word of feeling better, obviously annoyed that he had encroached upon your private space like that by picking you up- oh god, what had he been thinking- and he had felt too shy to visit you to take news about your well being. But oh, when he paced about in his room, all he could think of was how beautiful you had looked today. Although your eyes were sad, with the burden of the wedding, and your body weak, with the worry and tires of royal life, and your heart aching, with your best friend, and quite probably your lover, gone and replaced way too soon by an unwanted man… you were still just as beautiful as the first time he had met you.

That was what he dreamt of that night.

You were wearing a yellow skirt, which had twirled in the wind like a sunflower standing tall in a windy field. The day had been gloomy, but your presence had lit it up. He was all but fourteen years old, and you were just eleven. But just your smile had been enough to teach him what infatuation was.

And then, what jealousy was. When he saw you spend more time with Wonwoo, being closer in age to him and sharing more interests with him.

And then, what longing was. When all he saw of you were brief glimpses in the corridors as you would play hide and seek with his brother. When all he heard of you were hums of your laughter when you would beat Wonwoo in a video game, teaching him the tricks of winning battleship wars. When all he wanted was to speak to you, address this funny feeling in his chest whenever he saw you, but you never gave him a moment to continue the conversation from greetings. Always too eager to leave, always too shy to make eye contact.

But soon he had gotten over the crush- his puberty had settled in now, he was no longer troubled by rushed infatuations over younger girls. He had decided to focus on studies, having already made up his mind to abdicate the throne. He would meet you from time to time, generally accompanied by Wonwoo, as you were his best friend now, and sometimes by Mingyu, your twin brother and Wonwoo’s classmate.

You were also growing fast- into a more serious lady. Gone were the giggles, they were replaced by crescent-eyed grins and shy, mature smiles. Objectively, he found you very attractive. But your closeness with Wonwoo had made it obvious to him that your heart belonged to his younger brother, and gently he had started seeing you as a friend. It was a status he was happy with for he knew you were the best for Wonwoo. And he had himself moved on. Once he had blossomed into adolescence, there was no end of women and men waiting for him to give them some attention. Although he hadn't given up on true love, a couple of one-night adventures would harm none. Especially when he was in the States. No one to stop him, no one to shit-talk about him. A stone gathering no moss, wary of a fire to melt the core.

Until he had returned and seen you.

It was well past midday when you woke up. You felt really refreshed, and were on the verge of breaking into a happy mood, when you realise exactly what day it was.

The morning after your wedding. Your wedding day. Gosh. All the memories of last evening came flooding by, and you put your hands to your face in embarrassment.

“Y/N-ah!” followed by a loud thumping.

You hear your twin brother, Mingyu’s voice from the other side of the doors, probably waiting for you to wake up and respond, or break down the door himself. So you call back, “Yeah, I’m awake!” The door opens swiftly, and your giant brother walks in with the weirdest look on his face. It’s a mix of worry, happiness, pride, and teasing. You can read him like a book, ugh.

“About time, my loveliest sister. Everyone’s looking for you. Quite the drama you can stir up huh? Who knew you had it in you?” He sits by you, and smiles fondly, knowing very well how his words are burning you. “I know, I’m sorry for the mess.” He reaches out, holding your arm as you sit up in bed. “Hey, there’s no need to be sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, better I think. Let me try and move my leg.” And you gently kick him, taking him by surprise as he falls out of the bed. You laugh even harder at the look on his face. “Yaah! Aren’t you supposed to be injured?!” “It must not be serious, I can actually move it well now. Should I practice once more?” “Yaaah, Kim Y/N! If you’re going to take advantage of being the royal princess by KICKING ME, I’m going to take you to court!” “Now aren’t you taking advantage of being the royal counsel?” And you both are laughing fondly. It’s truly been a moment since you last sat with Mingyu, carefree like this. You only realise now how heavy the burden of the wedding was.

But it’s certainly not the end of the burden. This is going to go on for a long time now. Forever, if you’re fortunate.

A small face peeks at the open door, and you instinctively wrap the blanket around your body to hide yourself. It’s been a shy habit since childhood, avoidance and displeasure in sudden interactions, but when you see the face belongs to your fian- husband, Joshua, you nod at him, asking him to come in. And he looks as immaculate as ever. Hair brushed back, your wedding ring on his finger, his dapper brooch shining against the black suit he’s wearing. Mingyu breaks the ice, “And why are you so dressed up early in the morning, Hyung?” “Simply because he can,” you whisper to him, and you both giggle. Your faces are mirror images of each other, when you realise Joshua couldn’t hear what you had whispered and hence had a puzzled look in his eyes. “I- I’ve a meeting with the council in, like, 15 minutes. And it’s not early in the morning. It’s already noon.” “Noon is a fine time to be in bedclothes, Hyung, in case you didn’t know,” and Mingyu waves a goodbye to you as he leaves you both alone, winking at the other man in the room.

And then there’s a silence.

It’s not even a pause. It’s like a semibreve rest, which is stretched bar onto bar using more tied rests.

And then there’s a disharmonious note clanging through the silence.

“How’s your leg?”

“Hmmm, better. Thank you.”

“Huh? Thanking me for what?”

You chuckle. “For asking, I guess. But I mean, more generally. Thanks for letting me rest yesterday and handle the event.”

“Yeah I couldn’t let your injury worsen, could I? That wouldn’t be very… husband-like of me.” He makes brief eye contact when saying the h-word, but breaks it immediately, frisking about in the room. You bite your lip. It’s exactly like you thought. He had done it for the cameras.

“Is there anything else…”

“Oh yeah. Just - no rush, obviously,” he explains in the warmest tone ever, his eyes wide, “But the council is asking me about coronation dates.”

“Coronation?”

“Yeah, as the Royal Prince and the Princess.”

“Oh.”

“I understand it’s too soon since Wonwoo-”

“No it’s okay. We should get it over with. Whenever the council suggests, I’m cool with it.”

“Okay then.”

“Umm, also Joshua?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

Can you give me a peck on my forehead?

“Can there be a way to make up to you for the hassle you bore for me last evening? I’m really embarrassed and ashamed.”

He smiles, so smug and aware of how nervous you are. “No, Y/N. I didn’t do a favour on you. It was what my- my brain asked me to do.”

And he leaves, almost immediately, without giving you a chance to breathe out his scent that lingers so longingly in the room.

iii.

“You're my paradise, my own paradise

Everytime I look into those angel eyes”

You clearly remembered your first day of middle school. You had joined a new school, an elite school by all means. Your classmates were all nobility and you felt out of place among such crowds, considering how your mother had only recently been promoted to the position of the assistant to the royal counsel. But a stroke of luck ensured that your first day in the new school went off better than you could have ever dreamt of. Because you had met Jeon Wonwoo, the maknae prince, and he was the boy assigned to sit on the bench alongside yours. And although you were too shy to speak to him, he had extended the hand of friendship by lending you a pencil in the second class of the day.

And then sharing your lunch with you. You two were the only ones sitting alone in the canteen, while the rest had all begun mingling in groups. You had asked if he was unwell. He had said that this wasn’t uncommon, he preferred to eat alone. You had joked about the girls who were sending him looks from the other table and were giggling endlessly. He had smirked, saying he knew it already. You were scandalised, how could he ignore them and let them suffer in this illusion? He smiled, saying he enjoyed the attention. You had asked why he didn’t initiate any conversation with them or even friendzone them. He had simply said, they’re too silly for my time. I can’t talk about nails and hair and dresses. I don’t even know the difference between light purple and dark purple, for god’s sake. And you had laughed out loud, finding your first common dislike for pick-me teenage girls whose conversations centered about appearances and crushes.

That was the first of your many common dislikes, to be honest. And that was how you had become the best of friends, since then.

Wonwoo had been by your side throughout, as had you been for him. And although everyone thought your relationship was more than friendship, you both knew very well that you were the best of friends and nothing more, without any regrets or disappointments. For Wonwoo had been, surprisingly, madly, crazily in love with your twin brother, Mingyu.

You knew Mingyu was oblivious as hell. You also knew that Wonwoo preferred it to remain that way, finding security in secrecy. Even you had found out by accident, but of course how did he think he could ever hide it from you.

You had gotten drunk for the first time at the age of sixteen, the night when his father had informed him that he had to start training for becoming the Crown Prince. “Y/N, I’m already tired of this.” “Hmm, I guess I do understand why your brother stepped out.” “I know right! The responsibility far outweighs any privileges that I can get!”

You had laughed at his indignant words, “Yaah, what else do you want?” “Y/N-ah, are material pleasures the only thing one can desire?” “It's what most people desire, Wonwoo. There are very few other things that can make a human happy.” “Such as?” “Love. Family. Friendship,” and you had squeezed his warm hand, showing that you were there for him. “I already have most of that.” “And you’ll find love as well.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I have. For a long time now.”

You thought you’d become sober with the kind of shock this information sent to your brain. You jumped up in excitement, and squealed, “Who?!” He had smiled widely at your excitement, pushing up his glasses.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Ayy. Don’t be shy now.” “Nope. You cannot-” “Wonwoo!!!!! Don’t be such a spoilsport! I’ll kick your ass if you don’t tell me. We had sworn, no secrets!” He smirked, “Yes of course! The day I discovered your diary entries about hyung-” “Shh! Enough of me!” “Why are you embarrassed now?” “Because that was so long in the past. But your love- it’s in the present. We have to cultivate it.” “Jeez, Y/N. It’s not a crop.” “It is, you dimwit. Now tell me,” you shook his shoulders, borderline violent with curiosity.

But then there was a change in mood. Wonwoo began biting his lower lip, a telltale sign of embarrassment. “You don’t have to worry, hey. I’m your best friend. I’m never going to tell a soul. Not even my brother!”

He had stared at you as if you had said something wrong.

“How do you know?”

“Huh?”

It took three seconds for you to join the dots. But of course! How could you be so blind!

“You like Mingyu?”

Wonwoo’s face swelled up in bright red, he turned his entire body away from you. Finding his reaction endearing, you hugged him from the back. “Hey. It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

He still didn’t turn back. “I- I like a boy.”

“Wonwoo! That’s hardly something to be embarrassed about.”

“I can never tell my parents. Hell, I can’t even tell Mingyu. He’s straight as fuck.” You could hear his breath getting labored in his agitation. He swiftly turned around and clasped your hands. “Y/N. Promise me you’ll never tell him. Please.”

And you had promised him. With complete sincerity.

You have seen Mingyu cry plenty of times. When a dog had scratched his knee (he had only tried to play with it). When he had lost his passport (but found it again three minutes later). When you had slapped him for breaking your guitar (you had torn the love letters he had received on Valentine’s Day for he was acting too smug about them).

But today, there are no tears in his eyes, when he prays for Wonwoo at his funeral. Just a blank face and lifeless eyes, which you know to be hiding so much. Wonwoo’s death had affected Mingyu a lot, albeit not as much as you, but Wonwoo had still been the closest he had to a friend of his own age, when he had been introduced into the world of nobility just like you. Since then, you had seen Mingyu become distracted, drinking alone in the house after midnight, avoiding any gatherings, and delved deep into his work. And today, even when the world perceives him as unaffected and heartless, you know just how broken he feels, by the paleness in his eyes and the weak shaking of his fingers.

