#like... the paintings on the wall and the strawberry garden

[hyunjincanraptoo]

The secret ingredient is love- L.FX

Happy birthday, @jeonginsleftcheek!! We don't know each other for too long but I think you are one the sweetest people I have ever meet. I hope you have a great day, full of love and surrounded by good things. Ily 💜

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: smut, virginity loss, magic 

Alexa, play Eternal Sunshine by ATEEZ

Felix stood at the long wooden table near the stone hearth oven, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hands delicately shaping strawberry tarts as if each one were a small piece of his heart. He worked in silence, save for the hum under his breath, something warm and tender. His blond hair was tied back with a strip of linen, though a few locks had slipped loose and clung to the sweat on his temples. 

Powdered sugar traced the curve of his cheekbone, unnoticed. Felix didn’t complain, not even once— he loved what he did. Creating pastries was like painting with sweetness, each dessert a work of art that would never be praised with words, only devoured behind silk curtains upstairs. 

And he was good at it. Better than good. Every pie crust flaked like snow. Every tart bloomed like spring. He didn’t have to be told he had a gift— he knew it in his heart, like how you know when bread is done just by the golden color of the crust.

But that morning his hands moved distractedly. His eyes kept drifting to the window above the spice rack. Outside, the sun illuminated the garden vines, and a memory tugged at him— you.

He’d seen you once. It was midsummer and he was on his ten minute break, seated in the shade of the herb wall with a slice of leftover apple galette in hands. And there you were— stepping through the garden in a dress the color of pink rose petals. The sunlight clinged to your hair like you were a ray of sunshine yourself. You weren’t like princesses from fairytale stories— cold and untouchable. No, you had knelt by the edge of the koi lagoon and dipped your fingers into the water, smiling to yourself like no one was watching.

But he was. And his breath caught in his throat, then lingered there, ever since.

He hadn’t seen you again, not properly, not outside of brief glimpses when delivering dishes for the high table, where you looked so distant. Beautiful still, but behind a mask of etiquette and formality. You didn’t smile like you had in the garden, you looked bored, tired, maybe lonely.

That was when the daydreams started. Not the wild kind, just tiny ones. What it would be like to see you laugh again, to bring you something sweet and handmade, just out of the oven. 

He pressed a strawberry into the center of the tart and exhaled, "She probably doesn’t even remember that day", he whispered.

The royal kitchen was a blur of motion—busier than ever, with the princess’s birthday ball just a week away. Felix's focus was absolute as he carefully slid a tray of those strawberry tarts on the cooling rack, watching the glaze melt. When he heard a voice from the corridor,

“Make way! Make way!”.

Felix turned just in time to see the head cook burst through the door, cheeks red, “The King and Her Highness are visiting. Now!”

A ripple of panic ran through the room. And then— silence. Because you had arrived.

You stepped into the kitchen with royal composure, your gown trailing behind like a shadow. The King followed at your side, but it was you the room watched. You are the one who brought a strange peace to the chaos. You were known for avoiding the spotlight, for skipping court banquets and walking barefoot in the gardens.

You looked around with clear eyes, your gaze scanning the faces of the cooks and servants with something more than just simple curiosity. It was something close to kindness. Felix swallowed hard. You were even more beautiful up close. 

“We’d like to see what desserts are being considered for the ball”, your father announced, “Her Highness wants something special this year”

“I don’t want anything big”, you said quietly, fingers brushing the edge of a worktable, “I want something…authentic, genuine. Something that tastes like love and childhood memories”

The cooks scrambled to present their creations— towers of spun sugar, marzipan swans, even a cake shaped like a miniature palace. But you only looked politely and nodded.

Then you turned

 “You”, you said.  

Felix’s head snapped up, “M-me, Your Highness?”

You stepped forward, “What are you working on?”

He looked down at the tart, hands trembling slightly as he lifted one from the tray, “Strawberry. Simple”, he said, “With a hint of white chocolate. The crust is… hum, oat and almond”

You accepted it with careful hands.

Felix forgot how to breathe as you took a bite. Your lips pressed together, eyes closing gently. And then, you smiled.

It wasn’t the polite kind you gave at court. It was a real one, the one he’d seen in the garden that summer day, the one that had lived in his head ever since.

“This”, you said, “Is perfect”

The King tilted his head, “You’d like him to assist the royal baker?”

You shook your head, “No. I want him to design my birthday cake”

Gasps floated around the room.

Felix looked like he’d been struck by lightning

“I…. I’d be honored, Your Highness”

You met his eyes briefly and smiled again.

Then, with a sweep of silk, you turned and walked out leaving the smell of fresh bread behind.

And just like that,  the room erupted back into motion. Felix touched his fingers to where your smile had landed in his chest in a stunned silence. The type only someone who’d just tasted the beginning of a dream could have.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ 

The chamber doors shut behind you with a quiet thud, muffling the noise of the palace.

Finally alone, you exhaled.

Your rooms were spacious— velvet curtains, a crystal chandelier, every corner screamed luxury— but none of it felt like yours. You crossed to the table near the window, fingers brushing over a silver plate where the crumbs of a strawberry tart still remained.

That boy— Felix, there was something about the way he looked at you. Like you weren’t a princess but you were a person.

You heard the knock before the doors creaked open again. Not a servant, not a guard— your father.

“May I?”, he asked, though he was already stepping inside.

You turned, “You don’t usually ask”

He raised an eyebrow, “And you don’t usually visit into kitchens”

You crossed your arms, “So we’re both surprising each other today”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he walked to the center of the room, his heavy robes sweeping behind him. 

“The council has confirmed the guest list”, he said, “Every eligible noble family from here to the Eastern coast. The birthday ball will be…”

“A parade”, you said bitterly, “of men trying to impress me”

“Trying to marry you”, he corrected, “You’re turning twenty one. It’s time”

 “Time for what? To be handed off like a peace treaty? To have my worth measured in land and bloodlines?”

He frowned, “This isn’t about worth. It’s about legacy. It’s your duty…”

“My duty”, you snapped, “has been decided by everyone but me since I was born”

Your father looked at you like he was trying to see past the crown on your head and into the storm behind your eyes.

 “I know it’s not easy”, he said more soft, “But being royal means sacrifice”

You turned your gaze to the window, to the faint glow of the gardens below, “What if I don’t want to marry a stranger?”

“What if”, you added, your voice barely more than breath, “I want to choose someone who doesn’t have a title? Someone who sees me when I’m not wearing this dress or this crown?”

His silence said everything.

When he spoke again, it was colder, “You are not a common girl. You were born to lead. That comes with limits”

You turned to face him, “Maybe I don’t want to lead the way you did. Maybe I want something real. Not arranged”

He looked at you as if debating whether to argue further or not. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard, “You have until the end of the ball. Dance with them. Speak with them. If you find none to your liking, we’ll postpone the matter until the next season”

You blinked, “Is that all?”

He nodded, then turned and left, the doors closing behind him.

You stood there for a long time, the weight of compromise heavy on your chest. And still, beneath the ache of duty your mind drifted to the kitchen boy with flour on his cheeks and hands. The only one who had looked at you like you came straight out of a dream.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ 

Days later:

The kitchen had never been quieter. It was late, most of the staff had gone to sleep or drifted to their own corners but Felix remained.

He stood in front of the finished cake like it was a painting he couldn’t stop staring at. Four layers high, each tier had smooth buttercream, strawberry, white chocolate and almonds— just like the tart that made you smile.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever made. And it would be eaten in a single night. It should have been enough, he should be proud.

But all he felt was small. He wouldn’t get to see you eat it.

“They say she’s meant to find a husband at the ball”, he muttered, flicking a bit of sugar dust from the marble counter, “Some prince. Or a duke”

He sighed, “I just wanted one night where I didn’t have flour on my face. One night where I didn’t feel like I was made of dreams no one cares about. One night where I could see her again. Not in the corner of the room. Not at the court… her true self”

He glanced toward the arched window, where the moonlight glowed gracefully

“She probably won’t even know I made it”, he whispered.

He turned back to the cake, dragging a finger gently through a swirl of cream on the bottom tier, “It’s stupid, anyway. She’s a princess. I make pastries”

He paused.

“I just wanted one night where I’m not covered in flour or forgotten in a pantry…”, he muttered, chin in his hands.

There was a long silence. Before he heard a:

POP!

A loud crack of glitter and light erupted from the flour sack behind him, sending a stack of pans clattering to the floor.    

Felix screamed and spun around, clutching a soup scoop like a sword.

Hovering in the air above the storage room was a man wearing high heel boots, shimmering wings, and a sequin coat. He blew a final puff of glitter from his fingertips and struck a pose— like the painting of an extremely dramatic artist.

“Hi, sunshine!” Jisung popped into view, hanging upside down from the ceiling, sparkles dripping from his hair like confetti, “Your fairy godfathers are here!”

Felix screamed and fell off the stool

“Oh, for heaven’s sake… Jisung, that was not the entrance plan”, groaned Chan, stepping out from the broom closet with his usual calm. He was trailing smoke and holding a clipboard.

Felix  said from the floor, “What is happening…?”

Another puff of sparkles, this time pink like cupcake frosting. Changbin appeared with a loud thud, standing in the middle of the room wearing a ballet tutu and glitter platform boots.

He blinked, looked down and then screamed.

“Are you kidding me?! Why am I in this thing again?!”

“Bro shut up”, Jisung said

“Enough!” Chan barked, slamming the clipboard shut, “We have exactly forty minutes until the ball starts and Felix still looks like undercooked dough”

“Hey! That's rude” Felix said, pouting

“Exactly” Han agreed. “Which is why we’re going to turn you into a masterpiece”

Felix lowered the scoop slowly,  “You’re not joking….?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes?”, Han asked, trying to be serious, then immediately tripped over a bag of sugar 

“Yes…” 

Han stood up coughing, “Okay, that’s fair”

Chan sighed and turned to Felix, “Alright, listen up. These two might be clowns, but we’re here to help you. So let’s do this properly”

He cleared his throat, “I’m Chan, head fairy godfather and crisis manager”

Han puffed his chest, “I’m Jisung, fairy godfather of sparkles and drama, reporting for duty”

Changbin groaned, “Changbin. I lift, throw and distract guards. The tutu is a mistake” 

“Now that intros are done”, Chan clapped, “Jisung, hair. Bin, glam. I’ll handle the outfit”

��Glam?! Do I look like I know what glam is?!”

“Yes”, Chan and Han said in unison.

Changbin sighed and snapped his fingers, sending a flush to Felix’s cheeks and lips, “Fine. But if you ever make me wear tulle again, I swear…”

Meanwhile, Han spun around Felix’s head like a hummingbird, brushing, fluffing, and perfuming his hair with a puff of rose mist, “You’re going to be stunning”

Chan took one step back and narrowed his eyes, “Okay. Let’s dress you like a royal fever dream”

With a triple snap of his fingers, Felix’s flour dusted clothes faded.  A snowy white shirt and coat with silver embroidery across the neckline took its place. Tailored, also snow white tailored pants tucked into gleaming white boots. And a single shimmering glass earring, dangling.

Felix looked down at himself, eyes wide, “Is this…?”

“Do not question it” Chan muttered

“You look like a dream”, Changbin admitted, “It’s annoying”

“But how will I even get in?”, Felix asked, “I’m not on the guest list”

“You’re in the palace kitchen”, Chan replied, “You’re already inside. Just walk like you belong”

Han floated closer, suddenly gentler, “You made her the most beautiful cake she’ll ever see”

Chan smiled softly, “Now go remind her who baked it”

Changbin patted Felix’s shoulder, “And if you don’t kiss her tonight, we’ll make a scene”

Felix laughed, cheeks glowing, “Okay… okay. Let’s do this”

As he walked toward the grand hall, Han waved his hands dramatically, “Remember when the last bell rings at midnight, the magic fades. Clothes, glass earring, all of it”

Felix turned, nervous, “Wait, I don't think I can…”

“Go!” Chan shouted, and pushed him toward the ballroom.

Han sighed, “He’s gonna make her fall so hard”

Changbin yanked at his tutu, “I’m gonna set fire to this outfit”

Chan was already updating the clipboard, “Next godchild, no more shy bakers. Please”

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The ballroom glittered like a jewel box cracked open.

Gold dripped from every chandelier, candles flickered in crystal candle holders, and gowns swirled across the polished floor. Laughter echoed, hollow. You sat on your throne at the top of the marble steps, spine straight, smile steady and fake.

Another suitor bowed before you.

Another name. Another title. Another empty compliment about your eyes, your smile, your beauty— like they were reciting verses from the same old book.

You wanted to scream, to run. You wanted to smear frosting on your cheek and eat cake with your fingers and not worry about what kingdom the boy next to you ruled.

“Her Highness must be overwhelmed”, the suitor murmured, gesturing to the crowded hall.

“Yes”, you said, “With joy”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, most of them didn’t.

You stood up, politely excused yourself, and slipped away to the edge of the ballroom, pretending to admire the flowers near the window. The garden below glowed with torchlight. You closed your eyes, feeling a shift. 

You turned and there he was— standing in the doorway at the other end of the ballroom.

You didn’t know who he was but you stared at him like you’d forgotten what breathing meant.

His hair fell on his shoulders in soft golden waves, glowing under the chandelier light. A single glass earring glinted from his ear, catching a flicker of candlelight and sending it spinning across the room like a star. His coat was snow white, embroidery in silver tracing the neckline, his boots polished like he’d walked out of a painting. 

And his eyes— they weren’t hungry like the others. Not proud. Not greed. They were wide and warm like he was just as stunned to be there as you were to see him.

“He looks like an angel”

Your heart pulsed once, loud in your chest as he took a step in

Your hand curled around the edge of your skirts, grounding yourself.

“Who is that?”, someone whispered nearby.

You didn’t know, no one did. He didn’t wear an insignia. He didn’t bow like the rest. But the ballroom had noticed him.

And you couldn’t look away either.

