#and i do notice and appreciate when my family uses gender neutral words to talk about me now

[theygender]

I finally got up the nerve to ask my spanish professor if I could use the nonbinary pronoun elle in class and I was worried the answer would be no since it's not an official pronoun, but he said yes! I got to use the correct gendered words for myself on my test today, and I didn't know just how much gender euphoria writing out the phrase "cuando era niñe" and ending my adjectives with -e was gonna give me but I'm gonna be happy for the whole rest of the day now. I'm also glad bc like... now if any other nonbinary students want to use a pronoun that matches their gender in their spanish class it should be easier for them. I've already done the hard part of coming out to my professor at a community college in the bible belt, explaining the movement for a gender neutral spanish pronoun to him, and providing him with resources from a spanish LGBT organization. And I let my pride club know what he said so now if any other students ask the organizer about using nonbinary pronouns in their spanish class she'll be able to tell them that the prof is okay with it 💛

[landosjpg]

‘tis the damn season | ln

the one where you go back to your hometown just to end up in lando's bed.

lando norris x gender-neutral!reader

word count: ~1.3k

warnings: ex-bf!lando, little bit of angst & fluff, implied smut

note: part 2 of this blurb series i have going on rn, it’s not proofread so there might be some spelling mistakes!

you looked at the screen of your phone absolutely perplexed, reading the simple conversation over and over again.

"heard you're back in town?"

"i'm sorry, who's this?

"lando."

you couldn't believe that was actually happening.

it had been years since you and lando had last seen each other, or even talked. growing up in the same town, you had been friends since early childhood, and you had grown together with your group of friends.

you also happened to date him for a year before you had decided to move to L.A for your studies, and with him also making his move up to f1, you had decided to call it quits.

and when you left, you never heard of him again.

you had been out of the country for a little over five years, and had never came back til that very christmas. flights from california to england were not only expensive, but also a lot of time; so you had never found yourself in the right state of mind to go back to your hometown, having your family and friends visit you instead some times.

from what your friends had told you, lando had lost contact with everyone in your old friend group, so how on earth did he even findd out?

"my parents told me, they saw your mum at the store yesterday."

the answer to your question came as he double texted at the lack of a reply from your side. you sighed, not sure where he was going with all that.

"just came back a few days ago."

"are you free tonight? haven't seen you in forever."

straight to the point, classic lando.

"can't, i'm staying with my parents. they probably want to have dinner together."

you knew it wasn't a great excuse, but you hoped he would accept it and move on with his life.

part of you wanted to accept his invitation, it had been so long since you had last seen him. as you looked at your screen, you reminisced your relationship with him.

you had dated other people during those years, but even on the other side of the world, you sometimes thought no one would ever make you feel the way he used to do, no one would even know you the way he did.

the rational part of you knew it wasn't a great idea. in the end, you were leaving again in just a few weeks. and you didn't want to go back to your new life with the "what would've been..?" question lingering on your mind.

୨୧

you knew lando could be persuasive. but you thought he wouldn't have much of an effect in you after so many years.

silly you.

he had convinced you to come over to his place in the matter of a few minutes, claiming that his parents were out of town for the weekend and he would appreciate some company.

you parked your car between your old school and the town's church, the place where you and lando would usually meet when you were younger.

sighing, you left your car and started walking the cold streets that led to his house.

the same path you used to follow every other day a few years ago, but this time you weren't sure what was waiting for you there. and it was too late to retreat when you knocked on the door and a smiling lando welcomed you inside from the other side of the door.

he looked different.

more mature, and definitely a lot more handsome than you remembered.

he had ordered something for you two to eat, and with a movie on the background, you talked for hours, time flying by without you even noticing.

you were sat on his couch, one bottle of wine gone during your joyful chatter; and with the alcohol getting to your head, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his body, sighing contently.

you looked up at him, a smile creeping up to your lips when you saw him staring back at you.

"what's with this?" you giggled, scratching his chin, amused at his attempt of growing a beard.

"hey," he pretended to be offended, poking on your side with his index, which made you squirm. "it's not that bad."

"i didn't say it was," you answered, "you look hot."

the words slipped out of your mouth before you could ever think about it, and a pink flush quickly painted your cheeks as you mentally slapped yourself.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to..." you tried to make the situation less awkward, but his hand cupped your cheek and forced you to look back at him again.

he was leaning into you, and your breath caught in your throat at the proximity between your faces. a deep, shaky breath left your lips as you looked into his piercing eyes.

"is this okay?" he asked, his voice low and husky. and fuck, was it inviting.

you nodded your head, not able to form a proper sentence, or even a word. and he broke the distance between your lips, crashing his mouth against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

you sighed against his mouth before you let you hands and lips do all the talking and soon he was guiding you into his room with his arms around your waist.

୨୧

a few hours later you found yourself walking back into his room, your hair messy as you put your clothes back on. he smiled at you from under the covers, having gotten in bed already.

you chuckled at the sight of him, tucked under the blankets with messy curls and sleepy eyes. and it reminded you of all the previous times you had spent with him in that very same bed, your heart growing fond of the sight before you.

"you're not staying?" his question caught you by surprise, making you stop gathering your things to turn to look at him.

"what?"

"you're not staying?" he repeated, as if you hadn't heard him the first time. but you were still as surprised.

"no," you simply mumbled, sitting on the edge of his bed to put your boots back on.

"come on, y/n," you felt his weigth shifting closer to you, his arm wrapping around your waist and his lips pressing a tender kiss on your hip, over your jeans.

it wasn't a good idea, spending the night with him. you knew that much.

"it's late and it's cold outside, you can leave in the morning," he added, not letting you reject his offer again.

and the softness of his voice with the puppy eyes he was giving you, could've made you do anything he asked for.

he smiled when you didn't reply, knowing that you weren't going to turn him down again. you rolled your eyes with a smile and changed into the shirt he was offering for you to be more comfortable.

his shirt.

and you knew you shouldn't have come to his house in the first place. you knew you shouldn't have slept with him and surely, you should've left instead of crawling back into his arms, letting the warmth of his body envelop you as you lied with your head on his chest.

because you knew you would leave again in only a few weeks; and having a taste of what could've been if you didn't run away years earlier would only lead to breaking your very own heart.

but you sighed and snuggled closer to him, nuzzling your face on his chest and allowing yourself to be his, just for the weekend.

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[ray-ray-writings]

My Cinderella AU with Schlatt

Welp... Who would have thought that Schlatt would be the one out of all of the MCYTs to NOT be outed as an abuser....

Anywho, I watched the Cinderella movie with Camila Cabello and instantly wanted to write an AU of my own of Cinderella but I didn't want to put in the work to create my own new characters and establish them and all of that fun stuff. So I did what I do best, toss already established characters into a storyline. What a weird piece of work to post on my blog after several years...

But here you go, 16.3k words of a Cinderella AU with reader as Cinderella and Schlatt as Prince Charming. If you read, I appreciate you. Consider leaving a like, comment, and/or reblog and tell me whatcha liked about it. No pressure tho <3.

Summary: A Cinderella AU in which reader is a baker and Schlatt is a Prince. the two meet in a market square where the reader in turns insults Schlatt to his face without realizing who they're talking to and the story of the relationship that then ensues.

Pairing: JSchlatt x Gender Neutral!Reader (I tried to keep in gender neutral but I may have slipped here and there, if you notice any parts that happens let me know and I'll fix it!