On your other side is Joshua. He, like Mingyu, is also stoic, but you can hear his muffled sniffles. He’s softer than both Mingyu and Wonwoo, and you’re surprised he can hold back his grief. But you guess he has to, considering his completely broken down parents standing in front of him. They seem to lose all control over their feelings as they cry and pray for their son’s peaceful afterlife.

You’re also crying. Joshua knows you are, and he’s looking at you more than once in a minute. One time, you look back at him, and he immediately puts his hand in yours. You don’t question the sudden gesture of affection, you don’t care enough about it. All you care about is the illusion your heart keeps feeding your brain that you’re not alone even if Wonwoo’s gone. You hold on Joshua’s pinky finger for dear life, and let the tears roll down your cheeks, whispering mumbled prayers as the priests keep on talking.

“It’s so nice to see you after years.” Joshua smiles at your words, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he drinks in the warmth of your presence. It feels so good to be around familiar people in this now unfamiliar world, where everyone seemed to be accusing him for something or the other.

“Likewise, Y/N. How are you holding up?” He is indicating to your life after Wonwoo’s passing away. “Just about. Your parents want me to go to therapy,” you chuckle, but he thinks his parents aren’t saying the wrong thing. “You should, though. You were his literal best friend and fiance. If anyone needs support, it's you.” “It’s okay. If I really felt that weak, I would’ve taken the support, trust me. But I don’t. I don’t know… maybe because it’s Wonwoo? I feel like… even if he’s not with me, he’ll always be with me.” “Yeah, he does have that, doesn’t he? The little hand on your back all the time. It feels like that to me too.” “Then you understand.”

And there had been silence. Until you had addressed the elephant in the room.

“I’ve accepted the King’s proposal. I think it’s only fair for him to request me to marry you.”

He stumbles, trips and almost falls. Then he pauses on the walk, and looks at you. “Y/N. I think he’s being cruel, and you can honestly tell me if you feel so too. You don’t have to worry about your brother’s position-”

“Oh no!” You smile, a weak smile that doesn’t reach your cheekbones. “I don’t worry about Mingyu. I know he’ll survive in the system even if I’m kicked out. I was anyway thinking it’s high time I got kicked out, though. I have no use here anyway. I guess being your wife can be the only reason I stay in.”

You say the words so casually, his fingers burn with electricity. He can’t fathom why you’re so relaxed about it. But you read his mind, “Joshua. I’ve never really… looked for love. So it’s okay if this marriage is loveless. But I do care about Wonwoo. Sorry… did care about Wonwoo. And I think he would want me to support you in any way I can to help you settle down in this new responsibility that’s been dumped on you.”

“Y/N. Please, you don’t have to be so understanding.”

“Joshua, all I’m saying is that I’m okay with whatever arrangement this becomes. If you have qualms, I totally get that. You may not be ready for marriage- or,” he notices the slight change in pitch, “you may like someone else. If that is the case, you can tell me honestly and I’ll step back. I’m not a golddigger,” you laugh, quite sarcastic and bitter though.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?”

“I am.”

“I’m not, but I’m willing to do it.”

And then you extend your hand to him, and he doesn’t know what to do. Are you asking him to hold your pretty fingers? Or admire the gold bracelet adorning your lithe wrist? Or-

“God, Joshua. You won’t even shake hands with me?”

He doesn’t know why his heart falls. He shakes hands with you, and laughs about his error, before you divert the topic into other matters. He’s so unfocused, mind going back to how soft your hand had felt in yours.

Your hand feels rougher. Almost as if it’s been burnt at the edges. You have been burnt, though, Joshua thinks, as he looks at your eyes, glimmering with tears shed and unshed, your parted lips, bursting with words said and unsaid, and your face pale with sadness.

To keep himself distracted, he thinks about why your hand feels more rough. Hurt by the worries of the royal family you’ve been forced in? Uncared for in this palace which is not your home? Calloused with the scars of this burdensome relationship? He doesn’t know why there’s an increasing urge in his heart to try and change all of that, all to see you smile widely again. But it’s too daunting of a task, and Joshua is a coward.

Days pass by quickly. Before you realise, you’ve been married for a month and you’re making your first public presence since that disastrous evening of your wedding. Public presence as a couple. It’s at a conference with leaders of neighbouring countries, where Joshua is expected to speak politics and economics and you’re expected to socialise with the women. But that’s hardly what happens.

In preparation for this event, you two had met a couple of times in the last week. Your schedules never clashed, so you hardly met each other, but this time, you had made time to meet him.

“Joshua, I’m not going to that conference to be a flower vase decorating you.”

He had been in the middle of a serious conversation with his secretary, but he signalled everyone out of the room as soon as he realised your mood was off after receiving the invitation to the conference. “No, you’re the Princess. You’re not going to be decorating me.” “I hope so. Joshua, I don’t mingle in your public affairs much, and I stick to the duties I’ve taken up, but I don’t want to be a trophy you carry around. I’m not fit for a trophy anyway-” he coughs, but you continue, “but most importantly, I’m a human with a brain. I need to be able to speak if I feel I want to speak.”

“And you shall. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You falter for a second, not expecting him to yield so easily. You had expected him to put up a bit of a tantrum, exercising his authority as a Prince, but he seemed genuinely confused with your outburst.

“I don’t know… nothing, I guess. It’s just that. Historically, our royal ladies haven’t spoken at public forums too much. I don’t want to be like that.”

“I don’t think you could ever be like that, Y/N. Even if God had pledged you to be so. You’re too intelligent to stay shut.”

He leans on his desk, and you take in a breath to see him. He’s looking marvellous. Although it’s late at night and you’re already exhausted and in your pyjamas, he seems to be still working, wearing semi-formal slacks and a shirt. Your breath hitches at the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, but he interrupts your thoughts.

“I’ve actually been meaning to speak to you for a while.”

“About?”

“About… this. Like…” you can sense his hesitation, and you drop the arms you had folded to make him feel more relaxed.

“The PR team is asking me to hold your hand… or things like that when we’re in public. To show we’re a newly wedded couple in love.”

“I’m sure the entire world knows that we’re not in love. I’m not some despo who’s in love with Wonwoo one day, and the next day, in love with you.” You almost miss the little wince he makes when you complete your sentence. “But if they ask us to be affectionate, I suppose we-”

“No. I don’t think either of us would be comfortable with it.”

“You’re right. I think holding hands would be the maximum we can go to.” Your voice is steeling up, your heart frozen. He nods in agreement. You say, “Goodnight then, Joshua. Sleep early. You look tired, I’ll ask them to get you some tea?”

“Coffee?” he whines, almost making you smile. “No, tea.” And you leave the room without further words.

Joshua can’t, in fact, wait for the day of the conference. He’s been trying to find excuses to meet you, see you, and talk to you, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s just like it used to be back then, seeing you in the corridors, sometimes in the gardens, meeting each other only once in a week. It seems nothing like a marriage to him, but it certainly feels more intimate than anything he’s ever done. Any sex he’s had. Any relationship he’s had. Anything. Because his face burns up simply from your presence in his vicinity. His heart pumps when you call out his name. His fingers tremble after any accidental touch between the two of you. It’s foolish, giddy, and distracting. It’s a crush, he thinks. It feels just like he was fourteen, and he would have feverish dreams of playing with your hair, wondering what you smelled like, wishing to hug you and feel your soft curves melt into him. He knows you’re an adult now, and yet the sensations in his heart are so soft and innocent that he’s taken aback himself.

But all of that changes when he sees you in the black dress you’ve donned for the evening, as he comes to your room to ask if you’re ready to leave. You’re wearing pearls, matching the thin pearl necklace he has worn, and your wedding ring shines on your fingers. He wonders how you look just like paradise without any makeup or any fakeness.

Shit. He has to spend the entire evening with you. He’s doomed.

If anyone thinks they’re doomed, it’s you. You think about it when Joshua walks into your chambers wearing a black turtleneck under a charcoal grey suit, and you wonder why you’ve not burnt up in flames yet. His outfit is so contrasting to his smile, which lilts into his beautiful deer eyes that you so loved to dream about as a teen. His bangs are off his forehead, and when he speaks you notice his lips more than what he’s actually saying.

It doesn’t help that you both sit in the backseat, quite close to each other, on the ride to the venue.

It doesn’t help when you hear him rolling out words in English, in the sexiest accent you have ever heard.

It doesn’t help when he walks up on stage as the Guest of Honour to deliver his speech, looking like the man of the moment, and you can’t help the feeling of giddy pride bubbling into you. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s you scorning the ladies ogling his beautiful figure on stage (he’s your husband, you think, not theirs). Maybe it’s you simply proud that he’s getting the attention he deserves.

He’s finishing his speech, partly in English, partly in Korean. You can see the media personnel immediately raise their hands for questions. And then you feel your blood boil as each question pours in one-by-one.

“Why does your country still have a monarchy in place? Don’t you think the lack of a democratic system is unfair to your people?”

“What steps are you taking to fill in the gap left behind by your younger brother, especially when you’re unfamiliar with your people now?”

“Do you plan on making Korea the next America? What will you do as the modern leader of the kingdom?”

They’re so intrusive, but Joshua has the sweetest and most patient smile on his face. “I’ll take your questions one by one, thank you.”

“Firstly, I think that there needs to be a clear understanding of what our governance looks like. We’ve held on to traditions and kept the monarchy intact, but what has become quite obvious, honestly, is that our government is not ruled by the king, but by what the people say. That is because all councils are elected into power, all the members of the governing body apart from the royal family are representatives of the people.”

Someone has the audacity to interrupt him, “But your country has the highest proportion of rich nobility controlling so many resources-”

“Please do not break me off mid-sentence. I’ll be patient and hear what you all have to say. That’s why I’m here, ain’t I?” That earns a soft laugh from the audience and shuts up the reporter.

“I understand your concerns, but the statistics are incorrect. Every economy, every nation has a few members of the society who are powerful and have control over resources. It’s quite an open secret. Due to our transparency you know who they are in our country. In other countries, it’s quite often disguised in the form of benevolent capitalists and social change mongering politicians.” Another laugh from the audience. His sarcasm doesn’t go unappreciated.

“But yes, it’s necessary to modernise Korea. I’ll simply be following in the footsteps of my younger brother, who understood the country so well. Apart from his contributions, I have so many programs lined up too. You’ll see them unfurling soon, I request you to be patient enough and allow me to find my footing. Anyway, I have my elected representatives and council members to help me in every step, and my wife’s opinions to guide my thoughts.” He pauses, and suddenly, you feel a blush rising up your cheeks as you feel the spotlight has shifted towards you. But your eyes are still on him, as he smiles the most dazzling smile, and you’re blinded.

With the smile of course, not by the sudden adoration you feel surging in your heart.