As he stepped closer, unsure, you felt it again— Not fate. Something like silent relief. Like the first bite of something you didn’t know you’d been craving.

And for the first time that night, you smiled because he was walking toward you. Slowly, careful, like he had the whole time in the world.

Your breath caught as he stepped beside you. Closer now, you could see the freckles on his cheekbones, like constellations. His lashes were long and his lips looked like they knew how to smile but hadn’t in a while.

“Hi”, he said, voice deep but not unkind. 

Your heart thumped.

“Hi”, you said back.

He glanced around awkwardly, and then back at you., “You look… like this isn’t your favorite place to be”

That startled a laugh from you. A real one.

“You’re not wrong”, you said.

He smiled— relieved, shy, genuine. It hit you like the first sip of hot cocoa in a freezy night.

He held out a hand, “Would you… like to dance?”

You looked at his hand then your eyes flicked back up to his— nervous, waiting, hopeful.

You didn’t ask who he was. You didn’t need to cause he wasn’t a duke, or a prince, or a carefully arranged match. He was the only person in the room who hadn’t looked at you like a prize.

And this was enough for you.

“I would”, you said, slipping your hand into his.

His fingers curled gently around yours, trembling just a little.

The crowd parted for you both. Whispers trailed in your way, but you didn’t care about them. You only cared about him.

You stepped into the center of the ballroom, and as the music began again. You didn’t know how he moved so easily. Not gracefully like the noblemen trained to spin with calculation but naturally. He didn’t try to lead you, he just moved with you, like the two of you were one.

It made you feel free. Weightless.

His hand settled at your waist, his other holding yours so gently you thought he might let go at any moment. But he didn’t, he held you like something fragile, something not his to keep. 

“You really don’t know how to do this, do you?” you teased 

His brows furrowed, “Do what?”

“Charm a princess”

He smiled, “Is it that obvious?”

You shrugged “It’s my favorite part of the night so far”

He laughed under his breath, relieved again, like your approval was the only thing worth winning.

Around you, the ballroom kept spinning. Dresses twirled, champagne poured. But none of that belonged to this moment.

He did.

So when you leaned in and whispered, “Do you want to get out of here?”, he didn’t hesitate. He only nodded.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The night air was cooler than expected against your bare shoulders. The garden was bathed in moonlight. You both slipped like thieves. You kicked off your heels beneath a rose bush, laughing when he did the same and nearly tripped over.

 “I’m not used to shoes like this”

You looked him over, “Are you sure you’re not royalty? You’re dressed like one”

His smile faltered for half a second, “Let’s just say… I borrowed the look”

You turned toward the koi lagoon, the same one you used to visit alone when Felix saw you for the first time.

He followed. You sat on the edge of the stone, dipping your fingers into the cool water. He sat beside you, close but not too close.

“You’re not like them”, you said.

“Who?”

“The others. The ones inside. You’re not pretending”

He turned to you, expression soft,  “Neither are you”

You tilted your head, “Am I that obvious?”

“No”, he said, “But I saw you. In the kitchen. That day by the garden window”

You froze.

He continued, “You were laughing at the lagoon”

Your chest ached in that way that feels like nostalgia 

“You made the tart”, you whispered.

He nodded, “And the cake”

You turned toward him fully. The world faded again— it was just him.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

His voice was almost shy, “Because I liked how you looked at me when you didn’t know who I was”

You stared at him, “I liked you like this too”, you said.

And then his hand inched toward yours, not fully touching. Just waiting for permission.

You laced your fingers on his. His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you. Like he was memorizing you one fingertip at a time.

You turned your head to look at him. He was already looking at you.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then away again, like he didn’t mean to. Like it embarrassed him

“You can kiss me”, you said softly.

His breath caught, “Can I?!”

You nodded, “If you want to”

His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned in slowly, as if the moment between you might shatter if he moved too fast. His hand lifted to your cheek, trembling.

And finally— his lips met yours. Soft, just a brush.

Then deeper.

A sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it, pressing closer as your fingers curled in the fabric of his coat. He tasted sweet, something like a wish waiting to be granted.

You didn’t know how long it lasted.

You just knew it lasted long enough to forget where you were. Long enough to know you didn’t want it to end.

BONG. BONG. BONG.

You stopped. A bell from the tower— midnight.

He pulled back fast, breathless, wide eyed.

“No, no, no…”, he mumbled, already stumbling to his feet, “I have to go now…”

“What? Why?”, you stood too, reaching for him, “What’s happening?”

He looked at you like it was breaking him to leave.

“I’m sorry… I can’t explain… I…”, he stopped himself, looked at you, “Thank you. For dancing with me. For let me have you”

“Wait”, you whispered, “Tell me who you are… your name. Please”

But he was already backing away.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered, bowing,  “Your Highness”

Then he turned and ran.

Through the bushes, past the lagoon, toward the gates.

You chased after him but he was already a blur in the moonlight.

“This isn’t over yet, cake boy”

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

You went to the kitchen again today. Third time this week.

Fourth, if you count the “accidental” walk through the garden that conveniently ended at the back entrance where the staff gathers during breaks.

You told the steward you wanted to oversee the fruit for the upcoming seasonal feast. Told the maids you had a sudden craving for tartlets. Told your father you were simply curious about palace operations.

But the truth— you just wanted to see him.

The flour dusted boy with sleeves rolled to the elbows and a focus so intense you were scared to interrupt. You watched him from the door, heart hammering.

He looked the same. And still, different. Less golden, no silver stars on his coat, no glass earring glinting in his ear. Just soft, tired hands and that same kindness in his eyes when he laughed with another baker.

He hadn't spoken to you since the ball, hadn’t approached you. And you didn’t dare say anything, not yet. But every time you looked at him, your heart whispered ‘go’.

That day in the kitchen, you paused in front of the tarts. He was plating them— apple cinnamon strudels

You cleared your throat, his eyes met yours.

And there it was— that spark from the ballroom. Like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“Your Highness?”, he blinked, blinking twice like maybe this was a hallucination.

You narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger toward the tray, “Is this what I requested?”

He paled, “I… I thought you wanted apple and cinnamon, so I made…”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, “Walk with me. Now!”

He looked to the other staff members, confused, then nodded and quickly followed, pastries forgotten. You didn’t speak until you’d dragged him through two hallways and into a narrow passage where no one could see you.

He opened his mouth to speak but you turned around and kissed him. No warning, just your lips on his, fast and full of every unsaid thing.

He made a stunned sound on his throat and kissed you back instantly, hands finding your waist before he pulled away, eyes wild.

“You… you’re not mad?”, he asked, breathless and confused.

“Of course I’m not mad”, you said, “I love everything you bake”

He stared at you, “Then why…?”

“Because”, you whispered, taking his hand and pressing it to your chest, over your racing heart, “I needed an excuse to steal you for a minute. And I knew you’d only follow if you thought you messed something up”

He blinked, “Fuck…”

You smirked, “It’s called strategy”

His smile grew, full of disbelief and amusement. But before he could say anything else, you tugged a scrap of paper from your sleeve and slipped it into his palm.

“Come to my atelier tonight”, you said, “After the candles go out in the East Hall. I want to show you something”

“What is it?”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear, “You’ll see”

Then you turned and walked away like you hadn’t just kissed the palace baker in a hallway you weren’t supposed to be in.

And behind you, Felix stood there with a hand pressed to his lips and the note pressed to his chest.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ 

The atelier was quiet when he arrived.

Felix crept through the hidden stairwell, heart pounding, every creak of the wood beneath his boots feeling too loud. You were already there.

By the arched window, the velvet curtains were open to reveal the sky— scattered with stars. You sat on the chaise lounge wrapped in a light night robe, feet bare, looking like a painting.

You smiled the moment you saw him, “You came”

He let out a shaky sigh, “Of course I came”

You motioned for him to sit beside you and he did. 

“The stars are in alignment tonight” you pointed out to the night sky, “My mother used to say they’re the same ones from the night I was born”

He looked up

“She passed when I was thirteen”, you continued, “She used to bring me up here when court duties got too heavy. She said the sky doesn’t demand anything of you. It's just… what it’s”

Felix said nothing, just reached for your hand and held it gently.

You turned to him, “I want to tell you something”

He nodded

You leaned closer, voice quiet as you whispered like a secret against his skin.

“I want to marry you”

He pulled back, “W-what?!”

“I want you”, you said firmly, “Not some count from across the sea. Not a crown in exchange for my name. You”

He blinked, “But your father… he’ll never…”

“Then we run away”, you whispered, “Just you and me”

Felix stared, eyes wide in disbelief. Then he laughed— that bright, Felix laugh.

“You’re insane”

You grinned, “Tell me you don’t love it”

But instead, he kissed you again— achingly slow, emotionally charged. You melted into it, hands cupping his cheeks. He was trembling, just a little, just like you.

You took his hands, guided them to your waist, to your hips. Then looked into his eyes, cheeks burning.

“Touch me”,  you whispered, “If you want to”

“I do” he said, almost instantly, “So much”

His hands roamed carefully— reverent, uncertain. Your robe slipped loose, revealing skin touched only by moonlight until now.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your chest, “It’s… my first time”

Felix lips brushed against your cheek before pulling back just enough to look at you properly. He held your face with gentle hands like you were something precious.

“Mine too”, he whispered.

And just like that, the atmosphere between you changed. No longer just tender kisses and nervous sighs— but something deep, real, terrifying in the most beautiful way.

You let out a breath that shook as it left your lungs, “Guess we’ll be clumsy together”

He smiled, nervous but glowing as usual

“Yeah”, he said, “Clumsy sounds perfect”

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize your soul, but his hands trembled slightly when he reached for your bare waist. You chuckled, nerves threading on your voice, and he joined you with a breathless and shy giggle, especially when you kissed the side of his neck and he let out a sound he clearly wasn’t expecting.

Every touch meant something and when he finally settled between your thighs, he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “Do you really want to do this?”

You nodded. And still, you said it.  voice barely audible, “I want you”

The stretch made your breath catch. Discomfort grew in your belly— not unbearable, but new, strange. You clung to him as your body adjusted, every muscle learning his shape, the pressure, the ache that wasn’t pain but not quite pleasure yet.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, “Are you okay?”, he murmured.

You shook your head and tried to breathe through the heat of him sinking into your skin 

“I’m. Keep going… please”, you whispered, threading your fingers in his golden locks

There was nothing perfect about it, just the sound of your breathing, the creak of the chaise lounge beneath you, the quiet murmurs of affection that filled the room like oxygen..

It was clumsy, overwhelming and beautiful.

He moved slowly, guided entirely by you. By the way your fingers gripped his back, by the lift of your hips, by every whisper that slipped from your lips. Each motion became more fluid, more urgent, your bodies learning each other’s language one heartbeat at a time.

When it started to feel good, it flooded through you so fast you almost gasped. Your back arched, his breath caught. And for a moment, it felt like there was no space between you at all, like you were just one.

He kissed you through every whimper, every moan, every tear that slipped from the corner of your eyes— not from pain, but from how intimate it felt.

When you finally fell together in a trembling, stuttering bliss— he held you. He didn’t let go.

Not when your hands shook against his back. Not when his face buried in the crook of your neck and he whispered your name like he was still dreaming. Not when the tears you didn’t mean to cry brushed against his shoulder.

In the warmth of his arms you felt the kind of love for the very first time.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ 

You told your father after breakfast. Still glowing, with your body sore in the sweetest way and your heart too full to keep secrets.

You walked straight into the throne room—head high, gown light like air around your ankles— and said it in front of his advisors.

“I want to marry Felix. The palace baker”

The silence that followed was heavy

Your father stood slowly from his throne. He didn’t yell, didn’t laugh, he simply looked at you with the kind of disappointment that wounds more fiercely than any dagger

“Absolutely not”

“What…?”

“Have you lost your mind?” he asked coldly, “A princess does not marry for love. She marries for legacy, alliance, power”

“I don’t care about power” you said, voice shaking, “I care about him”

“He is a baker, Yn!”

“He’s better than any of those lords who flatter me with their lies they call love”

“This conversation is over”

You stood taller, “No. It isn’t. I’m going to marry Felix or your lineage will die with me”

You turned and left before he could say another word.

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The moment you arrived at the kitchen pale, shaking, lips pressed tight, Felix knew something was wrong

“He said no”, you whispered,  “He said you’re just a baker”

Felix felt the burn of shame crawl up his neck.

Of course he did. Of course a king wouldn’t give his daughter to someone who makes cake for a living.

You were crying, but not sad— angry.

“I don’t care what he says. I’ll leave the palace if I have to”

Felix took your hand and kissed your knuckles, “You won’t leave alone”

Still, something ached in his chest. That old feeling of being small.

So after he kissed you goodnight later that day, after you finally drifted into sleep in the little corner of the atelier, he snuck out and knocked on the broom closet door.

Twice. Desperate

“Please…”

It exploded in sparkles.

“What now…oh!”, Chan stood there in black a tank top and pajama pants, hair an absolute mess, “Felix?”

“I need help”

Jisung appeared behind him, brushing his teeth with a wand, “What kind of help?”

Felix stepped inside, “The kind that will change the fate of the kingdom”

A sleepy groan echoed from the corner, Changbin turned in his tiny fairy bunk bed, “If this is about love, I swear to God…”

“It’s. I want to marry her but the king said no”

Chan blinked, “So you want us to… what? Motivational speech?”

Jisung spit out his toothpaste, “Challenge him to a dance competition?”

Felix looked up, “I want you to help me prove I’m worthy of her”

Changbin sighed, stretching his wings, “Do you realize if this doesn’t work you either die or never see her again, right?”

“I do”

Chan cracked his knuckles.

“Alright then”, he said, “Let’s cause some problems”

𔓶𑇓𝆬   ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ 

The plan wasn’t fire or illusion. Chan had suggested sparklers in the royal fountain. Jisung wanted a musical number with enchanted spoons. Changbin offered to duel the king himself.

But Felix wanted something real. He wanted to be seen not as a servant, not as a mistake— but as a man who loved you.