Mostly fluff with a touch of angst

Content Warnings: all warnings that typically come with cinderella: ie dead parents, shitty step family, reader being told she doesn't deserve good things, the word papi... like twice... you'll see. The use of "Jonathon" being Schlatt's "real" first name, Swearing, second person POV, when the text is in italics it's as if it's following Schlatt in third POV, i hope that makes sense, shitty writing at the end because I still haven't figured out how to end stories uwu.

Please let me know if I missed anything.

Once Upon a Time,

You lived with your stepmother and two stepsisters. Your mother died when you were young. She died after being thrown from a horse, hitting her head off the ground, and never waking up. 

Your father had remarried within a year, but had swore to never love again. He married simply because he knew he was sick and didn’t want to die and leave you alone if he were to die when you were a minor. Sure enough, he passed when you were 15. 

One thing your parents had gifted you before their passing is your love for baking. You could bake like nobody’s business. You had tried to get a job at the bakery when you had come of age but the baker didn’t appreciate your helpful tips on what to improve on and what would make his baked goods taste better. So you just bake and hang out in the square, selling to those that know you and know of your business. 

You did your best to spend most of your time out of your home as your stepfamily was not kind to you. They teased and taunted you and made your life hell. You would have left the moment you were of age, but you had nowhere else to go. This was your family’s home, you didn’t make enough money baking on the side to justify moving out. So you were just waiting to meet someone who would sweep you off your feet and carry you away from here. 

It’s not ideal, but that is the way that life is. 

Across the land, Prince Schlatt was born and raised in the castle. He was waited on hand foot, life served to him on a silver platter. But the boy grew to a man with a kind heart, even if it tended to hide behind sarcasm and taunts. His father, King Philza, had done his best to teach Schlatt how to be a great ruler while his mother, Queen Kristen, had done her best to teach him how to be a loving man. 

Schlatt loves his parents, but sometimes wanted to be his own man without his parent’s hovering over his shoulder telling him who to be. To be who he wanted to be, without the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders.

King Philza has been harping on him for rejecting so many marriage proposals, lecturing him on how important it was for him to find a suitable match before his coronation so that everything was in order before it was time for him to take over the throne. 

Schlatt has always given the same response, “I don’t to marry just anyone. I want to marry for love, father, just like you.” 

Philza would roll his eyes but say nothing more on the subject until the next day. Kristen was always proud of the way her son would respond, but never interrupted the two. The supportive smile she always sent Schlatt as he left was incredibly telling though.

One of the only good things about your stepfamily was that they stayed out of the kitchen. Your stepmother learned quickly about how well you could cook and bake from how you always made meals for your father that she never felt the need to cook herself. Instead, she found it easier to boss you around and force you to cook for her and her daughters. 

You found you didn’t mind it though, the kitchen was your happy place. It was one of the only spaces where you knew that you wouldn’t be bothered, that for a moment while you rolled out dough or poured some batter you could pretend like everything in your life was perfect.

You needed more ingredients. For baking and for dinners. You had left the house with the small amount of money that your stepmother had given you and made your way to the market square. In your basket, a number of sweet treats to sell for your pocket cash to your normal customers after you run your errands. 

The sun feels nice on your face. You’re used to heat pressing into the as you stand over a hot stove or an open oven, so the sunlight shining on you makes you feel slightly at home. Comfortable even. Maybe a bit too comfortable and unaware of your surroundings because it’s not too long while you’re lost in thought before you slam into someone. The basket flies out of your hand and tumbles to the ground, several of the treats falling to the ground. 

You let out a gasp as you fall onto your butt on the ground. The man you have bumped into lets out a quiet “oh shit,” before reaching down and picking up some of the treats that have fallen out. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand for you to take. You carefully take his hand, allowing your eyes to scan the stranger. The first thing that you notice is his eyes. They’re fucking beautiful. The pools of dark chestnut brown bore into yours so deeply it momentarily takes your breath away. You’re able to see the way they fill with concern all the while they flick down and examine you, if you were of more a mind, you would blush. 

The next thing you notice is the mask that covers the lower half of his face. You stop your brows from furrowing at the sight. You continue to observe him. You note the way that his brown hair is pulled back, which is what allowed you to see his eyes so strikingly before. His clothes are a bit on the fancier side of those that come to the market. He’s strong too, you can tell by the way he pulls you up from the ground with no real effort exerted. His hands are on the softer side. He feels familiar but you can’t place where you know him. 

Oh fuck. You’re the prettiest person Schaltt has ever seen. He’s been introduced to countless nobles, never ending royalty, long lines of commoners, but none of them could compare to how absolutely stunning you look right now. And he’s just made a huge ass full of himself by running into you and sending some of your baked goods AND you flying to the ground. At least he was smart enough to wear a mask to hide his face and therefore his identity. He knows his facial hair is incredibly recognizable. Even if he wasn’t presenting as the crowned prince, he better make this right. 

“It’s alright,” you respond once you’ve shaken yourself out of your stupor, reaching for your basket. He quickly hands it back to you. You do a quick inventory and note that about a third of your stock had fallen to the ground. “Great, just great,” you murmur quietly to yourself. 

“Again, I’m so sorry about that… let me replace what you’ve lost. Allow me to walk you to the bakery so you can buy more.” The stranger says, motioning toward the bakery, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The laugh you let out causes the man’s shoulders to deflate, causing you to clear your throat and instantly start explaining. “No, no, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Rather laughing at the thought of me buying anything from that fucking guy.” 

His brows furrow as he looks at the pastries. “You didn’t get them from the baker? Where did you get them from then?” 

“I made them myself.” You answer simply, giving a small shrug. “The baker didn’t want to hire me and so I bake them at my house and sell them on the square to a few people.” 

His brows hit the top of his forehead. “Oh shit, really? I guess I just made you lose income then, huh? Let me pay for them then.”

“Oh, no really it’s okay. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.” 

“No really. I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do.” He states before digging into his pockets and pulling out 5 gold pieces and pressing them into your hand. 

You stare at the gold in shock. “Sir, I can’t accept this. I only charge 2 copper for one cookie. This is far too much, please take it back.” 

Schaltt panics. It’s been forever since he’s had an economics class and he isn’t sure how much money is a lot of money to common folk. He realizes 5 gold is probably a bit too much, especially after you tell him of what you usually charge. It’s too late to back out now. 

“Nah,” he answers. “I guess it just means you have to give me the rest that’s in the basket.” 

Without hesitation, you hold the basket out for him to take. He’s surprised by your quick movement but carefully takes the basket from your hands. He grabs the cloth that covers the basket gently and carefully pulls it back, revealing a plethora of baked goods, the sight makes his mouth water. “Woah, these look professionally made.” 

You let out a huff and puff out your chest a bit more. “Well I am a professional. And they would look better, but someone caused the basket to hit the ground.” 

His laugh may be the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. It makes your heart flutter and you have to will the heat to not flood your cheeks. “I apologized for that already,” He teases. 

“Yeah well, it still happened didn’t it,” you shoot back. 

He laughs again, which surprises you. Most people would have called you rude by now and left you to stand here alone. But not this strange stranger. You don’t mind his presence though. “You’re funny…” He trails off

You realize he’s waiting for your name and you supply it to him. He echos it back, stating it slowly as if to savor every syllable, to test how it feels on his tongue and his teeth before he hums. “I’m charmed to meet your acquaintance,” He states, reaching out grabbing your hand, bending at the waist, and pressing the back of your hand to his masked lips. It takes everything in you to will the blood to NOT rush to your cheeks. 

He drops your hand before straightening up. “Now if you don’t mind, I will be trying one of these delectable looking desserts.” 