His wife. It’s not real, your brain overrides any silly loops of emotions your heart is riding in. It’s all for the show. Oh, but it feels so real. It feels so good. It’s all for the cameras.

And then there is applause and the spotlights are out, and you’re back to reality. You bite your lip to hold back the tears.

iv.

한편의 명작, 하나의 실루엣

우리의 그림은 익어가 빨갛게

“One masterpiece, one silhouette

Our paintings are ripe and red”

Joshua Hong feels dirty and disgusted. He has been nothing but a pervert this past week, and he has no one except himself to blame for it. He wants to flip over and die and repeat that for a million times, but nothing can stop the thoughts that wander into his brain every night, after he finally finishes work. Thoughts in the shower. Thoughts while walking in the gardens. Thoughts while eating ice cream as a late night snack. Thoughts while lying down in his bed.

Thoughts about you.

He wanted to avoid them, he really did. He knew you didn’t want him. Not in that way, certainly. You had made that clear to him, ample number of times. And yet, he found himself wanting you. Was it the lack of sex and increased stress these last six months? Or was it that night in the conference that had triggered it all off?

That night, when he said it aloud for the first time you were his wife. He felt so proud, looking at you from the stage, as you sat so elegantly, so much more beautiful than any other woman in the room, hell, more beautiful than any other woman he had met. That night, something had changed, he felt, or maybe it was a figment of his imagination. He had felt you grazing his arms with your fingers more often, on the excuse of calling his attention. He had felt you staring at him for seconds longer than usual. He had felt you speaking to him more comfortably all evening. And he had felt like a teenage boy, almost like taking out his crush to his first prom. He had been so excited to fill up your plate with food during dinner, and had loved it when you had conversed with all the dignitaries at the conference, using the smartest and most technical terms ever. He could’ve honestly, orgasmed right there.

And that had really triggered something off in him. That night, he had put his hands between his legs for the first time in months, and jerked himself off in his shower, thinking of your voice, your little movements and your incredible smartness. It wasn’t even physical, it was metaphysical, as he explained to himself the next morning, when the guilt hit him hard. It was a one-time thing, it won’t happen again, he had reasoned.

But god, even the heavens didn’t want him to keep his promise.

The next morning, he was called to your room on an ‘emergency’. Turned out, it was a new plan for the dams that you had thought up that night. And you had opted to explain that technology to him wearing a night suit that left nothing to his imagination. Just one thin strap had to slip off and his dirty curiosity would be satisfied forever. Jeez, Joshua Hong. Get a grip on yourself. This is your brother’s lover, she doesn’t even like you back.

But could any rational thought help him when all he could do was stare at your smooth arms and neck, revealed perfectly by the spaghetti tank top, and your thighs which were so beautiful he could-

“Joshua. Are you awake enough to even listen to me?”

God, what was that tone? Were you scolding him? For thinking illegal things about you? Yeah, you should, he thought with a swipe of his tongue over his parched lips, as he stared into your eyes, hidden behind a pair of steel-rimmed glasses. God, you were so beautiful, he was a mess.

“Yeah, I am listening. You can just give me the plans alternatively, and at the next council meeting, I’ll let you know and you can come over and discuss it with everyone.”

Your chest heaved, out of breath with all the explanation you had dished out, and it was a sight for Joshua’s sore eyes.

“Okay,” you mumbled, continuing about how you were sceptical about the idea but-

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

And he had rushed out of the room before you spotted the revival of his morning wood straining through his cotton pants.

You’re determined to make yourself more involved in the governance work, and this means spending more time in close quarters with Joshua. And even though you’re trying your best (you really are), sometimes you can’t help but steal a glance at his chiselled jawline, gaze too long at his beautiful eyes, and wish that his fingers were wrapped around your neck- shit, that was too much. But it’s been over a year that you’ve received any kind of sexual attention (the last being from a friend of Mingyu’s at his birthday party, before your engagement with Wonwoo had been made public), and let’s be fair, it’s really hard to dodge the bullets Joshua Hong, unknowingly, keeps aiming at you. Because, fuck, your brain had been all messed up and you had begun stammering when he had met you during your long late night walk in the orchid garden.

“Fancy seeing you here.” That was the first sentence he had said to you that week, and you weren’t in a mood to speak to him, to be honest. Your period was due soon, and you had hoped the fresh air would cure the cramps.

“My room was too stuffy.”

“Do you want me to shift your room-”

“No! There’s no need for that.”

“I mean, you could always come and stay with me. I’ll arrange for the bedroom adjacent to mine being opened and connected with mine. At least that’ll stop the tattletales in the kitchen about us sleeping apart even though the King and Queen still sleep together.”

He was right. The gossip was getting on your nerves now. It must be because she’s so darn gross and ugly, they said. It must be because Prince Joshua has met sexier women when he was abroad. It must be because she’s a brat and runs her mouth too much. It must be because she had jumped on Joshua once the other Prince had died, but Joshua can’t take her weight, haha.

And you had tried, you really had. Gone on a diet, lost three kilograms, and focused more on the remnants of teenage acne on your cheeks. You, who had never given a damn about appearances, were now trying to please- who, exactly? The public? The press? Or was it all to get a reaction out of your husband?

One night, you cave into the weakness. You find comfort in your fingers fondling with your nipples, gasps escaping from your lips as you lie in the dark, under your heavy blankets, imagining Joshua’s pillowy lips on your neck. It gives you shivers, and you’re thankful for the warm blanket.

But as soon as the shot of pleasure shoots through your veins, his words that you had overheard come to your mind.

It was the day after your first conversation with him, confirming your willingness to enter the marriage. Joshua was drinking with Mingyu in the house you shared with your brother after the death of your parents. You had no idea you’d find the Prince in your house when you returned from the market, bag full of groceries and skirt dirty from the mud in the roods after the rain.

“Hyung, if you don’t want to marry her, you can just tell your parents.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to me, Mingyu-ah?” he had scoffed.

“They’ve always been pretty liberal. Letting Wonwoo break the hierarchy has probably been the most controversial decisions of all time, but they were strong enough to take the call. I’m sure if you explain that you don’t want to-”

“Mingyu, it’s not about want or not. I cannot marry her. It is beyond my moral capacity. I really… ugh, it’s so twisted.”

“Maybe it’s not. Maybe you’re just thinking like this because you don’t know her well enough.”

“I do. I know her enough to know I cannot get myself into this marriage. It’ll be the worst decision of my life, I know I’m going to regret it.”

And the euphoria of pleasure dies as soon as it had begun, leaving you empty, both emotionally and physically. You thrash yourself for becoming that stupid teenage Y/N again, crying for a man who you would never get. Joshua would never love you, no matter how much you wanted him to. Maybe you just didn’t deserve him.

The next few days were absolute torture for Joshua. He knew exactly how you felt towards him, in fact you reminded him of it every second, and yet he could not keep his eyes off you. His stupid puberty crush had been reawakened, and somehow, he felt like he was younger when he was around you. Maybe because he trusted you to take burdens off his shoulder when you showed up to council meetings and convinced the balding, middle-aged men (who only stared at your legs and sighed at every novel idea you presented) to let you take over projects which you felt passionate about. A new legal bill for safety for women in workplaces. New schemes to reduce the drop-out rate in colleges. Revamping incentives to ensure the needy families do not prioritise employment over education for their children.

And he would bask in your warmth. Sometimes it felt like you were the light at the end of his tunnel- when he would be tired after nights of staying awake, worrying about projects or silly politics, you’d turn up, smelling of lavender, wearing your lace night suits and carrying pots of lemongrass tea with you. You were a dream, a mist in the spring, and he was chasing the happiness he felt in your presence.

Seeing the two of you spend more time together meant his parents were happier than ever and they began inviting you to dinners with them.

“Y/N, you ready?”

You open the door to your bedchamber, simply dressed in a white shirt and blue flared jeans that did nothing to hide your tempting ass that Joshua kept wanting to get his fingers on. “Yeah. Not wearing anything fancy, I don’t need to fool them about my looks at least.”

“Fool them about looks, what are you saying?” He asks you softly as you both make your way through the long winding corridors.

“Oh nothing.” He catches on to your disappointed voice, how you move an inch away from him after this statement.

“Y/N-” “Don’t you read the papers, Joshua? I know you don’t have time for society gossip but I’m sure you know what they’re saying.”

Shit. He really doesn’t know. He stops walking and looks at you dumbfounded.

“What are they saying, Y/N?” Please let it not be what I’m thinking it is.

“Never mind Josh.” Josh? When did you start calling him Josh? Not that he’d ever mind.

“I want to know.” He steps in front of you, blocking your way. He can see your pupils dilate and then relax, your beautiful lips part gently to take in air, all while there are clouds in your face.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Joshua. It’s embarrassing already to know they say all that, it’s even worse to be complaining to you about-”

“You’re not complaining. You’re my wife, you can share your concerns with me.” I want you to share yourself with me, please.

You bite your lower lip, and continue after hesitating, “I don’t know- I know I’m not perfect and I’ve never wanted to look like a celebrity or a model or whatever, and I also know I don’t have the same kind of good looks that Mingyu was blessed with, and I know I’m not size zero and-”

He steps in and kisses you.

And steps back almost immediately.

God knows why he did it, but he doesn’t have time to regret it in spite of the shocked expression on your face. “Y/N. You’re so beautiful. I don’t even have enough words to describe how beautiful you are. And I’m not saying this just for the sake of it. I’ve always thought you’re simply perfect.”

It seems you’re still out of breath from the kiss. He is too, he just wants to appear composed in front of you while breaking down inside from the fear of you not wanting it as much as he did.

“Y/N. I don’t care what the media says. And I know you’re not one to care about that bullshit either. I want you to know that those who matter to you, love you, for just who you are. We wouldn’t change a thing.”

And he steps away and continues walking ahead, at a slower pace. You start walking a few seconds later, and finally his own heartbeat stops pumping in his ear like a ticking time bomb.

You cannot focus on dinner after that. It’s not humanly possible, you think, as you steal gazes at your husband across the table as he laughs with his parents over silly dad jokes he’s been cracking all evening. His mood has relatively improved in the last few weeks, and now you actually enjoy his company a lot. Just like when you were younger and you looked up to him with starry eyes, in awe of how he knew so much more than you in spite of being just three years older.

But you’re dying inside. Your stomach is churning, your skin perspiring and a sheen of sweat on your forehead makes your mother-in-law ask you in concern, “Y/N dear, I’ve never seen you pick at your food like this. Are you not hungry?”

You panic and reply, “Umm, no I’m just on a little diet,” and you cover up with a fake smile, avoiding Joshua’s eyes so that you miss out on the furrowing of his eyebrows at the mention of diet. He asks you, not allowing you to escape, “Why are you on this diet? Are you trying to lose weight?”

“Yes.” It’s true, you have been trying to lose weight. You’ve stopped liking how you look in the many public photographs that get clicked of you nowadays.

“Why?”

And all of a sudden, there’s a palpable tension in the room. The mood is dead serious and you know Joshua is angry.