So, the next morning, the doors to the dining hall opened just after sunrise. The king sat at the head of the table, surrounded by stewards and strategists already planning his daughter’s next suitor.

Then the scent hit them— vanilla, caramel, peaches. Followed by music

“Yo, DJ drop the beat!”

A voice shouted from somewhere above the chandelier.

There was a sudden crash as Jisung rappelled from the ceiling via enchanted ribbon, nearly knocking over a decorative vase. He landed in a heroic pose, sparkles exploding behind him like pyrotechnics, “This is for you, Your Highness”

Felix blinked from behind the door, “Oh no”

“Oh, yes”, Chan said, stepping forward in a golden glitter outfit and pointy matching shoes. He clicked his tongue, and with a wave of his hand, the enchanted spoons floated in, forming a synchronized dance line.

Changbin kicked open the side doors still in his pink tutu , “Let’s go!”

The enchanted spoons twirled in formation.

Jisung pulled a kazoo from his sleeve and played the most emotional opening note ever performed on a kazoo in a royal facility

“This is a love song”, he sang, very dramatically

“About cakes and kisses. Singing screw the system!”

Chan joined in like he was born for Broadway, “You can’t stop true love with a title or a crown” 

Changbin stepped forward, flexing his biceps, “If you deny them I’ll fight you right now” 

Felix quietly begged, “Please don’t fight the king”

“But I won’t if you clasp!”, Changbin yelled, pointing at the king, who looked confused and probably two seconds from fainting.

He blinked. Then clapped, once. 

Jisung threw confetti,“Yay, love conquers all, baby!”

Then the godfathers prepared for the grand finale, “Love is sweet! Love is allowed! Love is a cake and we sang it so loud!”

The spoons threw glitter in the air. And at the end of it all, they struck a final, ridiculous pose.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Felix’s cheeks burned, “I’m gonna be banished”

Chan looked behind, sending the signal and Felix stepped through, revealing the most beautiful creation the palace had ever seen.

A cake. More like an edible sculpture.

Each tier told a story. Felix stood beside it in silence, fingers curled at his side, lips parted slightly.

The first tier was a garden.

Not just flowers, a blooming circle of sugar roses, their petals so delicate they seemed real. It was where he first saw you, hidden in the garden, laughing with your shoes off. 

The second tier was quieter.

Sky blue fondant, brushed with edible paint, formed a still lake beneath a hand painted crescent moon. Silver stars dotted the sky, the ones you pointed to at the ball, when your fingers slipped into his and pulled him away from the crowd, from the chandeliers, into the garden. It was your first kiss— hidden beneath the stars. That moment when the world stood still.

The topmost layer was delicate. A sculpture of you— your silhouette, hand sculpted from spun sugar, reaching out toward the sky. It was the atelier, that night when the two of you sat on the chaise longue staring at the stars and then laid together for the first time.

It was everything. Every moment that changed him, every second that made you his.

Felix stopped at the king’s table. He bowed low— not like a servant but like someone offering everything he had in life.

Then he finally spoke, “I fell in love with your daughter the day she smiled at a koi fish in that garden”

The king raised his hand but Felix didn’t stop.

“I thought I’d be content just seeing her smile from across the hall. But she walked into my world like it was already hers. She kissed me, she trusted me., she brought me to the stars”

He paused, and looked up, eyes shining, “I don’t have lands. I don’t have a title. But I would give her my hands, my name, and every day I have left”

The king said nothing.

So Felix took one final step.

“She showed me grace, compassion, maturity and courage… what real royalty should looks like”, he said, “She accepted me for who I am not for what I have and if didn’t… then maybe you’ve forgotten what a real king should be”

For a breathless second, it felt like too much. like Felix had gone too far.

Then, your voice echoed through the room

“I agree”

Everyone turned.

You walked down the stairs in a simple dress, barefoot, with no crown— just you.

And when you reached Felix, you took his hand and smiled like nothing else mattered.

Your father stared. Then stood slowly and stopped just in front of Felix.

He looked at the cake,at your hands intertwined and said

“How did you get the sugar roses that delicate?”

Felix blinked, “Your Highness…?”

The king sighed, “My wife used to decorate like that. You studied her old books?”

“Yes”, Felix confessed, “She’s the reason I bake”

.The king looked at you. At Felix. At the story written in sugar and cream.

Then he stepped aside.

“Then make sure you never give her a reason to regret seeing you”

Felix didn’t breathe for a moment. Then you both laughed— nervous, overjoyed, shaking.

Felix pulled you close, arms tight, heart racing. And when he kissed you in front of the whole court and it tasted like love. 

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

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[khaire-traveler]

🌊 Subtle Aphrodite Worship 🦪

Make your body wash/shampoo/conditioner rose scented

Have a rose or sweet scented candle that you light (doesn't have to be on an altar)

Create a skin/body care routine

Have perfume/cologne that you dedicate to her

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Carry a pocket charm that reminds you of her (dove works well in a Christian household and is a sacred animal of hers)

Keep a small picture of her in your wallet

Have a dove or swan stuffed animal

Have imagery of beaches, seafoam, seashells (especially clams), wings, hearts, swans, pearls, or doves around

Wear a locket with a picture of someone you love or of her

Give compliments to strangers

Drink water regularly and dedicate a glass of it to her

Collect seashells (if possible)

Collect things you simply find pretty

Plan your outfits/wear clothes that make you feel good

Keep a journal of poetry dedicated to Aphrodite and love-related topics; can also be a general positivity journal or diary (maybe a diary in a way of writing letters to her but saying a code name instead of "Aphrodite")

Keep heart-shaped imagery around

Embrace yourself; give yourself love

Forgive yourself of past mistakes

Give yourself compliments; start small if needed; I recommend doing this in a mirror

Pin up pictures of loved ones on a mirror or wall

If possible, burn some incense in honor of her; strawberry always has a great smell to it

Watch a love-focused movie (romantic or platonic)

Listen to or read stories about acts of kindness and love

Paint your nails or wear make-up (if you enjoy those things and are able to)

Listen to music that makes you feel good; dance to it like nobody's watching!

Have a party where you and your friends create drawings, items, or crafts that you can decorate your rooms with c:

Start a flower garden, especially with roses; tend to a plant

Practice compassion, especially towards yourself

Fall asleep/meditate to the sound of ocean waves or singing birds

Listen to/sing love songs!

Spend time with loved ones

Have a friend's night; go out on the town together, watch movies, go camping, etc.

Spend time with your pets

Take a shower/bath, especially with rose petals and candles (SAFELY!!!!)

Visit a nearby ocean or body of water; stand in the water (if safe) and ground yourself there

Write about your crushes

Make a list of qualities you'd like in a partner; make a list of qualities you don't want (like green flags and flags)

Take a walk alongside a beach/body of water

Take care of your personal hygiene

-

I may add more to this later, but here is my list of subtle ways to worship Aphrodite so far! Worship can absolutely be discreet, and if it needs to be for safety or the like, know that the gods will almost certainly understand. Take care, y'all! 🩷

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

daydreaming about starting a life out in the woods with domestic abby ᡣ𐭩

land. somewhere to put roots down. no watch shifts. no patrols. nothing we need to survive but each other. somewhere we can be soft and free, with room to breathe. trading one purpose for another. living off the land, still giving abby some sense of purpose and routine.

mountains, with trees so tall you can hear the wind move through them before it reaches you. private, surrounded by nature and wildlife, a view that stretches for miles. the worst part of our day is deciding what trail to hike.

a cabin nestled in pine trees, smoke curling from the chimney, under a starry sky. we’d build it ourselves. she’d do the heavy lifting, shouldering logs with practiced ease, tying beams into place while i hold the ladder steady. laser focused, sweating through her shirt, dirt on her arms, and look in her eye that says ‘i’m doing this for us.’

i’d chalk little heart shaped markings on the beams when abby isn’t looking. we’ll mark the wall with both our initials once it’s up. just scratched into the wood, tiny and permanent. i’d paint the front door. something warm. like amber. or rust. we’d have wide front steps, for when someone gets distracted looking at birds and trips like a golden retriever in combat boots.

she would insist on building us a porch, one that wraps around the house and has a swing. she’d build a greenhouse too, like her dad used to have so we could garden. herbs and vegetables, maybe strawberries. abby’d get really into composting.

there’d be big windows to let the light in, potted plants in the windowsill and small, smooth river stones abby had started collecting. books stacked on both sides of the bed. dog eared copies and little flowers pressed between the pages.

a clawfoot tub big enough for two, that we found at some salvage yard— partially collapsed, half swallowed by ivy. terrified it’d fall through the floor, but after we fix it up i’d take baths in it anyway. abby would sit on the floor and read to me while i soak.

we’d have cats, and a dog so big it looks like it could be part bear, probably named moose or something. drools on everything. we say we hate it but still sneak him food under the table.

a cozy reading corner with mismatched pillows. wind chimes in the doorway. a fire pit for stargazing nights, cool air and distant owl calls. hammocks tied between the trees, our favorite for afternoon naps. sun in our hair, the breeze rocking us to sleep. honey bees and butterflies fluttering through the wildflowers out back.

the kitchen would be the warmest place in the house, second only to our arms around each other. beautiful in the way worn pages of a favorite book are. open shelves lining the walls, uneven and mismatched, but sanded smooth by abby’s hands. a worn notebook full of meal notes, garden plans, and things we wanna try cooking next spring. a big wooden table we carved our initials into.

tons of small, weather worn ceramic mugs with hand painted designs for our coffee in the quiet mornings. lazy kisses as we listen to the forest come alive. the fireplace always flickering. our boots sit beside it in the evenings. sometimes we curl up with a book. sometimes abby sharpens her tools or sits behind me and brushes my hair.

maybe we’d find an old radio one day, that only gets static most of the time, but every now and then it catches a melody. old jazz, a scratchy folk song, and we’d dance barefoot on the wooden floor, laughing at how clumsy we are.

she’s the foundation; solid, protective, built to withstand anything. i’d be the warmth inside those walls, the glow that seeps into every crack, making even the coldest night feel safe.

abby’s always been willing to suffer, what she doesn’t always let herself imagine is joy. she deserves someone who shows her it’s okay to live a slower, intentional life and meets her in the middle. waking up and only needing to keep one person safe. choosing peace, instead of waiting for it to be stolen.

[dear-aubade]

Could you make a joel x reader smut where reader is picked up by Joel & Tess on a hunt one day and has been staying with them. After a while Tess notices Joel’s attraction to reader and gets jealous. Maybe reader & Tess get into a fight or Joel & Tess but either way it ends with reader underneath Joel😩Bonus points for age gap/innocence and dom!Joel

Heyyyy! Thank you so much for this ask, and I’m so sorry for the delay! Things have been crazy lately, I’m trying to get back into writing little by little :) Because this was getting a little long, I decided to turn it into two parts ♡ enjoy!

Useless Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue. You still didn’t know why they kept you around.

You weren’t supposed to be alive. Death had tried to come for you a long time ago, but unfortunately his plans were thwarted by a man named Joel Miller.

You don’t really ever remember having a home before now—or, not a traditional one, at least. The group you had previously been a part of was nomadic so you’d always been moving around and never stayed in the same place for more than a few weeks. You guys hadn’t had a specific destination in mind, you’d just sort of…wandered. It was pointless, and definitely stupid, but moving felt better than doing nothing. Part of you had still longed for some sort of stability, for some sort of permanence. At night you dreamt of a world where you’d have a garden with strawberries and carrots and a peach tree. Your house would have a wraparound porch. You’d paint your window shutters blue.

But that wasn’t possible in the world you lived in, so you always pushed those thoughts away and kept going.

Until that day.

Your group of wanderers had been staying in the abandoned city for about a week when the raiders came. It had been a quick job in the middle of the night—they’d killed half of your numbers before you’d even been fully awake. When lucidity had breached the wall of sleep in your mind, you grabbed your backpack and ran like a coward.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been shot until you’d gotten far enough away where you felt like you could breathe again and the adrenaline wore off. The bullet had lodged itself in your upper arm and within days it was a sweltering mess of infection. You’d taken refuge at the top of an old hotel and waited to die.

You didn’t really remember what had happened next, which was probably because of the delirium brought on by the fever. All you knew was that one day you were slouched against the peeling wallpaper, half-conscious, when you heard the voices. They’d been hushed, urgent, whispering back and forth to one another, and a short time later you were being lifted. Your head lolled against the man’s solid chest and you were out.

You’d woken up in Joel’s apartment a few days later, bullet wound cleaned and stitched up.

That had been two years ago.

“No.”

“Awe, please?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But I can help!”

“By doing what? Batting your lashes at any Clickers we come across?”

You huffed as you stared at Tess across the counter of your guys’ tiny kitchen. “I know how to use a gun.”

“Not while aiming at a moving target, you don’t.” Tess’ face was stonelike, lined with crevices around her eyes like carvings in marble. “You’re not coming. This supply run is a two-person job.”

“But—”

A deep voice from the corner of the room muttered your name. You turned to meet Joel’s gaze—he was sitting at the small wooden dining table staring at his hands, all callused from the hard labor required to survive in this new world. He looked up and the message in his eyes was clear: Leave it alone.

You looked down obediently and didn’t further the now-finished argument. You weren’t sure it had even really started.

When Joel and Tess allowed you to stay with them, you’d been surprised. You had expected for them to hand you over to FEDRA or kick you out after you were healed, or something of the sort. You didn’t expect for them to keep you around.

You still didn’t know why they did. You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue.

That was another thing. Joel. That first week you’d been awake and recovering you had sort of had a permanent starry-eyed look to you and chastised yourself each time you got nervous around him, which was always. You’d only speak when spoken to, and when you did it was in a soft voice that didn’t match your roughed-up appearance. You’d thought that it would go away, that the only reason you were like this was because he’d been the one who had saved you. You’d thought the silly crush would have worn off eventually.

Oh how very wrong you were.