He reaches into the basket and pulls out a chocolate chocolate-chip cookie. “Oh fuck yes. These are my fucking favorite.” 

You can’t stop the grin and giggle that escapes you.

The stranger turns from you and for a moment your heart falls and your stomach turns as you think that he’s walking away from you. But you’re able to see his hand move up to the lower half of his face and you realize he’s pulling his mask down in order to eat. You quickly look away to give the man his privacy. You may be curious as to what he looks like, but you value respecting his choices above all else. 

Holy fuck it’s one of the tastiest things he’s ever eaten. His eyes close as he groans at the taste that fills his mouth. He’s glad he had the sense to turn around and his face and expression from you. He couldn’t imagine how embarrassing he looks right now. 

You hear him let out a groan of approval and you can only assume that something has hit his tongue. “This is delicious.” Your assumptions are confirmed as his voice comes out muffled from the food in his mouth. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” you chide, looking at the bustling people of the market stalls.

Schlatt chuckles, pulling the mask back up and turning back to face you. He’s stunned for a moment to not meet your eyes. Realizing why you’re angled and looking the way that you are. His own heart skips a beat before he clears his throat. He takes a moment to chew and swallow before softly letting you know you’re good to look. 

You’re slightly disappointed to find the mask still in its place but you understand the want for privacy perhaps more than most. “So it was good then?” You ask. 

He nods enthusiastically. “It was fucking amazing. I can’t wait to get back to the castle and try the rest of them.” He says, realizing a moment too late his slip. 

Your brows hit the top of your forehead, “The castle? Do you live in the castle?” You can’t stop the question that falls from your lips.

“Yeah, I’m a guard. I live in the castle, and I’m a guard. Today’s my day off.” He explains. His words are rushed, but who are you to question a man you just met.

You give a couple nods, “I see,” you state simply, “That makes sense.” 

Internally Schlatt lets out a loud breath of relief that you bought the lie. The castle has been his home his entire life and he wasn’t thinking when he spoke so he’s glad you easily bought his excuse of being a guard.

“It makes sense considering you just handed me 5 gold like it’s not more than I will make in two months and King Philza makes sure that the guards get paid an excellent salary… not that he makes sure the rest of the citizens get paid the same. But that’s neither here nor there.” You huff. 

The stranger’s brows lift. “What do you mean by that?” 

Your face burns as you catch what you just admitted. “Oh nothing.” You rush. “Sorry you probably are more than happy with the decisions the king makes. Not to imply anything. Sorry.” 

“No, no it’s alright. I want to hear it.” 

And want to hear it, he does. No one has the guts to speak so plainly to him when they’re around him. So he wants to hear it. The good, the bad and the ugly. 

You clear your throat and square your shoulders. “Well if you insist. Often it feels like the king, the whole royal family really, doesn’t care about those that do not live in the castle. I can’t get a job because no one can afford to hire anyone because everyone is just barely scraping by. It’s like he can’t see past his own front lawn. Which sucks because everyone talks about what a great guy he is, but sometimes I don’t think he’s a very good king.”

Schlatt hums in acknowledgement. You bring up some really good points. He also sometimes feels like his father forgets he’s supposed to be ruling for the people and isn’t supposed to be ruling his son’s life… speaking of. “Well I’m sure you can’t wait for his son to take over the throne then? Schlatt?” He is instantly startled by the loud laughter that bubbles from your throat.

“Schlatt? That big, petty,  man-baby? Yeah. Sure. I’m excited to see how that big man-baby decides to rule the kingdom. You know, I heard that he grew those mutton chops to make himself more unattractive to potential suitors. I think he didn’t realize how fucking good he looks with them. At least from what I’ve seen from a distance. I think he makes them work, and I’m definitely not the only one in the kingdom that agrees. I think he just needs to bite the bullet and just… I don’t know. Do it.” 

Schlatt once again thanks his past self profusely for the idea of wearing a mask to hide his face because he can feel the way his cheeks heat up to what he is sure is a bright red. You’re not particularly wrong. That was the original thought. To make himself look unkempt and not put together in an attempt to drive away potential suitors but he grew to like how they looked and grew fond of the hair. 

“I don’t think he should just bite the bullet and marry the first person that asks for his hand” he defends, “I think he wants to marry for love. Not for some political alliance. I think that’s admirable.” 

“Oh I agree. My apologies. That’s not what I meant. I meant he needs to bite the bullet and be fucking honest with the kingdom. The news that we get from the castle is that he’s the one that’s been rejected. That he wants to find the perfect alliance. That he wants what’s best for the kingdom. And while I agree that maybe he does, he needs to be fucking honest with us and tell us the truth. That he’s looking for love. Not what would ‘be best for the kingdom.’ We don’t mind that’s what’s happening, it’s the fact we’re being lied to, ya know?”

“Huh, so that’s the news that is coming out of the castle… I’ll have to talk to someone about that.” 

Your breath catches slightly. “Shit. Sorry. I don’t want to get either of us in trouble. Forget me and my words. I know not of what I speak.” 

“No, sweets. You have valid points. They deserve to be heard. I won’t mention your name if you wish. But I will make them hear me. I’m actually rather close with the prince.” He can’t help but internally snicker to himself. Closer than you know. 

The blood drains from your face. “Of course you are. Of course I complain about the prince to someone that has direct connection with him… fuck. Okay. Cool. Good to know. Well… I have to go. I have to get my ingredients still and I must be home before stepmother gets there. It was a pleasure meeting you.” You state quickly before attempting to rush past him. 

You're stopped by his hand grasping your shoulder gently, causing you to turn around to face him. “Will I ever see you again?” 

The way he asks is so soft and gentle. It causes your heart to pound loudly and the breath to pause in your throat. “Maybe,” you breathe out. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment more before it hits you. “I have a carrier pigeon. I’ll send it with a letter to the castle and we can talk like that. Maybe sometime we can meet again. Maybe on one of your days off.” 

The man’s beautiful brown eyes light up with delight. “That would be amazing. I look forward to hearing from you.” He allows his hand to trail from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand, and he lifts the hand to his lips before placing a kiss to it. He gives you a soft wink as he drops your hand. You turn away as you blush, willing yourself to calm down. 

“Oh!” You startle, “I forgot to ask your name-“ the words die on your lips to find the spot next to you vacated with the tall stranger nowhere in sight. “Great. Just great… well. I better get going. Those cookies won’t bake themselves.” 

Schlatt has never felt so giddy. He can’t wait to hear from you. He also realizes he never gave you a name, he’ll just have to keep his eye out for a new and unfamiliar carrier pigeon.

 

You debate with yourself when you get home what the proper waiting time is for sending a stranger a letter with the pigeon. Because you wrote one as soon as you got home and it was ready to send within two hours of meeting him. Sending one that quickly may spook him. It could cause him to think you’re weird. 

You decide you’ll wait a couple hours, bake cookies and make dinner and then when your stepmother allows you to retire to your room, that is when you’ll send it. And so that is what you do. You check over the letter a thousand times before you tuck it into the envelope and hand it to your carrier pigeon. “To the castle pigeon, look for a man with brown hair and brown eyes… well that’s specific huh?... I really should have gotten his name. Okay… well… I guess we will half to wing it.” You scribble down something on the envelope and hand it to the pigeon who takes it with its foot and flies off to the castle. 

Schlatt is taking a stroll in the gardens, kicking himself for not asking for a better way to contact you. He hadn’t heard anything from you and at this point he’s worrying he never will. He’s spent most of his time analyzing the conversation over and over again in his head and realized that he probably came off too strong and too weird and he will be lucky to ever see you again. 