Why is he fucking angry? Does he not want you to go on a diet? Is this continuing from what he said earlier- oh god, forget about the kiss Y/N!

“I just… I want to become fitter. I’m thinking of restarting swimming. You remember how I used to swim a lot earlier?” you casually ask him, not expecting him to almost choke. “Yeah I do… it’s a good idea. It’ll help you get rid of stress also.”

Your parents-in-law say something in enthusiastic agreement, but all you can focus on is how good Joshua Hong looks with his hair slicked back, his plain green sweater hanging loose on his shoulders, and how he’s looking at you like he wants to kiss you again. Not that he would actually want that, though. More likely, he’s looking at you to erase that memory of the kiss.

The Crown Prince of Korea is seconds away from a heart attack and the reason is his wife. He can’t get the kiss out of his head- he’d be lying to himself if he said that he hasn’t been thinking of this for months now. He realises just how futile his attempts of thinking of you only and only as Wonwoo’s lover and his sister-in-law have been, when he thinks of just how long he’s longed to feel his lips on yours. Months? Hell, it must’ve been years. When his first choice of his plus-one to his first prom night had been you, but then the teacher said he couldn’t invite someone three years younger to him. When you had showed up at his farewell party before he left for the States, your hair much longer then, your eyes even prettier under those nerd glasses. When he had seen your selfies with Wonwoo while he was abroad, and an inch of him had wished he could share his new life with you instead of the girls who flocked around him.

But you’re avoiding eye contact like the plague. And he knows it must have been the foolish step on his end to kiss you. So old, and yet no control on his fucking hormones? And yet, how could he, when you continued to talk utter rubbish about the stupid comments about your looks that had been rioting on social media, but he found you just as perfect as the woman he had always dreamt of?

Josh.

A pet name? He mused, as he chewed the steak slowly, savouring it along his tongue. He had tried to make the night lively, bringing up topics he knew you’d want to talk about, but he had failed. Your mood was perhaps permanently damaged now, in spite of whatever uphill improvements he had made in the last month.

But what was marriage if not a labour of love?

Love? Joshua Hong had once been in love with you, for a short time, but now he was not. He knew he was not because he knew it would be unreciprocated. It would be spat upon and crushed with the heels of your shoes and Joshua Hong was a coward. He would never be brave like Mingyu, who was always too courageous for his good, especially after too many drinks. He would never be as determined as Wonwoo, who would turn everything he touched to gold simply with hard work and focus. He would forever be content in the shadows, watching you from aside, waiting for you to look at him with the same want his heart was burning with.

But how long? The ache in his heart had become a familiar friend over these nights. The wish to walk twenty metres and reach your room in lonely midnight hours, and touch your skin with his lips until it cured his insomnia. The wish to see you smile at him without the burden of royal obligations, with genuine care. The wish to hold your hand when you sat together at council meetings, right next to each other, and yet so far apart. How long could he suppress these wishes?

Oh, but he had to. Otherwise he would make mistakes. More mistakes he couldn’t afford to make, such as the mistake of kissing you tonight. There were more mistakes his fingers itched to make, such as brushing his hand on yours across the table when your hand accidentally grabbed his glass of wine instead of your own, such as touching your feet with his own under the table to show you how much he wanted you, such as claiming an emergency and leaving with you right now to beg of you to love him back and let him be yours.

When your plate is clean, and your wine glass empty and you sit back on your chair, a contented look on your face, he wants to kiss you again because it feels like a date. It makes him want to take you on a date. It makes him want to court you and woo you and win your heart as he had originally planned at the age of fourteen.

But even if he had started early, would he ever be able to win your heart? He was simply not good enough for you. Wonwoo had been your perfect fit- both in wit and in warmth. And Joshua, alas, was not. Would never be.

“I'm looking at you, I can't take my eyes off

I don't know what I feel but it's feeling illegal”

“I know there’ll be a time zone difference, but if I call you late at night please pick up because it’ll be urgent.” Otherwise I won’t call you, you felt that the unsaid was quite well implied. You nod. “You eat and sleep well. Don’t get too stressed,” you mumble out, and wave Joshua goodbye as he walks away from you, a cup of coffee in his right hand and his blazer on his left. There’s some international meeting he has to attend, and although the King and Queen had asked you many times to accompany him, you knew it was best to not impose yourself in unwanted spaces. You had given the excuse of spending a few days with your brother, Mingyu, in your childhood home, as you’d been away for too long and you had started missing him, and your parents-in-law had caved in.

“Bye, Joshua!” you call out over the loud noise of the chopper. He stops at your voice, turns back and looks at you once. You think he’s going to walk towards you, his left foot lifted slightly off the ground, but then the bodyguard standing next to him motions him to move towards the helicopter and he puts his foot back on the ground. He whispers goodbye to you, or maybe you just can’t hear him.

It should feel nice to finally get rid of him, you think, as he walks further away from you, now a speck on the horizon. But your heart feels heavy, the journey back home feels empty, and there’s a voice in your head which makes you regret staying back.

“I forgot to pack my blue suit,” he says over speakerphone. Joshua, the silly man he is, couldn’t wait for even an hour after landing, before calling you. As soon as he had landed in London, his fingers had itched to dial the button and call you up but he had resisted. But when he had started unpacking his luggage, he couldn’t stop himself. It’s a gloomy day, the sky overcast with clouds. His assistant is texting him to come to lunch, but he’s not hungry. He wishes he didn’t have to leave you in Korea.

He can hear your laugh on the other side.

“I know, I realised it when I reached home and saw the suit lying on your bed.” “My bed? You went to my room?” There’s a pause. “Umm, yeah… I was actually wondering which perfume you used. I want to buy the same for Mingyu, for Chuseok.” “Oh. Did you find it?” He wonders what else you found.

“Yeah, I did. How’s your suite?”

“Hmm, big?” You laugh again, slightly less awkward.

“It’s obviously big. Is it, like, very fancy, or is it the modern minimalist type?”

“Quite modern, but also fancy. Like there are all these weird lamps- wait let me show you. Do you have time for a video call?”

“Me?”

“Huh, who else am I talking to?”

“Oh. Yeah I mean. One sec! Don’t turn it on until I say so!”

He waits, his heart pumping so loud he can hear it. Then you finally turn on the video call and he sees your face coming through the black screen, and suddenly it’s not gloomy any more in London.

“Hi there.” You smile widely, your bare skin glowing, and he smiles back, almost on instinct. For a second it’s just like that. Showing you the hotel room is a forgotten task, Joshua’s excuse to see your face has worked.

He notices that you’re sitting in your house, as he identifies the different wallpaper easily. “You’ve gone to your house so fast?”

“Hmm, felt like there was nothing to do at home.”

Home. Were you missing him? Could it be-

“Is Mingyu around?”

“Yeah, but he’s calling someone. Practically shooed me from the room when his phone rang. Might be important-”

“Pfft. Important, my foot. Probably a new person he likes.” You smile at his comment, “Yeah probably. When do you think he’ll want to settle down?”

“When he finds someone like I have?”

The words slip out of his mouth before he can even think twice and the truth of what he said only hits him when he suddenly sees your video crashing. “Hey Y/N?”

“Sorry!” Your face is back in focus, all red and flustered. “I dropped my phone. Umm, Josh, I gotta go, there’s someone at the gate.”

“Hmm, okay. See ya?”

You smile at him and wave him a hurried goodbye.

The phone becomes lifeless again.

Shit, he fucked up. Yet again. What are these uncalled-for things he’s doing? And why can’t he just control himself, for god’s sake? It’s not like he… oh god. He’s really messed up now.

There’s something wrong happening. It feels right, but it’s really wrong. You reckon it started from the kiss. Since then everything is changing, bit by bit.

The night after that, he had asked you if you wanted to watch the new film in the theatres, and you had agreed, since you actually wanted to watch it (and not because you wanted to spend more time with him). He had booked out the night show in an entire hall, and the two of you had spent more time giggling over the poorly-made thriller and gasping at the unbelievable action sequences than watching the movie seriously.

Three days after that, you had asked him if he wanted to come swim with you. He knew you had restarted practice but hadn’t said much about it except ask where you were practising.

“Hmm, sure? I mean, if it doesn’t barge into your routine.”

“Joshua, if it did barge in, I wouldn’t have asked you.” He grins, fixing his collar. “Sorry ma’am. I’m free today, when are you going?” “Today?” You weren’t planning on going today at all. “Yeah…” “Umm, in half an hour?” “Cool. Call me when you’re ready.”

And that’s when you realised it was such a mistake to bring him to the pool. Because you were too distracted by him all the time. For two straight hours, you both raced across the 500 metres pool multiple times in a marathon, but towards the end, it became too much fun as you both skipped track divisions and cheated to make it to the end of the race. He would swiftly snatch your goggles and the chlorine would burn your eyes until you had to hold his hands down and get back the goggles from him, all while whining to make him stop laughing like a clown. Sure, you had provoked it first by kicking your leg out midway to smash him in his chest, leaving him dumbfounded and gaining you a solid ten seconds, but this was too extreme an attack.

But at the end of all attacks, he somehow ended up pinning you to the wall of the pool, both too giddy with adrenaline to notice how you had landed in this position.

Thank god the pool was empty.

But your mind was not. You were now extremely aware of his gaze burning into you, his hair wet from the water and bangs falling on his face, his taut chest muscles golden and ripped, his glowing skin looking even more alive.

“I love water.”

“I know, I remember how you used to always have pool parties for your birthdays in school.”

“Hmm, you do?” You’re sure it’s completely platonic, but when he uses his left hand to keep you locked against the pool and his right hand to swipe back his hair from his forehead, there are butterflies in your stomach and you just know you’re blushing. Not even an inch of skin-to-skin contact, just his hungry eyes and you’re dying inside.

“Joshua, I need air.”

“What?” He asks, as if he doesn’t understand.

“I need to breathe.”

“Huh ... you’re breathing, though?”

You bite your lip, and he smirks. You can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose, but he gently pushes himself away from you, and you take the chance to take deep breaths and rouse yourself to sit on the edge of the pool. He points at you and smirks even deeper.

“I win!” He laughs, his eyes growing bigger in excitement. You laugh too, realising that the moment you got out of water, he had won. But he had won far before that…

He dunks his hair in the water and splashes water over you as he rises up again. You slowly get off the edge and stand up, fixing your clothes. You swear you can see him check you out once, but it may be a figment of your delusions.

“Y/N. I’m hungry.” “Huh?” Did you hear him right? “Yeah, do you wanna get chicken?” Poof.

It feels just like those teenage summer parties he used to host. Just you, Wonwoo, Mingyu, himself, and a couple of other friends from school. You’re feeling just as hot and bothered as then, and he’s looking just as cool as then.

“Sure, but you’re paying. Winner winner, chicken dinner!” And you’re laughing now, as you walk away to the dressing room to take a shower and get dressed again. You just want to escape before he comes out of the water and his body makes you weak in the knees again.

He’s hard.