You were better about it now—you’d gotten more used to things. You didn’t talk quite so quiet anymore. You didn’t jump a little everytime he entered the room.

But your feelings lingered. There was still something that changed in you when you were around Joel. You couldn’t help but want to do what he said even if you disagreed with him sometimes. You weren’t sure why. Something about him appealed to a smaller, more primal part of your brain, filling you with need. You couldn’t count the number of times you had been in bed late at night with your knuckle in your mouth as you pleasured yourself thinking about him.

It wasn’t just a physical need, though. Sure, he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair, his thick biceps, his strong jaw. You remembered how he’d carried you out of the city in his unyielding arms with you resting against his solid torso. He’d lifted you so easily. A part of you ached to be held again, to be cared for.

You tried not to think about things like that. You knew he saw you as nothing more than a stupid, naive little girl.

“Glad we got that settled. Again,” Tess was saying, voice dripping with annoyance. She slid her gun into the waistband of her pants and looked at Joel. “Ready?”

He nodded and stood, then looked at you. “We’ll be back in about two days. Cover for us. Stay out of trouble. Don’t sign up for any labor jobs while we’re gone—”

“—and don’t be stupid,” you finished, knowing Joel’s little spiel by heart now. “I know.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “And make sure you eat while we’re gone.”

“Yes sir.”

You’d meant it as a joke—maybe even a bitter one—but then something flickered in Joel’s eyes and he stood there for a moment before nodding and heading out the door. Tess gave you a sideways glance before following. She shut the door behind her.

And then you were alone.

Your time in solitude wasn’t much different from you you lived when Tess and Joel were there. You organized your meager pantry. You took inventory of your supplies so you know what Joel and Tess took and so you could log whatever they brought back. You cleaned the gun Joel hadn’t taken.

The only thing you didn’t do was sign up for any of the jobs FEDRA had listed for people to uptake to earn ration cards. Joel didn’t like you doing things like that when he wasn’t around. Besides, he was always the one who picked for you, who said what you couldn’t and couldn’t do—he mostly had you write your name down for the more boring jobs like helping with the QZ’s main food supply inventory or distribution. You couldn’t remember Joel ever signing you up for any hard labor jobs.

Usually you might have been insulted that your role was essentially a glorified maid, but Joel had claimed your part was necessary. That was enough for you.

Currently you were attempting to slice a half-frozen loaf of bread you’d gotten from today’s ration pickup. FEDRA always froze rations when they could so that the food didn’t go bad as quickly, but usually by the time you were ready to use them they’d already been sitting in the pantry for a few days so they could defrost. However, you were completely out of bread now and you wanted a sandwich for dinner tonight, so you thought you’d try and slice off a couple pieces so they’d unfreeze quicker.

You wondered if you should slice off more so that dinner could be ready for Joel when he got back. And Tess, you quickly added in your mind. You weren’t sure exactly when they were going to return, but maybe it would be nice to have the bread thawed at least a little more by the time—

The knife slipped.

You dropped it with a yelp and it clattered to the floor right as ruby red blood started to bead on your skin where the blade had cut into you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you thought as tears pricked your eyes from the sting of it. You put pressure on it with a spare cloth and ran for the first aid cabinet, but hesitated when you saw the hydrogen peroxide.

You really did not want to deal with the extra pain that would bring right now, so you decided to just clean the cut with water and bandage it. It wasn’t deep enough you’d need stitches, but the knife had gotten you pretty good still.

A sigh escaped your lips. Tess was right. If you couldn’t even cut bread without hurting yourself, how were you ever supposed to be competent enough to use a gun against a Clicker correctly?

“—s half your age, Joel!”

You blinked your eyes open, brow creased in disorientation. Was that Tess’ voice? You yawned and looked out the window of your room to see that it was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn.

“—s not like that.”

Joel’s voice had you wake up a little bit more. You removed the blanket from where it had been twisted around your legs and sat up in bed, now lucid enough to determine that Joel and Tess were out in the living room. When had they gotten back?

“Then tell me what it’s like.” Tess’ voice was like a blade to a whetstone.

Silence.

A scoff, then Tess continued. “Seriously? You’re not even going to try to defend yourself?”

“Can’t defend myself if I’ve done nothing wrong.” Joel’s words were muttered but intense. You could almost picture the muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Fine.” The single word was sharp. “I can’t deal with this anymore, Joel. Come find me when you’re ready to act like an adult.”

The sound of the front door opening and then slamming echoed even in the back room you were in.

You sat there for a few moments but didn’t hear any movement from Joel—not even a sigh or anything—so you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and crossed to peek out into the living room.

Joel was sitting on the couch, legs spread and arms folded as he stared off into space ahead of him, his jaw working ever so slightly. His backpack was on the floor near the couch, though Tess’ wasn’t. She must have taken it with her to…wherever she’d gone.

Your courage waned and you almost turned to head back into the room, but Joel’s head moved and his eyes fell on you, something changing in his expression.

“Hey,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “Didn’t think you’d be awake already.”

Caught, you stepped into the room fully and gave a shrug. “I’m a light sleeper.” But then, who wasn’t these days?

Your words caused an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both as you realized what it meant. He knew that you’d heard him and Tess, and you knew he knew.

“Where did Tess go?” Your voice was unsure.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she coming back?”

Joel sighed. “I don’t know. I…” He trailed off as his eyes caught on something near your hip. “What’s that?”

“What’s…?” You followed his gaze to the white bandage on your hand and you quickly hid it behind your back. “Oh it’s nothing, I was just being stupid—“

He stood. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I just…“ You left your sentence unfinished as he walked over to you and lifted your hand delicately in his large one, examining the bandage.

“You’re bleeding.”

You looked down to see a red spot seeping through. “Huh,” you said stupidly.

“Come on.” Without asking he gently took your wrist to pull you along to the kitchen. The tile was cold on your bare feet.

“Hop up on the counter.”

You frowned in confusion. “What are you—”

Joel’s hands landed on your ribcage and then he was lifting you up and back to sit you on the laminate. A gasp of surprise left your lips; that seemed to reach something inside Joel and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning to open a cabinet near your head and extract the white box with a red cross on it.

“S’fine,” you whispered. You watched as he flipped the lid open and rummaged around.

“You clean it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you. “With?”

“With water,” you mumbled. “Really, it’s fine. It’s not that—”

Your heart fell as he pulled the brown square bottle out and set it on the counter along with some more bandages. You were about to move to begin tending to your cut, but to your surprise Joel beat you to it. He lifted your wrist and started to peel back the bandage.

He was standing between your slightly-open legs, close enough so that he could work at a good angle. He was close enough where the scent of him invaded your senses and made you dizzy. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to him….ever.

Apart from when he’d carried you, of course, but you’d been half-unconscious at that point so you didn’t count it much.

“‘S gonna sting a bit,” he muttered. The cold press of the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cloth made you gasp. It bubbled and fizzed and bit into your skin, burrowing deep down into the cut.

You tried to blink your tears away discreetly, but one fell and streaked down your cheek. To your surprise, Joel didn’t say anything. All he did was hand a cloth to you without looking up from his work.

You let out a small surprised chuckle. “Thanks. Sorry.” You took the cloth with your free hand and dabbed at your eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” was all Joel said.

Despite what he said, you went on, voice slightly bitter. “Doubt Tess would appreciate seeing me cry over—”

“Don’t listen to what Tess says.” The tone in Joel’s voice signaled that the topic was dropped. He finished bandaging you, then stepped back and turned, headed for his room. “I’m gonna get some rest.”

And there he left you, sitting on the countertop with a newly-mended cut, utterly perplexed.

——

Stay tuned for Part 2!

[ririright]

“First-Time Daddy” AU

Husband! Hayden x Wife Reader (Headcannons)

❤︎ Talking to His Son Before He’s Even Born

He has full-on conversations with your belly.

“Alright, little man, here’s the plan. You come out happy and healthy, and I’ll teach you how to build the coolest LEGO Star Wars ships.”

Sometimes he reads his favorite book, Knulp, out loud to your belly, because “Might as well get him cultured early.”

❤︎ You catch him whispering sweet things when he thinks you’re asleep.

“Your mom’s incredible. You’re gonna love her.”

❤︎ The Nighttime Ritual

Before bed, Hayden insists on giving you a gentle foot massage because

“You’re on your feet all day, sweetheart.”

He talks to the baby in soothing whispers, his cheek pressed against your belly.

“Hey, buddy. Daddy’s here. Take it easy on your mom tonight, okay?”

Sometimes he sings softly, old folk songs or even the Star Wars lullaby he made up.

❤︎ Baby Name Debates (That Are Just Cute Bickering)

Hayden has a list of classic, old-fashioned names he loves, but you tease him about them.

“We are not naming him Gandalf, Hayden.

You suggest trendy names just to see his reaction, and he gives you a horrified look.

“Honey, please. Not Brisket. That’s a food, not a name.”

You both finally agree on a shortlist but keep it a secret because “It’ll be our little surprise.”

❤︎ Weekly Belly Photos

Hayden insists on taking a picture of you every Sunday, wearing a cozy sweater or one of his oversized flannels.

He makes sure the background is always something pretty—the garden, the pond, or even the cozy kitchen.

Sometimes, he sets the timer and jumps in the photo with you, arms wrapped around you, his hand gently cradling your bump.

❤︎ Showering You with Compliments

Every day, without fail: “You’re so beautiful.”

If you complain about feeling big or uncomfortable, he immediately pulls you into his arms.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart. You’ve never been more gorgeous.”

He takes candid photos of you—your profile while you’re reading, you cradling your belly, you laughing. You’ll catch him staring at them, smiling like an absolute lovesick fool.

❤︎ Always Touching You

If you’re cooking, he stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his hands gently cradling your bump.

When you’re watching TV, you’re basically his pillow, snuggled up against his chest with his hand protectively over your belly.

Even in public, his hand is always somewhere on you—holding your hand, resting on your lower back, or gently guiding you.

❤︎ Decorating the Nursery Together

Hayden is incredibly hands-on, from painting the walls to assembling the crib.

He’s got a Star Wars mobile that he insists on hanging above the crib.

“It’s our new family tradition”

You catch him trying to figure out how to add a tiny, safe lightsaber nightlight.

❤︎ Baby Clothes Shopping is an Adventure

Hayden’s the one who gets way too excited in the baby clothes section.

“Look at this! It’s a little onesie with sheep on it! He’ll match the farm.”

He has a weakness for tiny socks.

“Oh, come on. They’re so small. I have to get them.”

If he spots anything Star Wars-themed, it’s immediately in the cart.

“It’s tradition, sweetheart.”

❤︎ The Ultrasound Photos Obsession

Hayden has a little envelope full of every single ultrasound photo. He takes them out sometimes and just stares at them, grinning like a lovesick puppy.

He even has a framed copy on his bedside table.

Once, you found him showing the photos to the animals while feeding them.

“That’s your future little buddy, you guys.”

❤︎ The Cravings Supplier (Advanced Mode)

Hayden has a snack drawer in the kitchen just for you, filled with all your current cravings—chocolate, sour candies, pickles, you name it.

If you so much as mention a craving, he’s on his way to get it.

“You want fresh strawberries? I’ll run to the farmer’s market.”

He once drove an hour to get your favorite donuts because you mentioned them offhand.

❤︎ The Baby Talk Voice

Hayden has a special soft, silly voice he uses when talking to your belly.

“Hey there, little man. It’s your daddy. Are you being nice to your mama in there?”

He sometimes switches into character, doing little Darth Vader impressions.

“Luke—I mean, Baby, I am your father.”

You catch him talking to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep.

“You’re already so loved, buddy.”

❤︎ Super Scent Sensitive

Hayden becomes hyper-aware of your sense of smell. If he’s cooking and you even wrinkle your nose, he’s immediately changing the menu.

He makes sure the house smells nice—lighting soft vanilla candles, making fresh coffee, and even spritzing lavender pillow mist in your room.

Once, you mentioned that his cologne was too strong, so he switched to a lighter, fresh scent just for you.

❤︎ Baby Kicks Are His Favorite Thing

Every time the baby kicks, Hayden’s face lights up.

“There he goes again! He’s gonna be a hockey star!”

If you’re having a quiet kick day, he tries to coax the baby with soft belly rubs and little whispers.

When the baby’s really active, he gets so excited, pressing his ear to your belly.

“Hey, buddy! Daddy’s here!”

❤︎ Dad Jokes Already Locked and Loaded

He’s been practicing his dad jokes, much to your amusement.

“Why did the baby strawberry cry? Because his parents were in a jam!”

Sometimes he’ll test them on you, watching for your eye roll. “Come on, that one was gold!”

You can already tell he’s going to be that dad who thinks he’s the funniest guy in the room.

❤︎ The Ultrasound Tradition

Every time you come back from an ultrasound, Hayden proudly tapes the new picture onto the fridge.

You catch him staring at the fridge sometimes, smiling. “Look at him. He’s got your nose.”

He keeps a digital copy of every ultrasound on his phone too, just in case.

❤︎ Grocery Store Adventures

He’s become a master of reading labels, making sure everything you eat is healthy and baby-safe.

If he sees anything that says “baby” on it, he’ll pick it up, even if it’s not for your age range yet.

“Hey, these little shoes are adorable. For… you know, later.”

He sneaks chocolate into the cart for you, even though you pretend to be watching your sugar.

❤︎ Reading All the Baby Books

You catch him sitting in bed with a baby care book in one hand and a highlighter in the other.

Sometimes he reads out loud to you, chuckling at the outdated advice.

“This one says to play Mozart to make the baby smarter. Do you think Star Wars soundtracks count?”

He worries about everything.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if I forget how to hold him?” You have to constantly reassure him.

❤︎ Reading About Your Pregnancy Symptoms

If you even wince or sigh, he’s on his phone, looking up what it could mean.

“Okay, so mild back pain is normal, but—do you want me to get you a heating pad? Or do you want to switch pillows? I’ll run a bath.”