He jumps as a pigeon lands on his shoulder,to his head snapping to the side to meet the wide, vacant eye of the bird. It gives a soft coo before shaking and moving its foot, drawing attention to the letter in its grasp. His heart leaps to his throat in hope before he swallows and carefully takes it. 

He grins at the writing on the front of the envelope. “Sir Charmed, lover of chocolate chip cookies.” Instantly all his worries melt away as he plucks the letter from its hiding and he reads the words. Once. Twice. A Hundred times. Schlatt rushes inside to carefully compose his response. 

You don’t go a day without hearing from each other for the next couple of weeks. You exchange letters. You tell him about your life and how you got your love of baking, and your want of leaving the house. He tells you the pressures of his job and how sometimes he just wants to run away from it all and explore the world. You make him promise that if he does, he’ll take you with him. He promises. 

You forget to get his name and at this point you’re too embarrassed to ask him for it, instead electing to call him a bunch of nicknames, mainly being Sir Charming, hoping he never catches on. He never seems to. 

The two of you agree to meet up once more, somewhere a little more quiet than the market square, but still public (because you have to be proper.) You’re sure to wear the cutest outfit you can manage to put together and bake the best batches of cookies you’ve ever baked. 

“Where are you going?” Ted asks with his brow raised, watching Schlatt with his arms crossed as Schlatt sneaks through the castle halls. 

Schlatt freezes and slowly turns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Sureeeee,” Ted draws, not convinced at all. “You’re just creeping through the halls in one of your best outfits going… nowhere.” 

Schlatt sighs, not being able to hide from his best friend. “I’m going to meet them.” 

Ted raises an eyebrow. “Them? The one you’ve been writing all those letters to? Are you sure that’s a good idea” 

“I know that it is. Please. Cover for me?”

Ted sighs but can’t deny Schlatt has been happier in the past couple weeks than he has been for the past couple months. “Okay fine. But you’d better bring me back one of those sugar cookies.” 

Schlatt gives Ted a toothy grin. “We’ll see.” 

You give him a shy smile as he appears. “Hey, you,” you greet standing, wiping your hands on your pants. 

“Hey sweets,” he greets back, his voice muffled through the mask still adorned on his face. You didn’t mind too much. He explained that it made him more comfortable, especially because in his work he has to wear something to cover his face under the helmet, it’s just easier for him to wear it. As much as you want to see his entire face, you were willing to respect his choices. 

“How are you?” 

“Can’t complain, especially now that I get to see your beauty standing before me.” 

You can’t stop the blush that floods your cheeks. “Oh hush. Here. I’ve made you something special.” You tell him, turning and grabbing the special baked good that you made him. “It’s a chocolate chocolate-chip brookie. Or a double chocolate chip cookie baked inside a brownie. I remember you said that you loved brownies and cookies and sometimes can’t choose which to have so I made you both… well two in one.” 

You raise your hand with one of the treats toward him, facing the basket still, still trying to will down the blush on your cheeks.

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” you have to hold in the jump as you feel his soft breath against your hand. You will yourself to stay in place as his lips brush against your outstretched fingers as he gently takes a bite out of the treat in your hand. A loud groan escapes him, similar to the one you heard the day the two of you met. “Okay, I take back everything I’ve said… This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

All of your hard work is ruined as the blood rushes back to your cheeks into a blush. “What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?” You deflect 

The treat is removed from your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “My apologies, your highness.” His words are even more mumbled, telling you he shoved the brookie all the way into his mouth. 

You scoff. “Careful now, you’ll get me hung for treason with that nickname.”

His laugh garbled out around the baked good. “Surely the king isn’t that cruel.” His hand rests on your shoulder and turns you to face him, the mask sitting on his face once again. 

You laugh back and shrug, “I don’t know. I’ve never met the man.” 

“Well I have. So I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” 

“Is that so?... I guess I’ll just have to trust you then.” 

You stare into his brilliant and beautiful eyes for a while longer before he moves, clearing his throat and gesturing forward, “Shall we then?” 

“I am getting sick of these games you’re playing, Jonathan.” King Philza booms loudly. 

Schlatt rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not playing games with you father, I’ve told you. I want to marry for-”

“For love. I understand. But how can you marry for love when you push away every single option I give you. You haven’t given yourself a chance to fall in love with anyone I have brought before you and I am growing tired of it. If you do not pick someone within the next month, I will be choosing someone for you. End of story. Am I understood?”

Schlatt internally panics. He knew this day was coming. He knew he was pushing his father too far. He had held out for too long. His stomach drops… There’s only one person he could see himself marrying at this point… 

Assuming he had been understood, Philza turns to walk out the door. “Let’s throw a ball,” the words tumble from Schlatt’s lips. 

Phil turns back around with an eyebrow raised. “A ball?”

“You want me to marry quickly. I want to marry for love. So what better way than to throw a ball, invite everyone in the kingdom, emphasizing the invitations for single people, and then I’ll be able to talk and dance with people all night. And I swear to you, if we throw this ball I will find a betrothed by the end of the month.”

Phil is silent for a while. Tossing the words over in his head for a moment before giving a single nod. “So be it.” He then turns and exits the room. 

Schlatt lets out a harsh breath. Well that was easier than expected. Now to convince you to come to a ball. 

It takes less convincing than one might think. 

You get a letter from your Sir Charming, who tells you there will be a ball and that he wants you to come as his guest. He tells you that you’d be able to bring some of your baked goods to give out to nobles to promote your baking, plus you’d be able to see him. You hate to admit how much the latter of the two sold you on the idea. You sent back your acceptance of the invitation. 

The money you’ve gotten from selling your baked goods is supposed to go to a moving out fund, but you can’t help but take out a couple of the gold pieces that he gave you in the first meeting, finding it only fitting that his money buys your outfit for the ball

It’s a really pretty outfit, it fits you well enough, you had to buy it a size larger because they didn’t have your size and you didn’t have enough money to get it tailored. But it didn’t matter that much to you. Your mystery man had seen you in grubbier garment, anything would be a step up from what you met him in. 

The news of the ball gets announced to the entire kingdom, and your stepmother is perhaps more excited than you are. She thinks at least one of her daughters will win the heart of the prince. When you voice your want to go, she forbids you. You tell her that you don’t even want to be in the presence of the prince, you just want to see the snack table, she sneers at you but says nothing further, making you believe that perhaps she will allow you to go. 

You find yourself in your kitchen, finishing up some of the baked goods you were to take to the ball tonight. The loud clacking of your stepmother’s heels echo on the tile, the door swings open, your stepmother enters in a rage. Your heart stops as you look up from your desserts and see your outfit clutched in her hands. 

“What is this?” She hisses, waving the fabric at you as she gets closer. 

“My outfit for the ball,” you answer as calmly as you can, speaking around the lump in your throat. 

“Oh!” She lets out in mock surprise, “Is it now? I thought you said you were not going to be trying to win the attention of the prince.” 

You furrow your brow and remain standing straight with your shoulders squared back, “I am not. I have no intention of wooing the prince, stepmother.” 

“Then why have you chosen to wear such an attention seeking outfit? Surely you were planning on going behind my and my daughter’s back. I should have known you were going to do something like this.”

“Please, stepmother. You must believe me. I have no--” 

“I do not believe you, you little wench. You’ve always have looked for ways out of this house, to one up me and my daughters. I will stand for this no more.” 

You want so badly to lash out, to rip the outfit from her hands, go running from the room, and get dressed. But you can’t move. You can barely breathe. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your stomach turning, and your body locking up. You can only watch as your stepmother glides over to the stove. Her eyes glide over the stove top before smirking. She dunks the outfit into the melted chocolate you were going to use to cover some of the treats. 