Joshua Hong is sitting through the middle of the third conference for the day and he’s shit tired at this point. Which has probably made his body want things he doesn’t have. Specifically, you.

So he tries to hide the boner in his suit pants, and he swears under his breath every second because it’s simply impossible. Especially after that picture Mingyu had sent to him a minute ago. He shouldn’t have opened his phone during the conference, but he was too bored.

KMG-[picture]

KMG-in case you’re missing your wifey haha

HJS-what?

KMG-she sure is. she’s whining like a little puppy.

HJS-what?!

KMG-don’t you get it? she’s drunk bro. it’s so obvious?? did you even open the photo?

HJS-i didn’t, sorry. unlike you, i’m in london and it’s afternoon here so i’m at work.

KMG-work?! pfffft. you’re the prince.

HJS-you’re also drunk, gyu.

KMG-not realllly, but defo under the influence seeing that i’m texting you against my better judgement, which is the slap i’m going to get from my sister as soon as she realises who i’m texting.

HJS-jeez. she hates me that much lol.

KMG-huh??? hate? you dumbass???

HJS-can you not curse me? this conference is tiring enough.

KMG-sorry.

KMG-you d*****s???

HJS-what???

KMG-the only thing she’s talking about after eight months of living the royal life is you. and i wouldn’t say you’re the only interesting thing at the palace

HJS-what are you implying

KMG-your assistant is pretty hot

HJS-what? i choked on my water!

KMG-don’t tell me you haven’t noticed

HJS-no i really haven’t.

KMG-eww. what marriage does to a person 101.

HJS-i wouldn’t have noticed otherwise either

KMG-sure, says joshua hong who’s slept with every girl in his uni in the states

HJS-why hasn’t your sister found out that you’re texting me and given you said slap yet?

KMG-oh so you want her to find out that you’re pining for her love?

KMG-you’re so down bad to get her attention huh

KMG-you just wish it was her texting you rn, and not me

KMG-you traitor

HJS-mingyu stop

KMG-you’re missing her so bad

KMG-and she’s missing you too

KMG-ugly missing

KMG-i can see the sadness in her eyeeees

HJS-i think it’s your soju talking

KMG-pls. i can handle my soju v well.

KMG-but you have to admit you’re missing her.

KMG-if you weren’t you wouldn’t have saved that photograph to your gallery

HJS-i didn’t

KMG-liar

HJS-accuser

KMG-cheater

HJS-dumbass

KMG-WHO’S CURSING NOW

KMG-soory this is yn if gyu was disturing you durig he meeing iapopogize. byew

That was a … chat that didn’t help at all. Now his mind is wandering even farther away from the discussion in the conference.

And the photograph.

You in tank tops would really be the death of him. Your silky flesh escaping through the loose edges of the satin tank, your short hair falling casually across your neck, covering up all the places he wanted to kiss. Your tiny mole below your left clavicle, and the way you were smiling, looking at the soju glass in your hand, eyes creasing and lips maroon.

It makes him think of that evening in the pool when he had almost kissed you again, but only the devil in his head knows how hard he had controlled himself from pushing you against the wall of the pool with his chest, feeling your soft skin again his own, and your lips bright red from biting on them all day (they were chapped as he noticed from up-close). He was taller than you even in the pool, and it made him want to devour you even more. Your swimming suit had left nothing to his imagination, the pervert he was.

He hadn’t planned on taking off his shirt that evening. But when he had started feeling the tingling in his dick after seeing the damp swimsuit clinging to your body, he had decided that two can play this game.

And god, he had enjoyed seeing you flustered. It felt amazing to know his body still had that kind of effect on women, especially you. The last he had seen you check him out was several years ago, and even then, his blood had rushed straight to his dick when he had received your attention, just like now. Thank god you both were under water so his trunks didn’t give it all away.

All the thoughts he had conjured up in his mind that night come floating into his mind now. Your husky voice after swimming laps in the pool. Your hair all damp and swept back from your face. Drops of water falling down your neck-

“Mr. Hong?” The lady next to him whispers, and he realises the entire hall has been staring at him. “Your thoughts on how Korea would like to be involved in the new cross-Pacific connectivity project?”

Fuck. Specifically, fuck you. Yes, thank you.

He has called you three times over the period of two days that he’s been away. Tiny calls, not lasting longer than seven minutes in all, but they still count as calls. He has also texted you a little bit, and sent quite a few photographs- a photograph of the brunch he had which had a lot of baked goods reminding him of you since you love baked treats; a photograph of the London Eye which he saw while travelling; a selfie in front of the Big Ben.

And yet you were missing him. You knew it had to be that, because there was no other emotion to pinpoint at the steely ache you felt in your body, a longing for something, a desire to see someone, in vain.

That had caused your outburst that night, when Mingyu had taken out soju and whisky and decided that it was the night to get drunk for the siblings. You were both emotional drunks, Mingyu slightly more teasing and funny than you, but you had straight up started whining about Joshua. Mingyu had, of course, texted him all about it but you had realised it a minute too late when you saw him shut up and focus on the texts on his phone, grinning smugly. You knew it wasn’t the person he liked, because he was specifically frustrated over how they were a goody-two-shoes, slept before 11 pm, and didn’t even go out with co-workers for dinner and drinks. They were a lawyer he knew through social circles, and although they had been talking for some time now, he had yet to make progress into their bedroom.

“But I don’t mind waiting. Aaah, for them I’ll wait forever.” He had giggled, and you had punched him in the back. “Sure, let’s both see where this goes.” You wondered how long this puppy love would last.

You weren’t talking to Mingyu all day because of what he had done the previous night. Not just spread misinformation about you, but also send a photograph of you. You hadn’t been able to read the chats, he had snatched it away from you as soon as you had begun to read them, but you knew he had written enough to damage you when Joshua would come back.

One more day, and your husband would be back.

What did wives do when they missed their husbands?

Call them for hours at night and sleep with their voice on speakerphone? Impossible, you lived in different time zones now. If you called him at night, it would be his afternoon, and if he called you at night, it would be your early morning and you’d be in no mood to sweet talk.

Text more frequently? Again, not possible. There was only so much you would want to do without any expectation of reciprocation.

Send them gifts? A parcel from Korea to London would definitely take a day, if not more. The surprise would be lost.

Send photographs? He did, but you never sent photos to anyone. Anyone. Not even Wonwoo, you were just too shy to send photos. And anyway, nothing special had happened to be worthy of sending photos.

There was truly nothing to do to solve your crisis, but oh, it felt like despair. Two days turned into three, three into four, until you couldn’t wait to have him in front of your eyes again. On the last day, you knew from the clock that this was probably bedtime for him, and you decided to call him. Because he hadn’t called you the entire day before that, and maybe you wanted to hear his voice?

“Hello?”

“Hmm Y/N.” There it was, a voice sounding like mellow honey in a pancake, warm and sweet. “How was your day, Josh?” “Tiring? I’m getting ready to get into bed right now. Wanna switch on videos?”

“Umm, I’ve actually just woken up so I had bed hair-”

Joshua is sending you a request for video call.

“Does it look like I care?” He grins as soon as you switch on your camera, showing him your frazzled hair. “I do! You see me only once in the entire day, I don’t want to look like a stray dog.” “You do look like a stray dog, but you’re cute.” Maybe it’s the morning laziness which hasn’t got off your brain yet, but you melt into his words. “You’re cute too. Your face is all puffy after a day’s work. Did you cleanse well?” “I did. I’m glowing even with the lights off, am I not?” He smirks, and you can’t say he’s lying. Even with the faint nightlight, you can see his features distinctly. He catches you stare at him for too long, and says, “Miss me much? Mingyu-” Your face scrunches up in irritation. “Ignore Mingyu! Ignore whatever he said that day. It was all misinfo. I swear.” “Aww now there, don’t pout.” You don’t even know you’re pouting, but you blush so hard.

It feels so fucking domestic. The bare minimum, and you’re melting into a puddle. It feels like you’ve come home, finally.

“I’m going to eat kimchi jjigae today. I bought the perfume for Mingyu and he didn’t even like it, so I said I’ll take it back because he doesn’t deserve gifts. Then he started whining, saying that he doesn’t want to smell like you because then I’ll get confused between my brother and my-” you pause. You’ve never really said it out loud.

He smiles, devilish but also kind. “Did he keep it then?” “No. I’ve got it back, you can use it. I’m never gifting him anything for Chuseok again.” “When is Chuseok, anyway?” “Next week. You have an entire schedule planned, don’t you remember?”

And then the screen goes black for a few seconds, and then his face returns.

“Hey, someone called. Sorry.”

“No no. Calling so late?”

“She’s actually a friend from college who saw on my twitter update that I’m here in London and wants to meet up.” You mouth an oh, and then he continues. “I guess she had called if we could go party now… you know, for old time’s sake…” he laughs a bit, and then continues, “But I said I’m too tired now, we can go for brunch tomorrow before I return home to Korea.”

You suddenly feel awkward. Out of place. Reminded that you don’t even know him properly, and you shouldn’t dream of waking up with him in the same bed in matching nightclothes.

“Oh, you could extend your trip a bit though? If you have friends you want to meet.”

“No, I just want to get back home and rest a bit. Next week will be hectic.”

“Hmm.”

Then there’s a pause.

“Alright then, I’ll go to sleep. Goodnight Y/N!” And you’re waving him goodnight as he smiles through the camera, before ending the call.

Reality has hit you, real bad. He was never yours. You’ll never be his.

vi.

“But I could never lie to you

I'm going out my mind for you”

On his flight back home, Joshua misses you immensely. If he was being honest, he wished that you’d wait for him at the airport, so that he could hug you as soon as he lands- satisfying a craving to touch you that had haunted him while he was in London. But he knew it was too extreme an expectation. At max, realistically, he could expect you to greet him when he finally reached home after the fourteen hour flight, with a smile. Over the last few weeks he had felt your warmth grow towards him gradually, and thus, this was definitely a realistic expectation in his eyes.

“Her Highness is at a meeting, she asked me to inform you.”

He was stunned at his secretary’s words. “At a meeting? I thought she was with her brother.”

“She is with the Royal Counsel, Sir. They are at a meeting together.”

“At 9.30 pm?”

“It’s a dinner meeting.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It was finalized just today morning S-”

“And since when are you her secretary too, Seewon? Or has her brother done something-” He sees Seewon’s eyes grow wide and he realises he has overstepped. But what is this searing feeling in his head?

Frustration? Did he really expect you to be waiting there for him? It was absurd, he sees it now. It was absurd to think you treated him any differently than you did a few months ago.

“I’m sorry. I’m just- too tired.”

“Dinner is ready, Sir.”

“Can you get it to my bedroom? I’ll eat there and directly go to bed. I’m too sleepy.”

“Yes, Sir.” Seewon bows deep, but he is already walking away.