He has a little pregnancy app he checks every day, always excited to tell you how big the baby is now.

“He’s the size of a cantaloupe today!”

If you get emotional for no reason, he just wraps you in a big hug, holding you until you calm down.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Cry it out.”

❤︎ Heart-Melting Compliments

“Sweetheart, I swear you’re even more beautiful now. It’s like… you’re glowing.”

He’s always telling you how proud he is of you.

“I don’t know how you do it. You’re the strongest person I know.”

If you get emotional or insecure, he kisses you gently and says,

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You and this little guy.”

❤︎ Learning So Much About Babies

He’s constantly surprising you with random baby facts.

“Did you know babies can recognize their parents’ voices from the womb?”

His Amazon history is full of baby gadgets, from baby carriers to soft blankets.

You catch him watching “How to Swaddle” videos on YouTube late at night.

[arkadykoshka]

Oh hey. Life update since I feel like I’ve disappeared from the internet.

Moved from LA to Chicago a few years ago. Miss the sun and low humidity and my CA friends, don’t miss the traffic and $2000 studio apartments.

Bought a house which is a magical 1890s Victorian Barbie dream house with tin ceilings, a gothic parlor, a frog pond, a garage my fiancé could turn into a blacksmith forge, and no closet space. Promptly painted every single room bright jewel tone colors to make up for the 11 years I spent in apartments with white walls.

Got engaged to my now fiancé who surprised me while in Pirates of the Caribbean cosplay with swords he forged. We’re currently in the middle of planning our wedding at the Field Museum next year. Gonna get married under the spinosaurus! Gonna have cocktails with Sue!

Got really into dumb little watercolor paintings of my cats ( @pawtercolors ).

Got hardcore into gardening now that I have a yard. We have blackberries, raspberries, mulberries, and strawberries growing wildly, our cherry tree is popping off, and I’ve added in a pumpkin patch. I have about 30 pots scattered around the yard and spend an hour or 2 a day weeding, watering, and puttering.

My hair has gotten suuuuuuper long!

So basically, I’m thriving. But in the course of moving and leaving the best state to cosplay in and all my cosplay friends there, I’ve really pumped the breaks on the hobby. And when Twitter went down, I took that enforced hiatus to just get offline and touched grass so hard that a pumpkin patch sprouted up! It’s been really mentally healthy to just have some hobbies that aren’t so heavily tied to my physical appearance and don’t come with the feeling you have to constantly produce and post to be successful. I grew to loath the word “content” and it was kind of a relief to be freed from the urge to perform and produce. I still have a lot of my outfits and put something together a couple times a year and do some shoots, but between moving, larger life events, and other hobbies I’m just not much in the hardcore cosplay scene anymore. I’m too busy cuddling cats and lying among my sunflowers to stress over regularly maintaining social media. I’ll show up looking cute when I feel like showing up and looking cute! ☺️

[caitchercatlady]

The Promise of Forever

-2nd Year Version

Inspiration song: Thinking Out Loud-Ed Sheeran

Riddle Rosehearts

"(Y/N), these six months...nay, eight months I've been away from you have been utter torment. Yes, even with the "Adeuce vacation perks." Nevertheless, I've thought long about how and who I would spend the rest of my life. I thought I would have the scripted words for this night. The truth is...I lost them. Because those words I made were for myself and any person. You are not any person, (Y/N). You are the teapot to my mouse. You are the paint that makes the roses of this garden shine red as strawberry jam. Most importantly of all, you are my one and true Queen. There is no other individual in all of Twisted Wonderland whom I could ever fallen in love so hard. I will not waste another moment wondering. I must ask now. (Y/N), will you marry me?"

Ruggie Bucchi

"Look at this sunset. Isn't this view everything you always wanted? It took a little work, but we made it. (Snicker) Yes, we. No one person can make this happen by themselves. Hey, I"m still working on it. A dream business isn't built in a day...by oneself. Well, uh...I've been thinking...no, I've been wishing this for a long time. I made up my mind years ago. I'm sorry it took me so long. I wanted to make sure the ring was pefect. You deserve only the best and nothing less. Now, I don't knonw if I'm the best for everything, but I know this much: I love you, and you are my perfect half. Will you marry me, (Y/N)?"

Azul Ashengrotto

"(Chuckles) No, I didn't invite you here just to shower you with food and presents. I do that whenever you want. Yes, always. Well, about that...I've been drafting what may be the biggest of my life's work. (Y/N), you've played a bigger role in my life than anyone could ever imagine. For so long, I've hid behind strong gates, locked doors, and tall walls. You managed to break down every single one effortlessly, and much to my own surprise, I can't be mad about that. I've needed a wake-up call, and while it was hard to look at myself i the mirror, with you in it, it becomes easier everyday. You were the sun I've been striving to reach for all my life, (Y/N). Without you, my days will only become dark. My sunlight, my pearl, my angel fish. Will you take this ring and become my partner...forever and always?"

Jade Leech

"How could you not be more stunning than the moon? If I always tell you something, it means I mean it. And I will continue to remind you of it. For how long? As long as you'll have me. What do I mean with this ring? I was hoping you'd know. (Chuckles) I'm jesting, (Y/N). I've spent many moonlit nights, working for this day. From the moment I saw your peak wit, I knew there was only one individual in this world who would fit the missing puzzle spot. May I have your wit forever, (Y/N)? We can be married by tomorrow if you so wish."

Floyd Leech

"Found ya, Shrimpy! Do I need you for anything? Nah. But I want ya. (Laughter) You're so straight-to-the-obvious. Of course, we've been dating for three years. I don't forget things like that. I mean, I want you forever, silly. Prove it? Ok then. My ma said that you'll fall head over fins for this. Yeah, it's pretty, but not like you. I'll let ya wear it if you say, "Yes.""

Kalim al Asim

"You made it! All of this? It's for you! Yeah, it's also for me. It's for us to enjoy. What's the occasion? I love you. That's the occasion. Of course, I love you every day, but this night is very special. (Laugh) I don't love you more tonight...What I meant is I already love you forever i teh biggest way possible. Tonight, I wanna prove I'll love you forever. How will I do that? With this! I picked it myself. My dad gave Mom a lot of rings to show how much he loves her. She let me look at her collection and pick a ring for you. I chose this one because it reminds me of the day I fell in love with you. Ever since that day, my love for you hasn't changed, and it never will. Please, (Y/N), please, please, please marry me!"

Jamil Viper

"Good evening. The moon is quite bright, isn't it? It reminds me of your smile. Yes, there was a reason I wanted to see you here. I've been wondering how to begin. You have me at a loss for words during every important moment, and when I wonder why, I believe the answer is that you resemble the unexpected. I thought my life had been planned out for me since my birth, but you proved that I can choose where I go in my life. Tonight, I'm choosing my path again, and there is no question who I choose to walk it with. Will you join my life, (Y/N)? For how long? Forever, I wish. I wish it with all of my heart."

Silver

"Yes, graduation is upon me, and it has arrived too fast. It's not that I'm not ready. I've never been more ready to enter the world as a full mage. I'm just not ready to leave my life behind as I venture forward. I mean you. I know you're only a class year below mine, but I cannot wait a year to tell you how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I will ask you now while my chances are ripe. Please, will you be my partner forever? Will you marry me?"

[multifandomfix]

Wednesdays In Westview — Wanda Maximoff

Summary: You and Wanda spend your days getting accustomed to your brand new house, both ready to start your new life together.

Word Count: 1,279

Warnings: Only some tooth rotting fluff

Wednesday, moving day, had finally arrived, and you couldn't contain your excitement. Westview was everything you and Wanda had hoped for. It was quiet, picturesque, and the perfect place to start your life together as newlyweds. The house was inviting, its white picket fence gleaming in the sunlight. You glanced over at Wanda, her eyes sparkling with the same joy that filled your heart. She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, her smile radiating the love that had brought you both to this moment.

As you stepped up to the door, the smell of fresh paint mingled with the aroma of the roses Wanda had planted in the front garden. Inside, the walls were a soft, welcoming shade of cream, and the hardwood floors gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Wanda looked at you with a playful smile, her fingers lacing through yours. "Welcome home, darling," she whispered, her voice a sweet melody that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

You spent the day unpacking, laughing as you stumbled over each other in the small hallway, bickering over where to place the furniture. Wanda insisted that the sofa belonged by the window so you could watch the sunsets together. You couldn’t argue with that logic. Every now and then, she'd brush her hand against your cheek or steal a quick kiss, making your heart flutter each time.

At one point, you found yourselves in a tug-of-war with a particularly heavy box. "I've got it," you grunted, determined to prove your strength.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh really? Because it looks like the box has got you." With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she gave the box a gentle nudge with her magic, causing it to float effortlessly to its designated spot.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Cheater."

"Resourceful," she corrected, her grin widening. "Besides, why strain when you have me?"

Later, you found yourselves in the kitchen, surrounded by boxes of dishes and utensils. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the room. Wanda wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "You know," she said softly, "I always dreamed of this. A home with you."

You turned around, cupping her face in your hands. "Me too, Wanda. And this is just the beginning." The look in her eyes was pure love, and you knew she felt the same. She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the moment.

That evening, you decided to take a break and celebrate. Wanda had prepared a simple dinner, and you both sat on the floor in the living room, your legs intertwined as you shared a meal. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her face. She fed you a piece of strawberry from the dessert she'd made, her fingers lingering on your lips.

"Do you think we'll always be this happy," you asked, tracing circles on the back of her hand.

Wanda leaned in, her forehead touching yours. "As long as we're together, I know we will be." Her lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss, sealing her promise.

The night ended with the two of you lying in bed, exhausted but content. You held her close, feeling her heartbeat sync with yours. Wanda whispered sweet nothings, her fingers running through your hair until you drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, you woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of coffee. Wanda stood by the window, watching the sunrise, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. She turned to you, her smile brighter than the sun itself. "Good morning, my love," she said.

You joined her by the window, wrapping your arms around her. "Good morning, Wanda." The view from your new home was beautiful, but nothing compared to the woman beside you.

The days that followed were filled with settling in and making the house truly yours. One afternoon, a week later, as you were hanging pictures in the living room, Wanda appeared with a box of old vinyl records she had just unpacked. "Look what I discovered," she remarked.

You took the box from her and began to sift through the records. "These are amazing," you said, pulling out a record with a familiar cover. "We have to play this one."

Wanda set up the old turntable, and soon the room was filled with the warm, crackling sound of classic music. She held out her hand to you, a mischievous glint in her eye. "May I have this dance?"

You laughed, taking her hand and pulling her close. The two of you swayed to the music, the world outside fading away. It felt like you were the only two people in the universe, wrapped up in each other's arms.

As the song ended, Wanda pulled back slightly, her eyes locked on yours. "I love you," she murmured softly.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion. You leaned in and kissed her, pouring all of your love into that single moment.

More weeks passed, and you found a comfortable routine. Every morning, Wanda would make coffee while you prepared breakfast. You would sit together at the kitchen table, talking about your plans for the day and sharing dreams for the future. Each evening, you would cook dinner together, laughing and joking as you worked side by side.

One weekend, you decided to plant a garden in the backyard. Wanda was in her element, guiding you as you dug holes and planted seeds. "This is going to be beautiful," she said, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

"Just like you," you replied, earning a playful swat on the arm.

As the garden began to take shape, you were finally starting to see the future you were building together. Each flower and vegetable plant was a testament to your relationship and the life you were creating together.

On another Wednesday evening, a few months in, you were sitting on the porch, watching the stars. Wanda leaned her head on your shoulder. "Do you think we'll grow old together here," she asked, soft and contemplative.

You took her hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I know we will," you assured.

Wanda smiled at your answer. "I'm so happy we found each other," she told you.

"Me too," you replied, kissing her forehead. "You’re my everything, Wanda."

Each day you were together brought new joys and challenges, and through it all, you had Wanda by your side. You celebrated birthdays, holidays, and everyday moments that made your life together special.

One morning, you woke up to find Wanda standing in the kitchen, a tray of breakfast in her hands. "Happy anniversary," she beamed.

You sat up, a smile spreading across your face. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," she replied, setting the tray down on the bed. "How could I forget the day we started our life together?"

You spent the day reminiscing about your journey, from your first meeting to the moment you moved into your home in Westview. It was a day filled with laughter, love, and the promise of many more years together.

As the sun set, you stood on the porch, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. Wanda wrapped her arms around you, her head resting on your shoulder. "I love you more every day," she said softly.

"I love you too," you replied, turning in her arms and kissing her gently. "Here's to forever."

With Wanda by your side, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. Your home in Westview was more than just a house. It was a symbol of your love and the life you were building. And as you stood there, holding the woman who meant everything to you, you knew that you had found your happily ever after.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Wanda Maximoff: @unexpected-character, @lilyontheloose, @puppy-coded, @marinarashakeyobooty, @og-kvsh-420, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @music-bird, @chaotic-mushroomz, @mbruben-stein, @sunflowergurlsposts, @danimorgan1708, @multifandomlover01, @wandsmxmff, @ayyy-lety, @tokyo-liv, @geekyandgay98, @sweetyprincesschaos, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @lady-darkswan3, @postcardgirl425, @garlicbreadrry, @foxherder, @esther123123, @alexthen3rd, @ahlookatallthelonelypeople, @chaoticdragonrage

[22ayla21]

May I request a Fruit salad and Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice with Kalim Al-Asim? He's such a cute ray of sunshine!!

"Fruit Salad and Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

In the very heart of the Scorching Sands, where the sun reigned from dawn till dusk, lived a young man named Kalim. Bright as the morning light and warm as the sun-baked sand beneath bare feet, his laughter echoed far and wide. It seemed as if he himself radiated a light capable of dispelling any darkness.

Kalim lived without half-measures: he rejoiced wholeheartedly, shared his last possession, and loved as if every moment were precious. An heir to wealth, surrounded by gold, the fragrance of spices, and vibrant fabrics, he sought something invaluable amidst all this splendor—sincerity.