To make matters worse, part of the cloth flops over the edge of the pan and lands directly on the open flame that was on to melt the chocolate. Your stepmother lets out a triumphant laugh as the outfit catches fire, turning around and leaving the kitchen.

The sound of the door closing behind her causes you to leap into action finally. You rip the outfit out of the pot and toss it in the sink, dousing it with water, extinguishing the flame. The chocolate clings to the fabric, refusing to let go easily as you put your entire being into scrubbing the outfit. 

Sobs begin falling from your lips as you realize, even if you get all of the chocolate out of this outfit, it will never dry in time for the ball. Plus. you don’t have fabric to sew up the part where the flame ate part of it. Your outfit is ruined. Your plans are ruined. The night is ruined. 

You barely register your stepmother calling for your stepsisters, telling them it was time to go, and the door opening and closing behind them. The world seems to spin around you, sinking you to your knees as you sob loudly, clutching the soaking web fabric to your chest. 

The cool tile welcomes you, the warmth of the oven soothes you, and the wetness of the outfit grounds you. The sobs turn into soft hiccups then to silent sniffles as you stare in front of you. Mentally you begin to write your apology letter to Sir Charming about your abscess from the ball. How you were going to go, you really were, you just didn’t have anything suitable to wear. 

He’ll probably ask you why you didn’t plan better. He’ll probably be angry. He may not want to speak to you again. You’ll just have to deal with it and beg for forgiveness. And if he decides not to forgive you…. You’ll just have to live with it. 

A soft knock echoes from the front door. You’re so in your own head, you’re not sure it’s a real sound, but then it comes again, a little louder this time. You muse it may be one of your steps who forgot something and didn’t think to bring a key. 

In a zombie-like fashion, you let the fabric drop from your hands before standing up slowly. It almost feels as if you’re floating as you move to the front door. Your hand somehow finds the doorknob, unlocking it, before turning it and opening it up. 

You startle slightly at the sight in front of you. A frail looking older man stands before you. He has grey hair, a hunchback, and a shawl that comes up and covers the top of his head and shoulders. “Oh… hello. Can I help you?” You ask softly, looking out past him wondering where he came from. Your house wasn’t necessarily in the middle of nowhere, but you definitely had your privacy from neighbors. You lived on the edge of the kingdom, no one ever really comes out here. 

“Hello there, deary.” His voice is kind and his lips turn upwards slightly. “I am sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I was just on my way home and my stomach let out an awful grumble and I was just wondering if you could spare a bite to eat? I won’t take much, I promise, just something to get me home.”

You don’t know what made you trust this stranger, maybe it was just your deep need to help those around you, maybe you were still in shock from what your stepmother had done minutes… an hour? You’re not sure. But you give him a smile. “Oh yes, of course. Please come in sir. Lucky for you, I was just making something sweet. So you can snack on that while I make you dinner.” 

You move out of the way and let the man enter your house. 

“Oh, please deary, no need to make me a whole meal.” 

“Nonsense,” you answer, guiding him into the kitchen, “I want to make sure you’re well fed for your journey home.” You hand him some of the cookies from the counter. “Here, make yourself at home.”

The man takes the cookie from your hands gently before sitting himself down at the counter. “You are far too kind… I wasn’t even sure anyone would be home. I heard the royal family is throwing a ball, and everyone is invited.” 

You can’t help the laugh that falls from your lips as you begin making dinner for this kind man. “Yes, well, my stepmother believed me unworthy to attend… went as far as to destroy my outfit…” you take a moment to look down at the outfit, still soaking at your feet. You snap yourself out of the stupor, “Sorry. Not to dump.” 

The man hums as he takes a bite of the cookie. “I see…. Oh this is delicious. You should run a bakery.” He exclaims. 

A shy smile plays on your lips as you plate his food. “That’s the goal…One day. Thank you… Anyway, dinner is served!” You place the plate in front of him, your smile growing. 

The man instantly digs in and hums in delight at the taste. The two of you converse as he eats, he talks about his life and you give him more insight into yours. Telling him of how you got your love of baking and your hopes of owning a bakery, but not working for the baker in the village. 

Soon, he’s down to his last bite of dinner. He pops it in his mouth before leaning back into his chair. “Wow, that hit the spot. Thank you again deary, for dinner and the delightful conversation…” 

You give him a smile, “Of course, it’s my pleasure… I just realized I never got your name.” 

“You can call me Quackity…AKA” 

Suddenly golden light surrounds the man in front of you, forcing a gasp out of your lips. “What’s going on?” You exclaim as the light draws closer to the man, glowing brighter. 

Through squinted eyes, you watch the wrinkles fall from the man’s face. It’s as if an ink pot spills from the shawl the rests on his head, his hair turning black. The fabric morphs into a dark grey beanie that remains covering the top part of his hair. His spine straightens, his outfit morphing into a sharp tuxedo with golden wings protruding from his back. His piercing eyes, suddenly getting covered by black sunglasses. 

The golden motes of light fade from existence, the old man no longer in front of you, a young man now sitting before you. 

“Your fairy godmother…father…papi? Ah who knows.” 

You stare wide-eyed, mouth agape at the man that now sits in front of you. “What the fuck?” You whisper. “Who are you?”

The young man tilts his head and gives a playful grin. “I just told you, silly. I’m your fairy god-Papi. You can also call me Quackity. But I’ve watched over you, and I had to make sure you were still a good person. We don’t have time for the full backstory, we have a ball to get you too, dulces.” 

You stare at him, your mouth moving like a fish out of water. “What are you talking about? I can’t go to the ball, my outfit is ruined, I don’t have a way to get there. I can’t… Don’t you have to get home?” 

Quackity laughs causing you to pout to play on your lips. Quackity notices, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, you’re just too sweet. I know you think we just met, but you have to trust me. You’ve already let me in your home, you may as well trust me to do this as well.” 

You puff up your cheeks with air as you toss your thoughts back and forth, debating his words. Maybe you’re asleep. Maybe you crashed and fell asleep on the kitchen floor and this is all just a dream. At this point, that would make the most sense. You pinch the skin on your thigh, flinching but looking around. When nothing around you changes, you’re forced to take this situation as reality. Incredibly weird, fucked up reality. 

You meet Quackity’s bright eyes again, his kind smile never fading. “Okay.” You speak softly, letting your shoulders relax. “I trust you.” 

His grin grows bigger and he claps his hands once in delight, holding them in front of his chest for a brief moment, looking you over excitedly. “I knew I chose you for a reason. Let’s get this done then, shall we?” 

Quackity claps twice and the golden light fills your vision again, this time though, they’re surrounding you. Your clothes shift and change, the fabric changes and gets tighter to your body. Your hair moves around on its own, which feels weird at first, but then you realize that it feels like someone is doing your hair and you think back to your mother and father doing your hair when you were little. You feel the flour and the sugar fall from your face and your fingertips as the light cleans you up. 

Your gaze moves down to your feet and your breath catches at the shoes you now adorn. They’re breathtaking, literally apparently. They’re made of glass, the majority of the shoe being see through, but a gorgeous pattern of color, as if spun sugar swirled throughout. They’re insanely comfortable too. You’d think that shoes made of glass would be uncomfortable, but they’re not. They’re perhaps the most comfortable shoes you’ve ever worn. 

Soon, the light fades and you turn to find Quackity holding a mirror. The outfit is beautiful and truly made for a ball. It’s actually your size and fits you well in all of the right places. Your hair is beautiful as well, pulled back to show your face, but is done up in an intricate way. Your face, as you felt, is clear of the evidence of your baking. 