“It is for the best, Mingyu-ah.” You reason with your brother for the n-th time as he tries to convince you, futile efforts truly, to confront Joshua about the future of your relationship. “I know he doesn’t want anything to do with me. What we have now is… a nice companionship. We’ve both resigned to the fate that this is it. There’s nothing new going to happen in our love lives, and we’ve accepted it. As a teenager, we probably expected our love lives to be beautiful and magnanimous like in the movies, but this is reality. And you know I’ve never sought romance.”

“We all know why that is.”

“Huh?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly across the table, his eyelids drooping slightly from being tipsy. His shirt is nearly off, the alcohol heating up his body, and in his longer hair, his face looks eerily like yours. Seeing him like this makes you feel colder, and you hug the cardigan closer to your body.

“Wonwoo and I were together. When we found your diary entries about Joshua.”

You’re speechless. How had Wonwoo emitted this very important detail about the biggest secret of your life?

“Hey, Y/N-ie. I know I’m not as close to you as Wonwoo. He was a better friend to you than I could ever be, although we are of the same age. And I know he’d be able to explain this better-”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Now he’s speechless.

Never in his entire life have you called him by his full name, except when you were really frustated over failing your midterms when he had topped the class or when you had suffered the wrath of your parents when it was actually his fault.

“You knew?”

He gulps.

“How come you never said anything to me? I can’t believe Wonwoo- that fucker- that-”

“Hey!”

“No, you don’t get it! I’ve- I’ve kept so many secrets for him. It was our pact you know- never spill secrets. And never keep secrets from each other. I told him everything and he- Oh my god. What else do you know? How much has he betrayed me?”

“Y/N-ie. He didn’t betray anything. It was purely an accident that I was there in the room when he started reading it out aloud. None of us knew what was coming as we started reading that page. And then he swore me to secrecy, and made me promise never to tell you. Made me swear on my face too, can you imagine?”

But you were not in the mood for jokes. Angry, hot tears started rolling down your cheeks. It was truly an uncalled for meltdown, but the tears seemed to be a long time coming.

“I can’t believe you know it. I’m so pathetic-”

“No, aaaah-” He shuffles closer to you, somehow patting your hair, before you smack it away.

“Don’t touch me, Kim Mingyu.”

“Okay, sorry. But Y/N. I don’t think you should be so mad at Wonwoo. In fact I had totally forgotten about it, until-”

“Until?”

“Until Wonwoo said how he was considering proposing to you, to be his Royal Consort.”

You look up at your brother.

“You know why he had proposed.”

“I do. I just thought… maybe if I were him, and if I knew my best friend was in love with my brother-”

“I am not! In love! With his brother!”

“Y/N-aah.”

“It was a teenage thing! A crush! It happens! Hell, Mingyu, you fall in love every week. You don’t have the right to call me out like this!”

“I’m not. But that’s because- that’s just who I am, you know? I feel butterflies and I go for it. I don’t think about it. But you, you’re different. You think twice, thrice, a hundred times, before even feeling something. For the longest time, I thought you didn’t have a heart, you had two brains.”

You scoff a mirthless laugh. “And yet I’m the one stuck in this ugly marriage. How stupid of me. I’m torturing a whole man to fulfill some broken childhood wish of mine- something I don’t even feel anymore. That’s honestly the most pathetic thing in the world.”

“Hey!” Mingyu really wraps his arm around your shoulder now, and unwantedly, you cave into his touch. His body is warm and it feels safe. You haven’t hugged him in a long time, you realise. Wonwoo had always been your cuddling partner, by your side through long days and nights. Wonwoo had been your best friend and so much more. Perhaps your true soulmate.

Wonwoo.

The thought of him brings fresh tears to your eyes, and you’re shaking violently in Mingyu’s arms.

“Y/N. Can you stop beating yourself up? First of all,” you raise your head to look at him, but he shuts you down, “listen to me for once! First of all,” he starts again, “I think you do like him. Maybe it’s not your childhood crush continuing for so long. But somewhere, you do like him. It’s like- a longing you’ve been craving for so long, and now that the sight ebbs closer to you, you can’t help but walk towards it even more.” You look at him again, tears drying up. When did your silly brother become so poetic?

“Second point is. You really shouldn’t beat yourself up for this. He’s - he’s not getting tortured, that’s for sure. He seems really happy to me, and I can read faces well.”

“No, Kim Mingyu, you’re dumb as fuck-”

“No, that’s just what you think! Because you’re my sister. I’m actually very smart. Just like I never think you’re smart, even if you’re a double masters graduate now.”

You sigh. Maybe this was true.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is. Shua hyung doesn’t seem tortured. He talks to me fondly about you, whenever we talk. Yes, he was initially very hesitant. But you know why he was-”

You’re staring at him hard, waiting for him to continue, but he just gulps. Then his eyes widen, and keep widening. Suddenly, he jumps up, and starts jumping in tiny movements.

“Mingyu, have you finally gone mad?”

“He thinks you’re in love with him!”

“What are you saying?” Your jaw drops. “Mingyu, I think you’re really drunk, you should just-”

“Oh my god. Wonwoo Wonwoo. Aigoo, he thinks too far ahead of this time, don’t you think?”

“What are you saying, bro-”

“Even after his death-”

“Do you mean he forethought his death too?”

“No! I mean, of course not. Just. The way things turned out. He really set you up with fate. A true best friend, aah,” leaving you still confused, Mingyu pours the rest of the soju bottle into his glass and drinks it in one go.

“I’m going to bed. I can’t tolerate your nonsense anymore.”

“Hmm, goodnight. Sleep well, cutie sister.”

You throw him a dirty look, and have half a mind to kick his face, but then you feel too tired and you waddle back to your bedroom.

It’s only the next morning that you see his texts and missed calls and call him back. He’s been waiting for the call for hours now, so he picks it up as soon as it starts ringing.

“Y/N!”

“Oh, good morning!”

Your voice sounds groggy. Were you drinking?

“I was w-worried,” he stutters, “Where were you last night?”

“Oh, last night? With Mingyu.”

“Oh. I thought you’d gone for a meeting?”

“Yeah, after that. It was a good one, I’ll send you my notes later. I’m too hungover right now, sorry. Was there anything you needed from me? Any work stuff?”

Your voice? A hope to see you returned to the palace when he wakes up in the morning?

“Nothing. I was just, like I said, worried.”

“Aaah, you shouldn’t have been. I have bodyguards you know. They left me only after they saw me going home with Mingyu.”

“Hmm.”

There’s a pause. He wonders if he should bring up the question of when you plan on coming back. He wonders if you’ll ask him anything about the flight. He wonders if he can ask you what you and Mingyu have been drinking so much over.

“Please don’t worry on my account. Mingyu and I… had some things to discuss. I’ve cleared up my schedule today. I hope you didn’t need me for anything-”

“No. No. Of course not. Enjoy your day.” Even if I won’t.

“Kim Mingyu? Where are you?” As soon as your call with Joshua ends, the painkillers start their magic, and you remember bits and pieces of your conversation last night with your brother. You walk towards his room, but alas, you find him still sleeping in his bed, naked except his underwear, evidently too hot after getting all drunk.

You slap his back sharply, and he jolts up with a groan.

“Kim Y/N!”

“What nonsense were you saying last night? Tell me now, if you have the guts to tell me when sober.”

“Huh?”

Five seconds.

Ten seconds. You give him a glass of water.

Three minutes. You get him painkillers.

Ten minutes. He brushes his teeth.

Thirty minutes, you’re both awake and sober. And yet, radio silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember. What were we talking about last night?”

“Yah! Kim Mingyu! You weren’t that drunk!”

He tilts his head from side to side, putting on a show to recollect, but his face is still blank. You have the urge to slap his head, like one slaps a dysfunctional remote to make it work again. But you fear it’s going to damage his few brain cells forever and irreparably.

“I really don’t remember. I just remember… talking about Wonwoo.”

“Mingyu did you drink after I went to bed?”

“Yes, but that’s-”

“Fuck. No wonder you’re out like a light bulb. Did you finish the entire bottle of whiskey too?”

“Hmm, but-”

“Fuck man! Now I can’t even be sure of my own thoughts.”

“So even you don’t remember! Sucker!”

“No I do! But I was just… wondering if I was delusional or if it was real. Mingyu, try and think hard.”

“Umm, I can’t really think so much so early. And today’s a holiday, for fuck’s sake. Can’t a man relax and wake up on a holiday?”

He huffs and walks out of the room, his hair sticking out weirdly. Oh, your brother. Now you have to verify if the nonsense he spewed last night was indeed true or not. And there is, of course, only one way to do so.

vii.

“Turnin’ me up and back off like this

What do you want? Do you not like it?”

He had to know. Joshua Hong had never felt the pangs of curiosity so wildly as he did now. It was too much to bear. This suspense. These mixed signals from you. This wild fluttering of his heart that he had to forcefully drown out with the rational thoughts from his brain. Not a moment of bliss and yet so much happiness even in this riot.

“Can you make a cute pose for me?”

You stare at him, and then at the camera. “What?” Your reaction makes him smile. “Cute pose!” “Yah! I’m the Princess, not an idol! Why should I make a cute pose!” “Because that’s your vibe! All the media goes wild for your cuteness. That’s why you’re so popular with the young people of our country.”

“I’m popular because of my personality. I’ve raised Mingyu, okay? I know how to deal with kids.”

He’s laughing out loud now, he doesn’t care if his bodyguards are suspicious of the whispered conversation the two of you are sharing.

“But I insist. Cute pose, please?” He winks cutely, his face full of aegyo. He’s always been good at this, the baby face among the brothers. The delicate boyish charm he never lost. The mature, serious look he never gained, unlike Wonwoo.

“Joshua. I’ve never done it,” you whisper back, slightly embarrassed.

“Umm, can you do a V sign for me?”

You do it, and extend your hand ahead of you. “Now bring it up to your eyes.”

You bring the hand to your eyes, and Joshua bends your fingers slightly to make it look cuter. “Cha! Now you’ve got it! Smile!”

He smiles for the selca, and you smile too. But your smile isn’t the real one he’s used to seeing. So he pokes a finger into your cheek, just to get a reaction out of you, and clicks the burst shot at the same time.

He’s right.

You blush, smile and laugh in embarrassed giddiness, all in the series of shots. It’s a small touch, far far shorter than anything he would like to do, insignificant, and mostly friendly. But the effect it has on his heart says otherwise.

At least now he has the shots the PR team asked him to prepare.

“Are you going to send that photo?”

“Of course not if you’re not comfortable!”

“No. That’s… okay. I just think it makes us look too… childish. Not the image the PR team would want to project of us, no?”

“You’re right. I’ll not send it. Sorry, I just wanted to make you comfortable and smile.”

“Pulling my cheek was your idea of making me comfortable?” You gasp, in mock anger.

He leans in, ignoring the way your eyelashes are fluttering from his sudden closeness.

“Did it work or not?”

Your shy smile is the answer he needs to satisfy his curiosity for now.

But the ugly demon never rests, and his mind remains wildly distracted for the rest of the day. Your photoshoot may have been over a long time ago, but he can’t get his mind over the photographs. He’s thankful you let him keep the photograph where his finger touches the soft pulp of your cheeks. It seems like the only thing he can look at right now.