When he met her, a girl from another world, as amazed by this hot land as a traveler seeing an oasis for the first time after a long desert journey, he knew he had found that very rarity.

She was different from everyone he knew. She spoke softly, reservedly, and looked at him with a slight squint, as if trying to decipher whether his constant smile was genuine or just a mask. But the smile was unfeigned. Her distrust was too.

And yet, day after day, he warmed her with his affection: bringing cool hibiscus tea in the sweltering heat, telling wondrous tales of the desert, ancient temples, and mischievous little monkeys stealing dates. He would take her to the palace roof to show her how the sunset painted the sky in shades of mango and pomegranate.

Imperceptibly, amidst jokes, songs, and sunbeams dancing on the walls, she felt it: every day by his side was like a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice, invigorating and sparkling like sunlit droplets on her lips. His love did not burden but filled her with energy. The world where she had previously felt like a stranger suddenly became brighter, as if someone had added colors.

With Kalim, there was no room for boredom—he was like an unusual yet delightful fruit salad. Here was a juicy slice of pineapple, an unexpected display of tenderness in his words. Here was a handful of strawberries, when he stammered shyly, mistaking a compliment for a confession. And here was fresh mint, when he became serious and looked at her not as a boy, but as a man ready to protect.

She began to notice: he was deeper than he seemed at first glance. Behind the outward generosity and cheerful disposition lay a sharp mind capable of making quick decisions, a heart that had known loneliness, and a soul that, despite everything, believed in goodness.

One evening, sitting on the balcony beneath a white canvas awning and watching the twilight envelop the sands, Kalim suddenly said:

"You know, sometimes I'm afraid. Afraid that you'll leave. That this world will seem alien to you. It can be cruel, even though I try to make it warmer."

She looked at him and smiled sincerely:

"As long as you're by my side… this world will be wonderfully bright."

He said nothing, but embraced her tightly, as if wanting to forever imprint this moment—the silence, the scent of orange trees in the garden, and the warmth of her shoulder beneath his hand.

And at that moment, love felt not just like a feeling, but like a true celebration. It was like life itself—sweet, tart, unexpected, and utterly indispensable.

So Kalim and his beloved lived, as if each of their days was like a morning in the desert: clear, full of hope, and, most importantly, filled with a light that burned not in the sky, but in their hearts.

[gushhyyy]

Ssshhhh John Price has a secret, reader is black but that’s not explicitly stated or implied anyone can read it. Reader is from Louisiana and called him daddy. 929 words

-

Like lately, John has finally snuck away—well, not really. He’s in his office, finally back from a crazy man’s work. The months ticked by slower than ever before, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have anything to do. Still, he always thought about you. He walks with uncertain knees before grunting into his chair. Just the thought of you had edged him over his briefing.

He couldn’t wait to go home.

Finally, he got through all the paperwork and the documents. They were all placed in the manila folder on his desk. Each step he trudged got him closer and closer to home.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the shaking of the truck as it went off and onto the grass road—through the wilderness, it seemed.

The countryside was always so full, blowing through the little pocket of civilization of Rutland. The beautiful trees led him home. The windows were rolled down, his touch-itching hand out in the cool breeze. Like a little boy, he was excited—he always was to come home.

Leaving his boots on the birch wood of the porch that wrapped around the house, slightly on a hill overlooking the water that frequently had little geese and that old swan couple you’d always feed and joke about—John and you being just like them someday. The grayish brick of the house matched the white curved pillars beside the daybed where you read and looked over the lake in all its morning glory.

A smooth vanilla smell filled the house—the smell of a freshly cooked roast. One of the reasons John moved you all the way from Louisiana was your amazing cooking. American food was his favorite, and that’s all you really made. Every bite flavorful and filling, leaving him daisy-eyed and sweet.

In his socks, he quickly and quietly searched the house, looking for you. Your reading daybed by the window was empty. The recently painted nursery was decorated with muted pastel yellow, every type of flower filling any space on the walls. A bamboo-wood, hand-carved crib with a dangling magnolia overhead as a sleep aid for the baby. Skipping all the bedrooms, he went straight to your pink room.

Even if he hadn’t seen you, one step into the room would’ve painted the picture perfectly of his sweet songbird. Sheer drapes and porcelain trinkets. A white cedar cupboard full of music boxes, each one collected from a country that John had been to. You loved traveling, but since you’d hit thirty-eight weeks, you couldn’t go anywhere—not that that was a bad thing.

Lastly, he checked the little greenhouse you had, housing all your fruits under the shade of the magnolia trees he had imported and planted. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his pretty bird.

There you were—hair still in your pink rollers and matching teddy nightgown. You’d just fallen into another nap, forgetting to go see your garden. The way you smiled when you finally saw John standing there—jumping up and down as best your growing daughter would allow at ten pounds.

“Daddy, I missed you!” you squealed in his arms.

“I wish I never left, princess,” he said, kissing all over your face, one hand on your belly and the other on your peaking ass.

“I have so much to tell you! Firstly, my strawberries are getting redder and redder by the day, my tulips are starting to bulb, my mango is sprouting, and I finally picked a name.” You gushed, waving your hands as you pointed at everything you listed. The four-carat diamond ring glimmered in the light—just like the water in the sun after a ripple behind y’all.

“Yeah, c’mon—what’s her name going to be?” John was over the moon to have a baby girl. He hoped every second that she’d look exactly like you.

“Adela Julia Price,” you said, proud.

“Adela Julia Price. It’s perfect,” he said.

“And I was also thinking—we have a christening as soon as possible, and I want the team there! I want to meet them. I know you said it’s dangerous that anyone knows about me, but I would really, really love to meet them. In fact, I think we should host a little dinner this weekend—and you can pick a godfather, and it’ll be nice.” You rushed your plea.

John didn’t have many rules—other than you don’t wear panties inside the house, and no one knows about you. It was dangerous if you were listed as his wife, the mother of his child. Hackers could easily get that information. His file was as simple as possible—just his name, height, age, weight, and a false address.

“Hon—I know it’s dangerous, but John, these are people you’d do anything for. Not strangers,” you said, getting frazzled, your eyes wide and deer-like from John’s taller figure.

Your eyes watering was his final strike.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. Alright—we can have them over,” he said, rubbing your back and sitting you on one of the many benches inside the greenhouse.

Calming you down quickly, he sat, rubbing your belly, looking out at his life. The one his beautiful wife gave him. She made all the money he made mean something—besides just numbers in his bank account.

“Okay, thank you, Daddy. Now let’s go eat before supper gets cold,” you said, laughing gently at your mood swing as he helped you up and into the house.

John wouldn’t change a thing.

[fw00shy]

Slow Days, Bad Habits

When Draco told Pansy he was moving to Los Angeles, Pansy said, "Fuck off, you're not." It was a Thursday and the afternoon sun stretched over Pansy's fire escape patio like a lazy cat. Draco fished out the olive from his glass and ate it, saying, "No, I really am," when he really wasn't — lying was a bad habit of his, and he was five martinis deep — but the next day he woke up thinking: Why not?

Doing what he wasn't supposed to do was a relatively new bad habit of his (sure he used to break rules, but he never broke Father's rules) but it was by far his favourite. Doing the unexpected. Turning heads. Like when he wore the shirt the Muggle orphanage gave him for painting walls to one of his mum's "Sorry We Lost the War" benefits and Daphne said, "You? Volunteering? No way, I bet a thousand Galleons you bought that from a thrift store."

Los Angeles was everything London wasn't and everything Draco wanted to be. Cars built to go 300kph putting bumper-to-bumper down wide, yawning freeways. Plastic surgery to cover up whatever you didn't like about yourself. Every day Draco looked in the mirror and changed something different. What if he had a different nose? A larger mouth? Would his life change for the better? Some days he wished he had more time to figure out how to turn his life around. Other days it was a lot easier to let his eyes droop until every second stretched long and he lost track of it, another day lost in the waste of his life. 

When Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market he knew Harry had moved to Los Angeles to disappear. He knew this because Harry wore dark glasses and a cap pulled low over his scar. He knew this because the papers had reported Harry missing four years ago, and had never found him since. He knew this because he had moved to Los Angeles to disappear, too. Draco bought his oat milk and his strawberries and walked back home with them tucked under his arm, like his little secret. That was another bad habit of his now: secrets. Anything could be a secret if he wanted it to be. His favourite bench at the park. The line from an Ada Limon that made him cry. Waves crashing against the pier. The scent of jasmine in his mother's garden. And now, Harry, in LA. All his secrets. All just for him.

Draco saw Harry at the farmer's market again the following week, around 1pm when the stalls were packing up and the baskets of strawberries numbered in the ones and twos. Draco came to the farmer's market every week and some weeks they ran out of what he liked, but he was fine with that; this was the time best suited for him.

Draco watched Harry meander past the stalls, his hands behind his back, like he was browsing with no intent to purchase. But why? Maybe he was a ghost. Draco chuckled at the thought, and then he saw Harry walking toward him.

"I won't tell," Draco said. "So don't Obliviate me, please. I like my memories. Or the recent ones, anyway. I mean, they're nothing special. Just things like, eating a good peach. The sun sinking into the sea. Waking up and not being too hot or too cold. Normal things." (Running his mouth: maybe the original bad habit?)

Harry blinked slowly, his mouth slightly agape. He didn't look like he was going to attack Draco. He wasn't even carrying a wand. 

"So," Draco said, smiling, a little more confident now. "I won't tell if you won't tell?"

"You live here too?"

"Sure do," Draco said. "Do you want to come over?"

So it was their secret now.

Which was fine. More than fine, even. Draco didn't normally like to share, but he sure did like breaking rules. Especially his own.

[rabbit-flaying]

A Taste of Paradise chapter two

Content Warnings: captivity, kidnapping, bugs, religion, false paradise, pet whump, the beginnings of stockholm syndrome

"I was going to pick tomatoes in my garden before it gets dark," Christopher said. "Would you like to join me?"

He had just finished washing the dishes, and hung his rubber gloves on a bar beside his sink. Unlike Ezra, who tended to leave his sink filthy, Christopher was dutiful about tossing any food scraps in the garbage.

"That sounds lovely."

Ezra was surprised that Christopher would allow him to go outside, but supposed there wasn't any risk in it. Not if he was going to be under supervision. And, in any case, getting some sunshine would do him good. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a walk that wasn't just to and from his car.

He followed Christopher out the back door in the kitchen and into the mud room, a gateway between the outside world and Ezra's captivity.

It seemed to be the only place in his home where dirt was tolerated. A rack of drying herbs took up much of one wall, hanging basil, sage, chamomile, mint, and lavender. Withered petals and leaves were scattered on the tile floor beneath it.

A painting of Maryum- or Mother Mary, Ezra supposed- hung over the door frame. She watched over the entrance to Christopher's home with a serene smile.

A shoe rack sat next to the door, and Ezra spotted his cheap polyester boots next to Christopher's church shoes and hiking boots. Neither of them bothered to put their shoes on, however. The weather was too good for such things.

Christopher opened the door, and Ezra felt the sunshine on his skin. He couldn't not help but smile. It warmed him down to his bones, and he understood truly well how plants must feel when drawing energy through photosynthesis.

He was no longer in the city, of course. A small field surrounded by towering pine trees laid before him, undisturbed by the sound of cars or the obnoxious buzz of electric wires.

This was the place he dreamt of, when he got a chance to close his eyes during long shifts and imagine a better life.

If only he had chosen it.

Christopher's garden was to the right of his house, surrounded by a tall fence to keep the deer from eating or trampling his plants. Christopher unlatched the gate, and put it back in its place when he and Ezra were through.

Functionally, a wire fence was no different from a cage. But Ezra had a hard time remembering that, distracted as he was by the smell of tomato plants and the sun warmed stepping stones beneath his bare feet.

He would almost prefer being tied up in a warehouse somewhere.

Ezra caught the thought, and immediately and sharply reminded himself of how stupid of a thought that was. His current situation may have been deeply uncomfortable, but it was also much easier to deal with than actual torture.

He would return to his life well rested and relatively trauma free. Hopefully his debts wouldn't spiral too badly before that.

"Nature is so beautiful. I love cultivating plants," Christopher said, as he picked a ripe red tomato. He twisted the stem close to the fruit to break it free without damaging the vine.

Ezra picked a strawberry, not quite sure how to respond. It tasted infinitely sweeter on his tongue than those bought from a store. All his self control went into practice to keep him from stripping the vines of their fruit in a gluttonous fashion.

A butterfly landed on Ezra's sweater. Its massive wings beat gently for a moment, then were still. It was covered in black and white stripes, but with bizarre orange tips, as though it had an accident trying to land in paint.

"How beautiful," Christopher said.

He had filled half a bowl with tomatoes now, some large and red and others miniscule and yellow, more than enough for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.

Ezra held still until the butterfly took to flight once more. Being its resting spot felt so special. He missed it at once.

"I love butterflies," Ezra said. "All bugs, really. And animals. Anything but dogs."

"I agree totally. There is nothing more charming than seeing a ladybug crawling on tomato vine."

Christopher knelt down and put his hand in the path of a harvestman spider, letting it crawl onto his palm. He was so gentle with the delicate thing. Every movement was slow and deliberate so that he would not crush it or pinch its legs.

Then he stood again, and offered it to Ezra. As far as Ezra was concerned, this was the truest show of friendship anyone could give him.

He smiled at the strange, harmless creature with its absurdly long legs as it crawled onto his hand. He turned his hand over so it would not fall as it made its way around and around his hand.

"Alright, back down you go," he said, after he had watched it to his content.

He lowered his hand to the ground so the harvestman could return to its burrow. Christopher smiled, his brown eyes fixed on the spider for a moment, then returning to Ezra.

"They're not really spiders," he said. "Harvestman, they call them. Or daddy long-legs."

"I know," Ezra said. "Spiders have a distinct head and abdomen. Harvestmen only have one continuous segment."