“I look good,” you whisper, turning slightly, examining yourself from different angles. 

“I know, I did well, didn’t I?” Quackity boasts, the feathers of his wings ruffling at the slight praise. 

You look from the mirror to catch his gaze. “You did. But I still don’t have a way there, I don’t want to walk.” 

Quackity shakes their head. “Oh yee of little faith. Grab those boxes of treats and follow me.” 

You whip around and find all of the baked goods you were working on packed neatly in your boxes. The magic must have moved them while you were getting dolled up. You blinked away the happy tears and scooped up the boxes and scurried out the door after Quackity. 

You stand back and watch as Quackity waves his hands around, the golden magic illuminating the dark night. It swirls around a pumpkin in your garden you were planning on using for a pie when it got ripe, making it grow larger and larger, changing from a thick orange pumpkin skin to a brilliant white carriage with golden details. 

The sheep that wanders your small farm gets surrounded by the light and is transformed into a beautiful woman who bends at the waist in front of you. “My lady,” she speaks. You curtsy back at her, giggling. You can’t believe this is real. 

Two field mice get transformed into a carriage driver and their assistant. Your carrier pigeon you’ve been using gets enlarged into a giant pigeon which the driver and assistant immediately move to get the pigeon hooked up to the carriage. Quackity moves over to stand by you, grinning as the golden light fades away as everything comes to order. “Ta da!” He says, holding his hands out and wiggling his fingers towards to new carriage and humans there to take you to the ball.

You can’t stop yourself from turning to him and throwing your arms around him, pulling him closely to you. He lets out a soft “oof” but wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “Thank you so much… fairy god….papi.” 

Quackity barks out a laugh but squeezes you tighter. “Of course, dulces. Now, this magic doesn’t come without a downside.” He says, pulling away and looking you in the eye. “Nothing too bad, but the magic will fade at midnight. The carriage will go back to a pumpkin, the footman back to mice and your sheep lady to a sheep. Your outfit will fade. It will all end at midnight. So, go, have fun at the ball, eat, drink, make friends, do it all. But when that clock strikes midnight, run like hell little lady.” 

You give him a short nod. “I understand… thank you. Will I ever see you again?” 

Quackity smiles softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “I’ll never be far away from you, dulces.” 

You know that means probably not, buy you decide to ignore it as you give him another hug. 

He hugs you back before  pulling away again. “Enough sap, you have a ball to go to. Go on! Get!” He pushes you toward the open door of the carriage. You giggle, gather the boxes of baked goods you had set down, and move to the carriage. 

Puffy, the lady in waiting, climbs in the carriage after you, closing the door behind her, before hitting the top of the carriage, causing the driver to give a shout and the carriage rocks forward. 

You glance out the window toward the house and find Quackity watching the carriage leave, his hands pressed to his chest. You bring your hand up and give a small wave. Quackity raises his hand and waves after you, until you cannot see him any longer. 

Schlatt was going a little crazy. It was as if the entire kingdom had shown up. Everyone was here. Everyone but you. You had promised that you would come in the letter that you sent a week ago, but maybe you had changed your mind. He hopes you hadn’t though. Afterall, he swore to his father he would be betrothed by the end of this night. 

He had met countless single village people, all trying to bat their eyes hard enough to make him take a second glance, but none of them were you. He found himself slumping down in his throne, brushing off the glare his father threw over his shoulder. Pretending not to hear the, “This is what you wanted. At least act like you want to be here.” He hissed over. Schlatt just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 

It becomes apparent he has met everyone here tonight and still no sign of you. Until there’s a large commotion by the snack table. His gaze shoots over and his heart picks up at the sight. It’s you. You look so different from the other times he’s seen you, but it is you. He’s on his feet in an instant and rushing over. 

You arrive later than everyone else at the ball, but honestly you’re totally okay with that. Less attention to yourself. You give a small bow to your servants for the evening, giving your carrier pigeon a few scritches before ducking into the castle. You hope you’ll be able to find your Sir Charming quickly so you can stick to him for the entire night. You decide you’ll first hit up the snack table to set up your baked goods and sign for the other nobles to taste just like Sir Charming said to do. 

You find the table is already packed with baked goods from the bakery. You take it upon yourself to begin moving some of the treats over to make room for your treats. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar voice booms from behind you. 

You roll your eyes at the voice but turn around and face the baker, Mr. Lou Hamani. “I was invited to display my baked goods at this ball. So I’m simply making room.” You answer before turning back around and putting more desserts out. 

Lou moves to stand beside you at the table and begins to grab at your treats. “I think not you disrespectful child. I am being paid by the king’s advisor himself for these desserts. I will not have you screwing over my chance to impress the nobles that are here today at this ball. You will pack up and leave at once.” 

“I will do no such thing, I was invited to set up shop here by a castle staff member and I intend to do so.” You huff. Lou pays your words no mind and continues to gather up the things you’ve baked in his arms. “Hey, put those down. Give those back.” If he hears you he pretends like he doesn’t and cotiunes what he’s doing. It’s then you begin to try and grab your treats out of his hands. 

The baker snaps at you, “get your hands off of me.” 

“Give me my things back!” 

You’re so invested in what is going on in front of you that you don’t realize that the entire ballroom’s eyes are on you. 

In the middle of your squabble, someone loudly clears their throat. You then realize you’re in public and everyone can see you. You decide to still not care and face it with confidence. The baker looks over his shoulder and seems to pale at the sight. Your brow slightly furrows and you turn around. 

Deep pools of chestnut brown lock with yours and they’re just as fucking beautiful as the day you first met them. They fill you with a sense of calm, but at the same time nerves as butterflies fill your stomach. You think you will never tire of looking him in the eyes. 

You find your eyes drifting down and you feel your stomach lurch and your heart stop. You’re seeing his face uncovered for the first time. He’s so fucking handsome… 

So fucking handsome with those god fucking damn mutton chops. 

“Your highness,” you hear the baker greet shakily from behind you. 

Your thoughts are confirmed. The man you met that day in the market, the one you’ve been sending letters to, the one you met once more, the one you’ve been slowly developing feelings for. Is Prince fucking Schlatt himself. Of fucking course he never told you his name. Of fucking course he never showed his face. It’s been him this whole time. 

Oh fuck. 

You’ve shit talked about him to his fucking face. 

You’re fucked. 

Gods. You look beautiful. He didn’t know anyone could ever look this good. He’s so fucking happy you came. 

His eyes meet yours and he can tell you’re in shock. He was a bit surprised you figured it out, that your Sir Charming was actually the prince. The other part of him feels fuzzy that you can recognize him just from his eyes. He can only hope that you forgive him for lying to you. 

“Mr. Hamani,” He greets easily, his eyes not leaving yours. He’s trying to decipher what it is you’re thinking, but your shocked expression masks any else you may be thinking. “Would you kindly unhand my favorite baked goods from my favorite baker? You’ll have to forgive me sir, while I find your treats delicious, I find theirs simply irresistible. I invited them and told them to set up shop here. I apologize that no one informed you in advance.” 

The baker stutters but gives a quick bow. “Of course, your highness. No need to apologize to me. I was simply surprised at their appearance is all. They have always been rather disruptive and I wanted to ensure it wasn’t something of that sort happening again… I apologize, your highness.” 

Schlatt gives a simple wave of his hand. “Forgiven.” He speaks. 