It’s just been six hours since you’re back in the palace for good. Your mind keeps going back to your conversation with Mingyu, but you’re too afraid to approach the issue. You know it’s a hopeless cause, there’s absolutely no way what Mingyu was hinting at was correct. He’s a real dumbass about feeling something, definitely a TJ and not an FP, since he was so shit at perceiving and interpreting feelings. He must have been going off on tangents which weren’t even realistic.

But somewhere within you, the curiosity burned you alive. It was hell, sitting next to Joshua at the council meeting, pretending to listen to industry experts talking scientific lingo which basically amounted to how the new slum restoration and water purification project needed more funding, but you kept thinking of the same loop of thoughts. The fact that he whispered to you little jokes about how boring it all was, his fingers sometimes brushing over the net stocking of your knees when he leaned in to hear you whisper back, drove you absolutely crazy. If his fingers slipped slightly, it would undoubtedly find out how heated your core was.

Joshua and you have schedule after schedule, pending work which had been postponed for the trip, which had to be completed before Chuseok so that the festivities passed smoothly. When the day had started with you two eating breakfast together at a public place (actually a gimmick for media to cover it as a romantic date for the wife who missed her beloved husband) and clicking selfies to be released on his twitter, you had thought that was the end of your togetherness for the day.

But it had seemed to stretch on, when Joshua insisted that you sit with him for all the meetings, to keep him updated on everything he had missed out on, now that you were much more deeply involved in the official world.

“You have a secretary though?” you had chuckled, begging him to take the hint and releasing you from this trap.

“Is it too much to ask for a friend by my side when I face the world?” he had all but pouted, and you had, of course, melted.

It reminded you eerily of what Wonwoo had said when he had proposed you. Brothers did think alike, you think, as you flip the pen over and over waiting for the current presentation on tax revenues to get over. You had already thought of questions in the first few slides, realising some loopholes early on, and now the rest of the presentation is predictable. You are, however, waiting for the presentation to end to pounce with your questions, when your eyes go to what Joshua is scribbling on his notepad.

“Hey, I thought of the same concern,” you whisper, showing your own notes on your tablet.

“Telepathy?” he winks at you, and you smile lightly. “The Prince is too cheerful today. Why all the jokes? Did London steal my serious Joshua?”

He leans in slightly closer, until all you can see is his eyes.

“I missed you. It’s good to be back.”

Then he leans away, and almost on cue, the presenter opens the floor for questions and his secretary prepares the mic for him to speak into it. Your questions are all forgotten, your notes forgotten, so all you can do is stare blankly ahead until your mind registers what he just said.

viii.

싫어 하면, 싫어지면 좋겠어

좋아하는 마음을 멈추고 싶어

“If you hate it, I hope you hate it

I want to stop liking you”

It is two days before Chuseok, but there’s a somewhat half-hearted excitement in the country. It seems like everyone is feeling the same way as you. You’re all reminded of how Wonwoo had suddenly left your side last year, exactly 365 days before this.

Your recent visit to home had actually worsened the incisions your thoughts about Wonwoo made to your heart. It had been fun to curse him for betraying your secret to Mingyu, but deep down, as the date kept approaching, you could not bring yourself to sleep at nights. Every waking moment, you felt the same pain jarring your body as you imagined Wonwoo must have felt in the moment of the car accident.

Mingyu and you had drunk every night for the same reason. When you had come home, you had realised soon he was not quite the happy spirit you knew him to be. And when every conversation of yours led to nostalgic memories of the past, somehow centering around the one friend you both had loved so much, but never really talking about him directly, you realised he was grieving too. He knew how to hide it far better, but you wished he would break the dam for you.

And he did.

All it took was playing the album that Wonwoo had bought for you and Mingyu to celebrate your 18th birthday, the first album all three of you had liked (an utter shock since you had disparate music tastes), and Kim Mingyu was a wailing, blubbering mess. His head on your shoulder as you hugged him, urging him to take it all out, even though snot was all over your sleeve. But it felt relieving to see him free his own heart, for you knew Wonwoo hated it the most when Mingyu tried to hide his feelings and thoughts.

“How do you think he is doing?”

“An angel like him must be doing well, Gyu-ah.”

He had nodded, and you both had silently listened to the album on loop.

It was an album about loss. All the songs definitely hinted at losing a loved one. Some could think of it as a romantic loss, but you and Wonwoo had always thought the singer was speaking of losing anyone close to you- a friend, a family member, any beloved human being, or even a pet. It was so fitting for the moment, and you cried too. Ultimately you both had fallen asleep on the couch, for the first time in forever, the two of you on the same couch, cuddling in a desperate attempt to comfort each other.

Once back in the palace, the familiar comfort of your brother, both basking in the shared shadow of grief, was absent. This was an environment you still hesitated to call home, in spite of spending a huge amount of your life between these walls.

Because there is no longer a spectacled calm sea of love called Wonwoo by your side to tie you in during the high tides of anguish, pain and nervousness. To set you free from the clutches of overthinking and the burdens of your own intelligence. To help you escape from the depths of your mind and heart, and see the world that was beautiful without any dangerous inhibitions.

There is another person sitting next to you now, kneeling before the elaborately framed, smiling photograph of Wonwoo that is before you, surrounded by candles and flowers as the Royal Family pays their respects to the death of their maknae. Not just the King and Queen are shedding tears, the thundering sky too seems to be crying too and drowning away the tears of the world with its louder downpour. You want to be stoic, but the wetness on the rim of your eyes are unavoidable. But there are no tears in Joshua’s eyes. His eyes are dark, full of an emotion you cannot place, and suddenly you feel very distant from him.

It is this feeling, primarily, that sets off the tears in you more wildly. The only person you expect to be on your side now seems to be so far away, and it seems so cruel that you cannot help the sudden tears that escape you now. The distanced coldness in Joshua is gone as soon as he sees you in this state, reaching out to hug you, but you can't control yourself. He pulls you in one corner, thankfully, and pats your back until you’re more yourself.

“How are you holding up like this?”

He has the audacity to shrug and break your heart even more. What cruel curse is this that the person you loved the most has not only left your side, but now there is someone you’re left with, who will never love you?

“I’ve been training myself to harden my heart. I cannot cry before my parents, they need me to be strong.”

“But what about yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“It does to me.”

He looks up at you, you’re still cowering next to him, your knees pulled up to your chest as you hope to feel warmer.

“There is something comforting in knowing that I’m not the only one who feels like their heart is being broken to pieces by a hammer.”

He winces, but puts a hand around your own.

“If it means anything, it does feel like that to me too. Probably not as bad as you though.”

“But you’re his brother. You’ve known him for longer than I have.”

“But there is nothing stronger than the loss of a lover. Not even the loss of a family member.”

Then someone calls out for him from the crowds, and you’re left to yourself again, as you try to make sense of what he said.

“This is the album we used to listen to all the time. Wonwoo, Mingyu and I.” You show him a faded album cover, and he reads the title.

“Can I listen to it, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course. I wanted to share it with you. Shared grief, you know?” You chuckle, as Joshua goes up to play the album. The first few songs are not even remotely sad, but he can see a tear rolling down your cheeks already. You jerk away the cup of cinnamon coffee from yourself, to prevent it from becoming salty.

When it finishes playing, Joshua lets out a long sigh he doesn’t even know he’s been holding in. This really confirms it for him. It breaks his heart a little more, although he’s known this for years, probably, but it still hurts.

“It’s a very moving album.”

“Hmm. The lyrics are almost poetry.”

“Yes. The way the singer describes the grief of losing a lover…. No wonder you could feel it so deeply.”

You’re looking at him funnily, and he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not about losing a lover. I think it’s about losing any person who was close to you… the feeling of missing a beloved is not limited to romantic relationships, you know? Do you not feel the same way? Your calmness scares me.”

“No, I… I don’t know how to feel. It does hurt, a lot. But… somehow, the last year has been very hard for me. It’s changed the way I feel things, I think…”

And then you hug him, your fingers squeezing his shoulder blades. You’re impossibly close to him on the sofa, but he can’t hug you back. Not when you’ve literally shown him the album right now.

Not when he knows it for sure that his love for you will be forever unrequited.

He can speak again only when you shift away from him again, breaking the hug.

“Y/N, I… This was the world I wanted to avoid the most. I wanted to run away from it so bad. I did everything I could in the US to convince myself and my family to let me stay away, to prove that I was better off living away. And I had selfishly, left everything to my little brother, who was suddenly pushed into all this without expecting it. And I feel like a terrible person. I don’t deserve to cry-”

“Hey! Wonwoo never thought like that. He knew your reasons, and he never once complained about them.”

“Did he speak to you about it ever? I just feel like a piece of shit for leaving him in the middle of it all, instead of being the reliable hyung he should have leaned his back on and enjoyed the youthful days of his life. I can’t help but feel-”

And he does what he has tried to avoid all day. He doesn’t know what triggers it- your pats on his arm, the way your eyes are glued to his, or the memories of Wonwoo finally flooding his rationale.

“You’re not responsible for his death, Joshua. You deserve to grieve, but do not beat yourself up. He never complained about anything. If anything, he knew he was a natural at this.”

“But Y/N that’s no consolation! I failed him!” He’s positively bawling now, and you shuffle to take him in an embrace again. He fights it at first, whispering something about snot, but you only chuckle and pull him in closer. There are several moments of silence after this, while he continues to sniffle in the crook of your neck.

“The days after he left, they were hell for me. I would hallucinate, I think. I saw him in my dreams, when I woke up I would call out his name, while eating or doing any work I would talk to myself, addressing myself with his name. Everyone thought I was going to lose my mind, but then… I reeled myself in. My stronger sense of intelligence stopped my emotional senses from losing it all.”

“You’re very strong, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my lover.”

There’s another moment of silence. Joshua feels his heart beating fast, but then there is another heartbeat bursting in his ears, and it’s way faster than his.

He realises it is yours.

“Wonwoo and I… were never lovers, Joshua. I don’t know why you keep thinking that?”

Suddenly, his world is spinning. Joshua Hong doesn’t know what to say.

“What?”

He moves his body backward to look at you, to see if you’re fucking with him. It’s a cruel joke-

“Wonwoo and I were never in love. Romantically.”

“But you were engaged?”

He sees you take a deep breath in, and his eyes are bigger than the sun as he waits for you to answer. It’s a do-or-die moment for him. He keeps searching your eyes for any sign of a joke, but you look dead serious.

“That’s because… because Wonwoo was gay. He liked my brother. But he could never come out before the world, he knew he would die by public guillotine if he did that. So he decided to do the next best thing to marrying the love of his life. He decided to marry his best friend. That’s all.”

“Marrying his best friend? Wonwoo gay?”

“Yes,” he’s definitely delusional right now. He’s hearing all sorts of bullshit. This is why he was reigning in the tide. Too many tears and he’s light-headed. Drunk in his own pathetic feelings.