He realized too late the way he was smiling at Christopher. Sharing his happiness with the man who had kidnapped him. And over what? A moment under the sun? A good meal? A not-spider?

He didn't want any of this. He wouldn't have been happy in his regular life, of course. But there were bearable moments, spent listening to music and drawing animals in his sketchbook. He wasn't sure if he would get any of that back.

Christopher's voice cut through Ezra's thoughts. "Are you alright? Oh, it's a hot day, isn't it? Perhaps we should go back indoors."

Ezra nodded. He was disappointed to leave the garden, and more still when he stepped into the shade of Christopher's mudroom.

He usually spent all his time hiding indoors. But now he felt trapped, and hoped to God that he would be allowed to stay outside again. Today, tomorrow, and every day until he was rescued.

Taglist: @inbloodandtears @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @i-eat-worlds @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @parasitebunny @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[preposterousprophetess]

Hi guys! This is my finalized version of a creative nonfiction essay I wrote about my relationship with my “home.” I hope you enjoy! ~ Liv

The Walls Are Watching

The second yellow house on Conner Court is a castle. These thick walls protect me from swooshing, swaying winds that storm through the shadowy valley my family calls home. The bright purple door welcomes visitors to our front porch once they’ve passed the moat of garden beds, vibrant with fresh strawberries and rhubarb. A canvas teepee sits in the forest clearing west of the castle, and the imaginary aroma from its unlit cobblestone campfire floats through the backyard. This wild yard—brimming with insect life, budding native flowers, and tiny rodents—is where I wander. Searching for treasure, magic weapons, the antidote to my poisons. In the wintertime, the top layer of the snow melts and refreezes strong enough to hold me up, and I dance in the backyard with the lightness of a fairy.

There is magic within these walls, the warm and fuzzy kind that permeates every corner of the house. It shows itself when I sink into the cushiony velvet of my parent’s living room couch, where sleep pulls me under, and I wake to the smell of warm bread fresh from the oven. It shows itself when my skin sticks to the pleather of the large red bean bag in the bay window, bathing myself in the summer sun whilst snuggling in a blanket. It shows itself in the high-pitched squeaks of our guinea pigs—from their large cage that took up a quarter of our living room—when my mom opened our veggie drawer. In the crisp, fresh well water. In the howling winds of the valley wispings through our window screens and rustling leaves on birch trees outside.

✤ ✤ ✤

The second yellow house on Conner Court is a sanctuary, a temple to the Christian god my parents bow down to. They adorn these halls with crosses and bible quotes, paintings and commandments. Every meal is served with the appetizer of grace, which must always be consumed before the entree. Each slumber is preceded by a family gathering, a nightly ritual to meditate on whatever is taking up our thoughts, praying for a better day. My parents enforce a strict adherence to the rules set out by their god, although they strangely don’t follow some because “that’s the OLD testament,” whatever that means. No swearing, no using god’s name in vain (yes, that includes “omg” and “jeez”), no words that imply cursing (frick, darn, shoot), no cropped clothing or low necklines. There are a lot of rules they ensure we follow, many of which they don’t even follow themselves. Funny how that works. I thought the saying was “lead by example,” not “do as I say, not as I do.”

It isn’t all rules and prayer, though. Every Sunday we spend hours upon hours playing four-square in the church parking lot, waiting on dad to finish up his counseling and advising. I like Sunday because that means donuts, Kathy always brings donuts to share. Wednesday night bible study is my favorite—we sometimes get to have a Papa John’s potluck, and mom drives us to McDonald’s for ice cream cones before heading home. I like memorizing verses and showing off my recitation of the ten commandments to my parents. I like being the know-it-all in Sunday school. I like being the pastor’s daughter. I felt like someone important.

My brother is caught stealing from the tithe box. I’m banned from babysitting the kindergarteners after telling the kids that god created everything, except for Ants—I created those. My sister refuses to come to church. My dad refuses her refusal. We act normal at church. We sing the songs before heading across the parking lot to Sunday school. We show up and play our part. We say the lines. We memorize the verses. We shake the hands we’re supposed to. He smiles. We’re putting up a perfect performance for them.

✤ ✤ ✤

The second yellow house on Conner Court is a fortress, its walls standing tall and firm, to both confine those within and bar those without. The walls watch as my siblings and I carefully tip-toe around the house, closing doors ever so gently, making sure our music doesn’t raise to a volume that is noticeable. They watch as my father berates his eldest daughter. How dare she get a snack late at night? How dare she take a shower? How dare she like a boy? How dare she turn into the spitting image of her father during his youth, quick to anger and slow to understand. The walls watch on as his words slowly break her down, as she wilts and rebels, as he spats bible quotes in her face as an excuse for his wrath. They watch as I turn the lock of my bedroom door, hoping it isn’t my room he comes to first when he gets home from work, hoping I don’t have to deal with the poison he spits.

I often wonder what the walls think about my father; what would they whisper to a listening ear? Would they remember the turn of events as I do? Would they be confused that I still love him? That I continue to visit despite everything he’s done? I want them to tell me his cherry, fat-and-happy old man demeanor is actually genuine. Perhaps that’s just how he interacts with people he doesn’t live with. Perhaps it would be different behind closed doors, like it was before. I want them to tell me if he’s actually changed, even if the answer isn’t what I need.

✤ ✤ ✤

The second yellow house on Conner Court is now as familiar as it is alien to me. On the hot August day, I packed my parents’ Expedition up with all the belongings I thought might be considered mine; I sensed a small hollow forming in my heart; an abrasion that wounded the safety I felt in familiarity. The wound has since scabbed over, but there are still days I long to be back behind those walls.

Despite my previous eagerness to run as far away as possible from them, I find myself being called back. When I visit, however, it is not the same. Of course, it is the same house it has always been, the same orange vinyl wooden floors in the kitchen and downstairs, the same sad-beige mid-2000s carpet that has been stained from all kinds of paint, the same glossy black fridge that hasn’t had a working ice/water dispenser in over a decade, the same eggplant purple front door. In many of the ways that matter, though, it’s not. The walls I was raised in now wear unfamiliar paintings and decor, their eyes boring holes through me as if I’m intruding into their carefully crafted space. The large, retro brown couches have been replaced by angular, modern grey sofas; the TV is as thin as paper and as large as an at-home movie theater; the dishes I grew up with have all broken by now. I no longer know where they keep the kitchen trash can or which closet houses extra towels. The items I forgot to pack when I left for college sit in boxes with my name scrawled in black Sharpie. The landline we used to share has been disconnected for years. I fall through the snow now. My fairy wings have withered. The magic I once knew sputtered out. The walls no longer recognize me.

[rocks-in-space]

THE WITCH OF THE WORLD'S HEART

1. “Hands,” Sarah Kay // 2. desde my ventana // 3. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 27, Erika Ishii // 4. "The Svenborg Poems", Bertolt Brecht // 5. "My God, Girlhood Ripened," Savannah Brown // 6. The Ant and the Pigeon, illustrated by Mikhail Komadin // 7. Unknown // 8. Detail of "The Chaste Heart of Saint Joseph," Giovanni Gasparro // 9. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 22, Erika Ishii. // 10. Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself, Charlotte Eriksson // 11. "Dogfish," Mary Oliver

The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One web weaves:

Eursulon Suvi Ame True Friends

[Image IDs:

Image 1: Text reading, "Hands learn more than minds do./ Hands learn how to hold other hands./ How to grip pencils and mold poetry./ How to tickle pianos, and dribble a basketball/ and grip the handles of a bicycle./ How to hold old people and touch babies./ I love hands like I love people"

Image 2: A photo of a cottage surrounded by a garden. The cottage has vines on the wall that form the shape of a heart around a window.

Image 3: Text reading, "I am the Witch of the World’s Heart, and my job is bringing together the things that the world wishes to see separate, and now I’m gonna go do that."

Image 4: Text reading, "In the dark times/ Will there also be singing/Yes, there will be singing./ About the dark times."

Image 5: Text reading, "Oh I only want to write/ about tomorrow Tomorrow/ I'll be wiser and scarier/ and so much harder to trick oh/ it will be the best/ and only day of my life."

Image 6: Drawing of a fox looking up, apparently smiling, with blades of grass behind it and a small strawberry plant.

Image 7: Text reading, "It's the way the world works./ I don't want the world to work like this! I have a heart."

Image 8: A painting of a man's torso wearing a loose white shirt. He hold a glowing heart shape in his hand in front of his chest which illuminates the person.

Image 9: Text reading, 'I shoulder past, but as I feel that, I spin around, and my eyes flash at her. You see for a second something terrible and much greater and older than Ame. And then it’s gone, and I also look scared and frightened, and I start running."

Image 10: Text reading, "I'm not everything I want to be, but I'm more than I was, and I'm still learning."

Image 11: Text reading, "Mostly, I want to be kind."

end ID.]

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 2: But Tea Time with Friends is the Best

A/N: hey remember when i said i would upload biweekly? yeah so that was a lie LMAO. anyways sorry for literally uploading a month after, i was busy moving and switch to working full time;; (and working on a zine :0!) but i've been getting used to the schedule change so hopefully updates will be more consistent now!

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid (DM if you would like to be added!)

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The summer months were never Strawberry Tea Cookie’s cup of tea.

It was so oppressively humid. The consistent moisture never failed to soak through her dough, making it intolerably soft and sticky. Her curly locks always flatten the minute she stepped out of Strawberry Mansion, with the glaze holding her hair up immediately dissolving upon contact with the damp atmosphere.

However, on this day, the Great Witches seemed to have taken pity on the former heiress, sending waves of cooling wind across the kingdom after hearing of yesterday’s misfortunes.

The breeze traveled deep within Hollyberry Palace, carrying ballads of rustling leaves and songbird melodies past pristinely kept rose gardens and winding bush mazes. It softly brushed past four cookies huddled around a tea table, careful as to not disturb their conversation.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was situated under the protective shade of a berry palm tree, recounting what happened between sips of refreshing fruit tea. Princess Cookie and Wildberry Cookie basked under the oven-hot sunlight, listening to their friend intently— the former more visibly angry. Knight Cookie stood beside his princess, insisting to keep his post despite the chair offered to him.

“...And now I’m no longer heiress,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, placing her now empty cup back on its saucer. Dread crept through her dough like mycelium across a dish of rotten fruit. If the weight of her parents’ decision hadn’t hit her last night, it certainly did now after she told her friends everything.

“How dare they!” Princess Cookie huffed. “Your parents had no right to do that!”

She turned to her retainer for affirmation, which he gave in the form of a quick nod and a “yes princess!”

“I agree, it’s strange that they would forfeit your position like this,” Wildberry Cookie commented.

“Yeah! You practically launched House Strawberry into high fashion!” Princess Cookie added. “That alone makes you more than deserving of that spot!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned back into her chair, remorse pulling her mouth down into a slight frown. “I… Don’t think that mattered to them.”

The designer agreed that this achievement alone should’ve solidified her place as heiress. She clearly remembered the proud look in her parents’ eyes when FragariA debuted during Hollyberry Fashion Week, its popularity instantly skyrocketing to rival established oat couture powerhouses such as House Blueberry.

A fresh wave of betrayal snapped open the wounds she had stitched up the night prior, her sullen expression digging deeper into her features. “I just… Don’t smile like the rest of my family.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s brows furrowed, her previous emotions washed away by resentment. From the moment she was born, House Strawberry’s intertwined principles of creativity and expression were emphasized in every aspect of her life. She studied every immaculately painted portrait lining Strawberry Mansion’s walls, was tutored by the best artists in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and attended the same kingdom’s most prestigious fashion institute.

Yet she will take drawing a naked cookie for eight hours straight in the smallest, most dingiest studio over being forced to smile and laugh like the rest of her family members.

Growing up surrounded by creativity also meant that she was constantly criticized for her lack of emotion, which her family never failed to remind her of. Yet she always believed that forcing expression countered creativity. Acting happy impedes one’s ability to connect with where art fundamentally came from— their true feelings. Plus, Strawberry Tea Cookie would argue that her defiance was still a form of expression, much to her parents’ dismay.

Sure, disobedience was undesirable within her family circle, but what’s the problem if that’s what she truly felt? She couldn’t possibly perform at her best if all her family wanted were soft smiles and saccharine words towards their benefactors.

Then the realization sank in, pulled down by a heavy peach pit as horror blew out her frosted pupils. “...And that’s the problem…”

“That’s not true and you know it!” Princess Cookie practically jumped from her seat, grabbing Strawberry Tea Cookie and pulling her closer from across the table—into the light. “You are perfect the way you are, Peach Jam Cookie’s words mean nothing!”

“They meant nothing until my parents agreed with her,” Strawberry Tea Cookie argued, voice cracking as she retracted back into the shadows, holding herself close. “And what father said…” 

Bare minimum. Incapable of expression. Too spoiled.

“He’s right, I’m far from a good heiress.”

If showing up to family dinners was a rare occasion, then attending parties hosted by other nobles was something that didn’t even occur on a blue moon. She found them to be a waste of time that otherwise could have been used on building FragariA’s name.

Yet they were excellent opportunities to network, as her parents constantly stressed, but Strawberry Tea Cookie found no use in it. She already had strong connections with the royal family and a few notable designers, there wasn’t any use for more besides maintaining the ones her family already forged.

Ones that she has actively destroyed due to her inactivity.

In retrospect, the designer should have put more care into strengthening these precious relationships— she only did when her parents implored her to. Perhaps she naively believed that they would remain static for years to come.

Though, if she were to be completely honest with herself, it was because those cookies weren’t all too interesting to talk to. But that excuse was leagues more fragile than her cousin’s ego.

“Don’t tell me they brought up Blueberry Raisin Cookie too?” Princess Cookie asked heatedly. “Removing him from your life was the best choice you could’ve made!”

“Your aunt already crossed the line by mentioning him.” Wildberry Cookie stated, an annoyed inflection edging his tone.