The baker dumps the treats from his hands back on \to the table and scurries away. Schlatt strides over and snatches up a double chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, moaning at the taste, before turning to face you. He gives a shy smile. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello,” he states softly as if nerves have invaded his entire stomach. As if he has a right to be nervous after the shit he let you get away with. 

“Hello,” You answer tensely. 

The two of you stand there, staring at each other for a moment. You haven’t even noticed that the entire ballroom is still at a standstill, staring. 

You’re the first to move. You charge forward at him, your finger rising in the air, pointing directly at him. “You. I can’t believe that you-” 

Prince Schlatt grabs your hand out of the air, bows, and brings the back of your hand up to his lips. The feeling of his soft lips on your hand sets the flesh there ablaze. You feel your face flush with searing heat along with the heat that floods your entire body. He mutters your name softly, lips still pressed to your hand, sending butterflies soaring in your stomach. 

“Prince Schlatt.” You utter, curtsying slightly. 

He stands back up to his full height and gives you a soft, lopsided grin. “May I have this dance?” 

All of the heated words you wanted to sling his way die on your tongue. You can’t help but wonder if this is all a prank. Like if you accept, he is going to laugh in your face and you’re going to be tossed in the dungeon. 

But then you meet his eyes. 

Those damn fucking eyes. 

They tell you so much, you’re surprised they didn’t tell you who you had been speaking to this entire time. 

They tell you to trust him. That he truly means what he is saying. That he wants nothing more than for you to say yes, because he wants to dance with you. Truly, deeply, wants to dance with you.

Hope. 

His eyes fill with hope. 

And how can you say no to hope. 

“You may.” 

Schlatt is probably the happiest he’s ever been when you accept his offer to dance. His grin widens significantly before he leads you to the middle of the ballroom. He bows to you and you curtsy. The band strikes up a beautiful waltz song and the two of you begin to dance. 

He notices that you’re working hard to follow his moves. It dawns on him that you are indeed a commoner and so you don’t have the dance training drilled into you as he has. He slows his pace down and smiles brightly as your shoulders sag in relief as you catch up with him. 

“Sorry,” you mumble for a third time as you step on his toes once more. 

“Please stop apologizing. I do not mind. Truly…” 

He stares at you beaming, trying to make you see the truth. You seem to only slightly believe him. He clears his throat and pauses for a moment. “Here, step on my feet. I’ll move us around the ballroom.” 

He smiles through you raising your eyebrows as if to ask if he was serious. He nods encouragingly. 

You realize that he’s not going to move again until you comply. So you do. You carefully step both of your feet onto his, praying the glass shoes are as comfortable on top of his feet as they are on yours. If they’re not, he makes no show of it. His smirk grows impossibly wide and begins to move around once more. 

The rest of the room fades away. He can see no others in the ballroom. His gaze is focused on you and you alone. He whispers jokes to you and feels his heart warm when you toss your head back in laughter. 

With you, he’s not the prince. 

He’s just Schlatt. 

He couldn’t be more thankful for you.

You couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed as Prince Schlatt dances you across the room. Your father always told you not paying attention to your mother’s dance lessons would come back to bite you. You never thought you’d see the day that would come to fruition. 

But he moved you around with such ease that it made you feel as if you were floating. It didn’t matter you didn’t know how to dance, he was there. He was helping you through. He was there for you. 

Your mind takes that thought and runs with it. 

You think back to you waiting everyday eagerly for his letters to arrive. The way you blossomed under his praise, both of you and your baking. Ever since the moment you met him, he always was there to catch you. You can’t think of a single moment in the past couple months where your mind wasn’t filled with the thoughts of him. 

He has always been there. 

The music ends and the two of you bow to each other. A round of applause startles the two of you out of your bubble. You look around and find several other couples had joined you on the dance floor, but most people had stayed pressed on the sidelines, watching the dances. Those are the ones that were now applauding. Your face flushes once more and you duck your head down as you step off of Prince Schaltt’s feet and away from him. 

If the prince notices you trying to put distance between the two of you, he doesn’t make it known. He instead grabs your hand once more, pressing another kiss to the back of your hand. 

“Come on, I must introduce you.” He states simply before moving towards the front of the room where his family sat. 

Your heart leaps to your throat, eyes widening as the royal family draws nearer and nearer. Somewhere in your brain had registered that if your Sir Charming was the Prince Schlatt, then his father would then be King Philza. But that didn’t actually click until now. 

Until the King, Queen, and other Prince were rising to meet you. 

“Father, Mother… brother,” Schlatt greets with a wide smile giving them a bow. “It is my honor to introduce you to my guest of honor for the evening.” You can barely believe it’s your name that then falls from his lips. 

Through the fog in your head, you thank yourself for remembering to give a deep bow to the royal family of the land. “Your majesties. Thank you for allowing me… everyone into your home. Everything about this ball is beautiful and perfect.” You give yourself a pat on the back for sliding in that compliment. 

“Everything except the pastries from the local baker it seems.” King Philza’s tone is so deep and regal it’s incredibly hard to register the joking tone. 

You swallow hard. “Forgive me, your highness. Mr. Hamani and I have never gotten along. I should not have brought our feud inside your home.” 

King Philza gives a dismissive wave. 

“It’s quite alright, dear.” Queen Kristen speaks up, her tone soft and gentle. “Sometimes men allow their egos to get in the way.” 

You can’t help but giggle along with her and nod along. 

“Dear!” King Philza lets out in a slight aghast tone. 

“Oh do not tell me I am wrong, my love. You should know this better than anyone.” 

The King does not have a response back for that. He instead turns back around and catches your eye. His gaze is so piercing you cannot help but look down at your feet. “We will not keep you any longer. Please, enjoy the ball.” 

“But I haven’t had a chance to talk with them yet!” Prince Tommy whines, stepping forward to stand with his father. 

The King rests a hand on his back and opens his mouth to speak but Prince Schaltt cuts him off. “Nor will you ever. We are off to enjoy the ball now. Farewell.” 

Before anyone in his family can get a word in, Prince Schlatt pulls you away. He beelines to the snack table, the people around it parting to allow him access to the table. Almost all of your baked goods are gone, stuffed in the hands of the attendees, all wanting to see just what made Prince Schlatt deny the local baker. 

Schlatt snaggs two of the double chocolate chip cookies and one of the brookies from the table and continues on his way, still pulling you away. Instead of stopping somewhere in the grand ballroom, he pulls you completely out of the castle and into the royal gardens. 

He stops in front of a bench in front of a fountain. He takes a seat and pats the bench next to him, silently inviting you to sit down. 

You do not sit down.

Instead, you take a couple paces back and forth in front of him, before you turn on your heel to face him. “I cannot fucking believe you!” You finally let out all of your nerves and frustrations into the sentence. 

Prince Schlatt startles slightly, coughing as a crumb of his cookies go down the wrong pipe. He clears his throat and goes to speak up but you don’t give him the chance. 

“You fucking asshole. You let me talk shit about your father… about you to your face the first time we met. Let me talk about your mutton chops. Never stopping to correct me or let me know who you were. You let me call you Sir Charming, never once stopping to tell me your name. How did I let this go this far? You let me write you letters everyday and you wrote me back! You told me so much about you and your life, but didn’t tell me this? This seems pretty fucking big, your highness. Oh my fucking gods. Oh my gods. I can’t fucking believe you. Holy fucking shit. You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

You can’t stop your hand from coming up and slapping his shoulder, pushing him back, not hard enough to push him off but hard enough to prove a point. 