“He asked me about his dilemma, and what he was thinking of doing as a solution. We agreed to it as the best thing. I would support him in this tough journey, he knew that. And I knew that it was better to marry him than spend my life in an arranged marriage because I was not even looking for love-”

“Not looking for love?”

It’s your turn to look like your breath had been knocked out of your lungs, but you quickly recover, when you whisper to him, your voice suddenly far softer.

“Joshua…”

“Why did Wonwoo spoil your chances of finding love? You could have found love, you know?”

“Not when the only man I have ever loved was millions of miles away from me.”

No, he’s delusional for sure. It can’t be- no- never…

He sees you freeze, standing up, and suddenly the room is too cold in spite of it being the middle of September. Your body steps away from him, but he can’t move. Can’t seem to get a word out of his mouth, not a single thought in his mind.

“Oh. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

And then you sprint, shutting the door behind you, and Joshua still can’t move a limb.

ix.

“I love the way that you're designed

Love thе way we intertwine

Still don't need a rеason why

You're beautiful and now you're mine”

It seems like an eternity before you can stop crying. An eternity of unrequited love is burning itself down to atoms in your heart, and your whole body seems to be out of control. It’s been a long day, worn down by the grief of losing your friend, and now the pain of ruining the one friendship you had left.

As a teenager, you had anticipated this moment several times. Especially during the sleepless summer nights, when you would wonder how it would be if you ever confessed to Joshua. You had almost done it too, on so many occasions which kept floating to your brain now. When he had come to see you at your first debate finals in school, and he had hugged you after you had won, and treated you (and Wonwoo and Mingyu, who were your teammates) to bulgogi japchae and fried chicken. When he had patted your hair after you had scored your first goal in football, one of the many games you played with the boys. When he had given you the extra piece of dumpling from his plate because there were no more left and you had just remarked that it was the best dumpling you’d ever eaten.

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you miss the footsteps behind you. A shame truly because Joshua is extremely loud in his running. Anyone in their right minds would be able to hear him from miles away. But not you. Your mind is blocked too much with echoes of your own voice, pathetic as you must have sounded when you had confessed your silly little infatuation.

An infatuation that had lasted the struggles of time.

All the lies you had always said. Not looking for love. Focused on my career right now. Too busy to date. I don’t believe in soulmates and that shit. All excruciatingly stupid excuses to hide the ache your heart made even after years, just at the thought of Joshua Hong. Even when you knew very well he was way out of your league and too far away, physically and emotionally from you, you had chosen him over any other person up your way. That fact in itself was so wretched: you had, like a fool, chosen him over and over, giving up any opportunities to embrace a now that would gratify the innate human need for romance, in hope for an extremely uncertain future. Over Yoon Jeonghan, who had fluttered his pretty lashes and drawled in his cherry sweet voice- but you were insecure that he was way more beautiful than you, and the only reason he was going on dates with you was to boost his ego about his own beauty. Over Xu Minghao, the calm, witty and incredibly romantic boy who matched you in every way possible, almost designed to be your soulmate by your own admission- but even the easily affectionate days you enjoyed with him in your college days had been overshadowed by the flickers of hope that one day, you would make Joshua’s heart race in the same burning, desperate way he still made yours race.

Your body is exhausted from the overdrive.

You’ve cried too much, it’s sucked out all the moisture from your system. You’ve not eaten in hours, and the pain of your heart is overcoming you in whole. So you let sleep take over you, expanding the memories to erase any sense of consciousness you retained for so long in vain.

Sickening how you’re dreaming of him even in your sleep. It’s extremely hazy, but you see his face smiling down at you, the dawn covering his features with shades of pink and orange that make his eyes glitter even more brightly than usual.

He’s an angel, you think.

Except your body is feeling too warm for it to be a dream. His smile seems to grow wider, and you can slowly see more of his face.

Then he bends down to kiss your forehead. Then you’re asleep again.

When you finally wake up, he’s still staring at you. The slow breaths you take and release as you sleep so calmly in his lap, your head ever so lightly shifting from time to time. The edge of the wooden bench pokes his waist, but he would bear anything to see you sleeping in his arms like this. He can scarcely believe it, and he’s afraid that if he moves even a bit, it will disappear, like a myth he had gaslit himself into believing.

So when you finally wake up, he can’t help but smile at you. The smile that’s been stuck on his lips ever since he realised seven hours ago, that you loved him back. That he was not an absolute fool in hoping he could make you his. That he was not the only one whose heart burned with the desire to touch you every time he saw you.

He finally understood your point about shared grief.

As the stars disappeared when the sun rose, he quietly prayed to Wonwoo. It was mean and selfish, to be grateful to him for bringing you to him by giving up his life. But he was able to ignore the demons in his head by thinking that the kind soul Wonwoo was, he had always brought you to him, he was the only one who had pushed you away in spite of his unending efforts.

Hyung, can you come watch our debate finals? Y/N and Mingyu are also here…

Hyung, let’s call Y/N for your birthday too! She’s your friend too…

Hyung, can you help me choose which photos to post for Y/N’s birthday? I can’t choose, she’s too cute in all of them…

And he had saved all the photos. You were not just cute in all of them, but also the most elegant and beautiful lady he had seen. He was sure he found it harder than Wonwoo to pick just three photos, but he had to suppress the storms that blast his heart from time to time whenever he thought of you.

To think that you were in his arms now, waking up on a beautiful, clear, warm morning, your soft body shifting against his own. Your bright eyes finally opening to see him, as he continues to smile at you, urging you to wake up so that he could finally see the stars in your eyes, although they were long gone from the skies.

“Good morning, princess.”

You’re hallucinating. Or you’re just still sleeping.

But it feels too real. Joshua’s warm body engulfs you as you wake up.

“Good morning, princess,” he says again when he thinks you haven’t heard him. Oh, but you have.

“Joshua?” your voice is cracked, from sleep and tears.

“Yes, Y/N?”

His voice is like honey dripping from a fountain of all things sweet and delicate.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you?”

“What? Why?” you’re genuinely confused as you try to get up, but his strong arms prevent you, and keep you trapped in the warmth of his soft lap.

“Because I’ve waited for thirteen years to see you wake up in my arms. And I’m not letting go now.”

You have to sit up now, so you resist his arms, and sit up, your body twisting to face Joshua.

“What are you saying, Joshua Hong?” A single tear rolls down your cheek, fighting the urge to smile before you’re fully convinced this is real.

“I love you, Kim Y/N. I have, forever. Ever since I realised what love is. I never-”

“What?” Your jaw is open, so he smiles at the sight.

“I never imagined you would like me back.” His voice is softer as he leans closer to you.

You touch his cheek slowly, hesitantly, before completing placing your palm on cheek as he leans into your touch. It’s not real. No. You’re…

“Are you for real?” He smiles again, that angelic smile.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Are you kidding me? Joshua! Please don’t joke with me. I’m dead serious!”

“So am I!” His eyes go wide, and you know now for sure.

It’s still so unreal, that you’re suddenly overcome by embarrassment and you hide your face in his shoulder. He chuckles, a melodic sound.

“Y/N, will you have me as yours?”

You can’t even look up at him, unable to look at the way he’s looking at you. The loving gaze in his eyes that makes your stomach somersault. You better get used to it, Y/N, you tell yourself.

“As long as you want me as yours.”

“Always have, princess. And always will.”

“Spend a summer or a lifetime with me

Let me take you to the place of your dreams”

The next few days are a dream. A dream you had never dared to dream for longer than five seconds. But now, it seemed to engulf your entire existence.

For loving and being loved by Joshua Hong is a happy heaven beyond imagination. It’s waking up, in his arms for the first time, on wooden benches in the lawns. It’s waking up next to him, in his arms again, as the sun catches your eyes and breaks your slumber. It’s waking up to the scent of rose and vanilla, which you think is his natural scent even without any perfume.

It’s also sleeping in his warm embrace. It’s sleeping with minimal clothes but still feeling hot in the night because of how closely your bodies are entangled. It’s sleeping with your faces touching each others, so close you’re breathing in the carbon dioxide he is exhaling.

It’s an elixir that adds a million years to your life.

It’s a honeymoon phase you know will never end. Not as long as Joshua Hong looks at you with the edges of his eyes crinkling up in explicable fondness, when you explain to him why it’s not correct to use each other’s toothbrushes. Not as long as he kisses you all over your neck and shoulders, complaining about how you had teased him for months in your tank tops. Not as long as he knocks out the breath from your lungs whenever you look at him, and you know that’s a feeling that’s never going to go away.

Or maybe it is just the happiness of Chuseok that permeates into you now, making you feel happier than ever.

Joshua knows this is what a dream coming true looks like. It looks like you wearing the softest, fluffiest yellow hanbok, designed to match with his own golden hanbok. Your hair is pushed back, revealing your full cheeks even more prominently, and when you smile, you look like the cutest strawberry.

As you walk up to him, still blushing, as the flashes of the cameras go off, he whispers, “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’m so lucky to be your husband.”

“Shut up! Don’t make me more shy than I already am.”

He latches his own arm to yours as you both bow to the crowds waiting ahead of you to open the celebrations for the day.

“I love it when you’re shyly blushing like that. Boosts my ego like nothing else.”

“God, Joshua Hong! You menace!”

“I know,” he whispers later at night, in your ears, almost a low growl, when you say the words again to him, but the annoyance in your voice is now overcome by a desperate neediness that not just boosts his ego but also shoots straight to his dick. For Joshua can’t think without his dick these days. Not when he strips you out of the hanbok, thanking god you had hidden up your curves all day, because if he knew you were wearing his favourite pearly white bra today, he’d not be able to function all day. Not when he kisses your nipples with growing fondness, having quickly realised how sensitive your breasts were. Not when his fingers slide easily into your wet cunt, almost like a habit now after the last few nights.

He can cry thinking of how many times he’s imagined this, but when finally sinks himself into you, he loses it. Every fucking time he does it, he loses it.

Tonight, he flips you to sit you down on him, and your eyes are going wide at the new angle, and you try bouncing on him, eager to make him feel good. And you are making him feel amazing, especially when he feels your breasts bounce on his face as he licks the valley between them. But he knows you’re getting tired with how many times his dick slips out when you raise yourself and you have to push yourself back again.

“Let me help you, baby.” And he thrusts himself up into you, causing a scream to leave your mouth, as you lean back against his knees. “You feel so good, Josh! Aaah- aah-” he cuts off your words and makes them into moans with his continuous thrusts. He whispers little words of encouragement to bring your orgasm faster as he feels himself getting closer with every little clench of your cunt. And when you finally cum, he shakes all over and cums into you too. Thank god you gave him the green light to fuck you raw, as you were habituated to your birth control pills.

“I love you,” he says even later into the night, when he’s kissing you again, the post-orgasm bliss dissipating into a soft love that seals you both into a bubble of love that he thinks can never be broken.

“I love you too, Joshua.” You kiss his forehead, and wrap your legs around him. As he feels his breathing stabilise against your own, he knows he wants nothing else from life.

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