“No, thankfully they didn’t.” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. She would have truly snapped if they did. “But, I think they were referencing other events…”

The fighting finally died down after what seemed like a millennium, leaving the once elegant banquet table an absolute mess. Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped over scattered silverware and shattered plates, grimacing when she accidentally stepped on a piece of sticky cake. She sat down on a nearby chair, watching as cookies regained their senses.

What a great start to the Princess Contest.

The designer was still dumbfounded by the amount of cookies who drank the punch after seeing it turn a different color— they didn’t even listen to her warnings when she made said observation! She was left stuck on the sidelines watching the feast turn into a battle royale until whatever was mixed into the punch wore off.

“Whew! I need a break.” Princess Cookie sighed tiredly, slouching next to Strawberry Tea Cookie. She looked worse for wear, but her dress was still impressively intact— as expected of the true Hollyberry Princess.

“Why are cookies always fighting,” she bemoaned. “It’s not fun, AND it’s exhausting!”

“How dare you, that is an insult to the noble House Raspberry!” Raspberry Cookie proclaimed, pointing her candy cane blade towards the two. “We have built our culture and wealth with nothing but the tips of our swords!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie and Princess Cookie exchanged confused looks with each other. But while the latter seemed only bewildered, the former was growing ever more annoyed with the pompous raspberry heiress.

“And how exactly is that an insult?” Strawberry Tea Cookie questioned, standing up and shielding Princess Cookie. Not only had Raspberry Cookie called her friend “unimpressive” earlier, it now seemed she was just cherry-picking—or rather, raspberry-picking—a reason to confront her.

“Fighting is what molded us!” The noble fencer explained fiercely. “What brought us above the other Cookie Houses!”

“Yet here you are, needing a silly Princess Contest to prove your family’s worth,” the designer shot back, eliciting an indignant gasp from her opponent. “House Raspberry is far past its glory days, it’s evident from the way you’re so desperate to undermine Princess Cookie.”

Now that was an insult, not a harmless comment her friend made.

“You just insulted the great deeds of my ancestors,” Raspberry Cookie furiously cried. “Who risked every speck of flour in their bodies upon their blade.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie had to fight every grain of sugar in her body to not openly roll her eyes.

“I demand an apology, here and now!” The raspberry fencer ordered, pointing her rapier towards the irritated designer. “Strawberry Tea Cookie, I challenge you to a duel!”

“Hold up!” Princess Cookie interjected, standing up and marching towards Raspberry Cookie. “This is MY battle,” she declared with determination, swinging her scepter to match the stance of Raspberry Cookie’s sword. “And it’s time for me to find out what kind of dough she’s made of!”

“You were defending her highness’s honor!” Knight Cookie interjected. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah! And I really appreciate you supporting me throughout the Princess Contest,” Princess Cookie chimed in. “Plus, you apologized to Raspberry Cookie after, right?”

Strawberry Tea Cookie shook her head shamefully, her mother had to apologize on her behalf. She didn’t miss the way Princess Cookie’s expression shifted subtly.

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” the designer lamented. “I permanently severed ties with House Blueberry after I made Blueberry Cookie cry during that one ball.”

Fate seemed to have it out for Strawberry Tea Cookie that evening, being forced to face Blueberry Raisin Cookie’s granddaughter only a short month after being dismissed by him.

The young blueberry noble looked undeniably nervous under the designer’s scrutinizing gaze, a stark contrast from her usual bubbly self. 

“Spit it out.” Strawberry Tea Cookie demanded frigidly. Cookies began gathering around the two out of concern and curiosity, surrounding them like a blinding spotlight. Blueberry Cookie glanced at the crowd anxiously, stuttering out jumbles of unintelligible words.

The strawberry heiress couldn’t care less.

Out of patience, she walked past the trembling noble, purposely bumping against the other’s shoulder. “Wasting my time just like your grandfather, good to know that it runs in your family’s dough.” She remarked tartly.

That seemed to set Blueberry Cookie off. “Why are you so mean!?” She shakily blurted out, so loud that it cut all conversation and music in the ballroom. “I was just trying to apologize for what Grandpa did!” 

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s jam stilled. She turned around, the hot tears running down Blueberry Cookie’s face biting through the heiress’s hardened expression. Every sob-induced hiccup and whimper pounded more guilt within, grinding it into her very dough like she was trapped in a mortar and pestle.

Blueberry Cookie ran off before the designer could utter an apology, leaving the crowd’s scornful gaze solely on her.

Judgemental murmurs filled the room as Strawberry Tea Cookie’s face grew hot with embarrassment and shame. The sea of ornate ball gowns slowly melted into a tall, amorphous wave of burnt caramel, yet she could still feel the contemptuous heat radiating from each individual cookie.

The spotlight was all on her now.

“Why does Lady Blueberry Cookie have to apologize anyways?” A voice whispered.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the direction Blueberry Cookie ran off to. If she’s quick, she could probably catch up to her and apologize– she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the designer’s frustrations.

“No, no, Lady Blueberry Cookie was apologizing on behalf of Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie.” Another cookie corrected.

“But he’s such an upstanding cookie!”

That caught the heiress’s attention. All plans of apologizing flew out the window with that single phrase alone.

Upstanding? They can’t be serious.

“I heard she was so difficult to deal with that Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie dismissed her as his apprentice.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to face the gossiping cookies, anger threatening to boil over. They were glaring right back at her, as if wanting her to hear their absurd rumors.

“I’m not surprised, given how she acted with Lady Blueberry Cookie.”

This was ridiculous.

“Well maybe if he wasn’t such a gross wretch, she wouldn’t need to apologize in the first place!” The words just slipped out of her mouth– a culmination of months worth of resentment and stress.

The entire ballroom collectively, and dramatically, gasped at Strawberry Tea Cookie’s statement. A surge of indignant shouts rose after the brief silence, drowning out all attempts at explaining herself. 

Strawberry Tea Cookie was tired. Tired of this ball, tired of her family, and especially tired of maintaining that geriatric raisin’s reputation for the sake of public relations.

The heiress rushed to get out of the limelight, wading through the massive ocean of angry cookies towards an exit— an escape.

“House Strawberry’s relationship with House Blueberry was already a thread away from snapping,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, burying her face into her palms. “I completely severed it that night.”

She made such a huge mess that not even her family’s extensive connections could clean it up. House Blueberry refused any contact, turning away Strawberry Tea Cookie and her parents when she tried entering their estate.

For months, the former heiress couldn’t show her face in public without hearing the scrutinizing whispers of cookies nearby. She had to endure her relatives complaining about the endless rumors at social gatherings— not to mention the arguments that ensued after.

“Crumbs, and now my cousin is heir,” Strawberry Tea Cookie cried. “That means House Strawberry will belong to the Peach Clan, and who knows what will happen afterwards.” Strawberry Sugar Cookie’s stagnant view on art and Peach Jam Cookie’s… personality were already concerning enough. She couldn’t possibly imagine what would happen if the Peach Clan got their sticky hands on her house. “Great Ancients, what do I do?”

How could she possibly fix this? Would her parents even consider giving back her inheritance? Just how long ago did they decide Strawberry Sugar Cookie would take her place?

“You’ll figure something out.” A strong, warm hand grasped Strawberry Tea Cookie’s shoulder. She looked up to meet Wildberry Cookie’s comforting gaze. “I know you wouldn’t let this go without a fight.”

“Yeah! You’re THE Strawberry Tea Cookie after all!” Princess Cookie added, wrapping her arms around the designer.

“The Princess has her faith in you,” Knight Cookie exclaimed. “You better not fail!”

“Thanks, you guys.” The designer smiled, uplifted by their encouragement.

But what should she do..?

“Oh! Isn’t Hollyberry Fashion Week coming up in a few months?” Princess Cookie perked up. “This would be the perfect time to prove you’re the rightful heir!”

“A comeback during one of the biggest events in the Hollyberry Kingdom…” Strawberry Tea Cookie thought for a moment. “That’s a really good idea.”

If she were to come up with a collection so compelling that it got cookies talking about her again, she could revive FragariA’s popularity and skyrocket the brand back to the top. At the same time, she’ll work on mending those severed connections while also forming new ones. That would hopefully demonstrate to her parents that she’s more than capable of taking over House Strawberry. Determination filled her jam, and for a brief moment, she felt there was hope in this situation.

But there was still one problem…

“What do I base this collection off of..?” There’s a reason why Strawberry Tea Cookie hasn’t participated in Hollyberry Fashion Week in almost two years, let alone released any new designs. She had simply exhausted all sources of inspiration in the Hollyberry Kingdom. Worse yet, it seemed that the more time she spent stuck here, the more creativity drained out of her.

“Why don’t you go traveling?” Wildberry Cookie suggested. “You have been burnt out for quite some time, perhaps a change in scenery could bring new ideas.”

“That’s true, but where have I not gone to?” Strawberry Tea Cookie pondered. She had made collections based on all the nearby regions, and reusing ideas wouldn’t garner the necessary attention for her brand.

“Wait, what about that Isle of Tea collection you made years ago?” Princess Cookie mentioned. “It was so pretty, but you never released it...”

“Considering how much of a fuss my parents made when I showed off just one of the dresses, I doubt they would allow it,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. It was a shame, that collection was genuinely her favorite— her magnum opus, even. “I should refrain from arguing with them anyways.”

This left the trio–or quartet when counting Knight Cookie–stumped. The designer considered writing to Mont Blanc Cookie for some help, perhaps arranging a short visit to the Cookie Kingdom so she could get some inspiration.

“...Her Majesty, Hollyberry Cookie, and I have been invited back to the Crème Republic to celebrate its reconstruction,” Wildberry Cookie brought up. “Perhaps you could join us.”

“Isn’t the Crème Republic on the other side of Crispia?” Strawberry Tea Cookie queried, she was reluctant to travel that far when Hollyberry Fashion Week was just around the corner. It would take a couple of weeks alone just to figure out the logistics. However, she couldn’t deny her curiosity regarding the city-state. The snippets Wildberry Cookie shared of its culture and architecture piqued her interest back then, so perhaps risking the trip could rekindle that spark.

Anything to become heiress again.

“Would Her Majesty allow me to tag along?” The designer asked.

“Of course, she always enjoys the extra company,” Wildberry Cookie reassured. “…And she’ll probably use this as an opportunity to get her hands on more strawberry juice.” The dread in his tone was apparent.

“Then I’ll be sure to procure House Strawberry’s finest bottle,” Strawberry Tea Cookie chuckled. “When are you two planning to depart?”

“A week from today.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes widened in surprise. A week? There’s no way she could arrange travel plans that quickly, even with the help of the Strawberry Estate staff.

“I’m aware it’s rather last minute,” the retainer admitted. “But don’t worry, I will make sure accommodations are arranged for you when we arrive.”

“Thank you,” the designer smiled, bowing her head towards Wildberry Cookie in gratitude. “Then I suppose I shall start packing.”

[toomanygoldfish]

At five you knew that you wanted a garden. A big garden that had all kinds of vegetables, fruit, and flowers. your grandfather would sit behind you as you plotted out your own garden, spinning tales of him and your grandmother planting their own. 

Your grandfather's garden was one of the most magical places in the world. You remember him leading you through the wall of berry bushes, eating the different types of berries as he dutifully explained the care he put onto each bush. 

Even as he got older he would still walk with you as you inspected the zucchini, tomatoes, grapes, and strawberries. Picking the rippest and bringing back your bounties to your mother and grandmother. 

You would sit with wide eyes trying to take in everything as the adults canned the berries, grapes, and fruits. Watching as they made jam with the leftovers. 

Your small little family could often be found behind a farmers market stall on Sundays. A small tired child leaning, with half lidded eyes, into their mothers side.

As your grandparents got older, the garden grew with them. With your grandfather sick, he was unable to take care of the garden. it grew over, it grew until the berry wall was reaching over into the grape trellises. The grape vines reach for safety on the garden wall, blocking the pathway from any wandering children. 

Your grandfather passed away when you were ten. The night you found out you ran sobbing into his study. You shoved yourself into the space between the wall and the desk, your spot. You shook with sobs. He left. Why would he leave you?  

Grandmother passed away soon after. She was inconsolable after her husband’s death, she was relieved when she fell ill. She was going to be happy with your grandfather. Just happy away from you. 

Your mother sold the house. When you were thirteen. She let you keep anything you took. You ended up taking all of his books and his desk. For years the books were in boxes shoved in your closet, holding too many painful memories to open. From your closest in your childhood home they went into a storage complex, as you moved to college. 

They only made a reappearance recently, when your fiancé when’s to grab some old paintings to decorate your new home. It was raining outside when you opened the box. 

You felt your fiancé behind you as you peeled back the tape.

 “Haji, I’m nervous. I haven’t looked at these books and papers since he died.”

“It's alright baby, I’ll be right behind you. You can take a break at any time, no one’s going to judge you” Iwaizumi reassured. 

You bit your lip, eyes already welling up with tears as you opened the first book. 

You and Iwaizumi had stayed up well into the morning going through every single book and paper in those boxes. The boxes were full of poem books, herbology books, and sketch books. But most sentimental to you were plans of a garden that you had made with your grandfather. 

His writing was delicate behind your bold toddler strokes, explaining which plants to plant. Perhaps even better than that were sketches of trellises, benches, flower beds, and landscaping, all meant to surround that initial garden. 

You fell asleep in Iwaizumi’s arms with tears staining your cheeks. 

You and Hajime got married the next week. As he pulled you away from the crowd he whispered plans into your ear. Plans for a garden to be made. Just the two of you, working together to make the garden of your dreams. 

**Time Skip**

Laughter filled your ears as you held a newborn in your arms. You look up to see Iwaizumi lifting your three year old high in the air, her face stained by raspberries, smiling big, and giggling. Her father looked at her like she was his world. 

Your toddlers giggling gets louder as he spins around, coming to rest next to you. He sits down next to you, letting your toddler go to waddle over to the flowers. He kisses your cheek, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You love your garden built by hand over the course of three years. Hopefully one day your family will get bigger. But for now you're happy.