He says nothing for a few moments, letting you breathe through it and calm down, before a grin splits his face. “Yeah. But it was hot. I liked being put in my place during our first meeting. It was interesting to hear your perspective. Someone talking to a complete stranger, not trying to kiss my ass and make me feel good about myself… though with the way you were talking about my chops, maybe you did just a bit of the latter anyway.” 

You let out a frustrated groan as the heat floods your cheeks. “Fuck you.” 

He reaches out and cups your cheek, bringing you down a bit to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, yeah.” 

You take a few more deep breaths before allowing yourself to plop down beside him. You rest your head against his shoulder, forgetting your properness for a moment, taking another deep breath. “I can’t fucking believe you.” You mutter one final time. 

Schlatt turns and presses a kid to the top of your head before resting his head on the top of your head. He lets the silence sit for a while before he clears his throat and speaks again. “I am sorry, by the way.” 

You don’t speak, which he’s partially grateful for, it allows him to process his thoughts further. But on the other hand, he can’t see your face so he can’t tell if the silence is back. 

“I am sorry for not telling you. For lying about who I am… I… You didn’t know me and yet I wanted to know you…but I knew I wouldn’t get that chance if I was honest about who I was. You had a preconceived notion about who I am and I wanted a chance to show you that’s not all of who I am… I didn’t mean for the lie to go on this long. And I do feel back for lying. And I really am sorry.” 

Your silence kills him. His heart hammers in his chest. But then he feels you turn and nervously press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you.” The three words are the sweetest he’s ever fall from the lips of another. “I get it. I appreciate your apology and I forgive you, Prince Schlatt.” 

“Jonathon.” 

The name escapes his lips before he can stop it. 

“Hmm?” You hum, pull your head from his shoulder to look him in the eye, your brows furrowed. 

His eyes meet your and his heart pounds quickly in his chest. His stomach turning over and over again, churning with nerves. “Jonathon. My name is Jonathon. Call me Jonathon.” 

“Jonathon.” You echo. 

Schlatt takes back his previous thoughts. Several people have called him his given name before. But this? Now? When it falls from your lips? It is certainly the sweetest it has ever sounded. 

He gives a small nod with a shy smile. 

“I forgive you, Jonathon.” 

He could pass away right then and there. 

“I’m sorry I had to step on your feet so you could dance me around the ballroom.” 

“I forgive you… would you like me to teach you how to dance?”

“Would you?” 

“I would. I wouldn’t offer if I wouldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to dance in front of everyone.”

“Who said anything about going back to the ballroom. We can dance right here.” 

Schlatt leads you through several steps very slowly, picking up the pace only after he was sure you were comfortable with the steps. 

Soon enough you were dancing like a pro. So much so that you could focus on the conversation between the two of you rather than the steps you were taking. 

The two of you talked and danced privately in the gardens all night. You offered several times to go back to the ballroom, the man throwing the ball should at least be in there for longer than a couple moments. He ignored that and said he would rather spend time with the one he threw it for. You can’t help but blush at that. 

You’re having such a fun time that you almost forget about the magic’s stipulation. Almost. 

 Jonathon spins you around once more, and pulls you in close to his chest. When you look up at him, you see he’s suddenly a lot closer than you realized. “Oh!” you let out softly. “Sorry,” you apologize, going to move away. 

Jonathon’s hold on you tightens, keeping you in place. “No need to be sorry… I like having you close,” he whispers. Your eyes stray down to his lips as he speaks. They look so soft… so plush… so kissable. 

“I like being close to you,” the confession uttered before you can stop it. 

The corners of his lips up turn in a small smile. The two of you stand there, frozen in time for a moment before he begins to lean in. You move to meet him. Your lips are about to meet when the grandfather clock that sits across the garden echoes out a loud chime. 

It causes you to jump and turn to look at it. 

It’s midnight. 

“Oh fuck.” You let out. “Is that clock accurate?” You ask, pulling yourself from Jonathan’s arms. 

He frowns, brows furrowing slightly, following your gaze. “Oh that old thing? Uhhh, just about. It’s 15 minutes fast. Why?” 

You ignore his question and begin to move back toward the inside of the castle. “Fuck. I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll see you later. I have to go.” 

“Wait,” He calls after you, calling your name. “Slow down. Come back. Please. You don’t have to leave.” 

“You don’t understand,” You call back, picking up your pace. “I do.” 

Without paying attention, you burst back into the ballroom. Several eyes falling on you, eyebrows raised. You pay no mind still and run, trying to push your way past everyone in the room, but people keep coming up to you to talk to you. 

A hand on your wrist spins you around and you lock eyes with those beautiful chestnuts you’ve grown so fond of. His eyes scream worry and panic, silently begging you to stop running. 

You yourself must look panicked and frantic in a different way. Like a wild animal that has been caged and is about to start lashing out. 

“Please.” You whisper. “Help me.” 

The grip on your wrist loosens. Schlatt may not understand, but he will always do everything he can in order to be the person you need at any given moment. 

“Everyone!” He calls out loudly, moving towards the refreshment table. “Please come over here and join me in a toast to celebrate this evening.” 

The crowd instantly leaves you, allowing you a path to exit the room and then the castle. You’ve never been happier to see the grass as you are now. 

“Stop! Wait! Halt in the name of the Prince!” You turn slightly and look over your shoulder and find a knight with fluffy brown hair and square glasses chasing after you. In the moment, you recognize him as Charlie, one of Schlatt’s best friends/knights. 

“Oh fuck!” You shout. The magic was starting to fade already, you can tell, because all of the sudden it was hard to run in your glass shoes. You bend down and kick them both into your awaiting hands. You turn for a sharp moment, throwing one of your shoes at the knight. He lets out a loud startled scream, stopping for just long enough for you to run to your carriage. 

“Go! Go! Go!” You shout at your footmen and lady. They waste no time before kicking up and bolting out and away from the palace. You look out the window and find Charlie has stopped chasing you, one hand on his hip, the other holding your glass shoe up to the light in an inspection. 

You slump back in your seat, letting out a deep sigh. 

“That was way too close.” 

After getting all of his guests to make a toast, Schlatt books it out of the ballroom. He races to the front lawn. His head whips back and forth, peering down the road to try and see any sign of a moving carriage. 

Footsteps sound from either side of him. His head turns and he meets the eyes of Ted who gives a pitying look and a shake of his head. Schlatt looks to the other side and meets Charlie’s eyes who also shakes his head. His eyes drift down to Charlie’s hands, and there was the shoe. Your beautiful glass shoe. 

Schlatt slowly reaches out and carefully takes the shoe from his friend’s grasp and clutches it to his chest. He turns his eyes back down the main road, staring off letting out a soft sigh. Hands clasp on both of his shoulders in a silent comfort. 

The magic faded when you were nearly home. You had to herd a sheep, two mice, and your carrier pigeon back home all while carrying your big ass pumpkin in slightly damp clothes barefoot as you had thrown your one shoe and taken off the other. Your shoe though did not fade with the magic, you weren’t sure if that made you happy or sad. By the time you made it back, you were exhausted. You quickly put everything back where it was supposed to go, taking a quick shower, tucking the shoe under your bed, and collapsing in your room. 

You’re not sure how long you were asleep for before the door to your room slammed open. It startles you awake from your deep sleep. You look up and in a silhouette from the hallway light, is your stepmother. Your heart leaps to your throat, trying to take deep breaths in through your nose trying to calm down. 

“Stepmother,” you greet groggily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You insolent child.” She hisses. “I thought I made myself very clear. You were not to go to the ball. And what do you do, but steal the prince away for the whole evening?” 

“I do not know what you’re speaking about, stepmother.” 

She shoots a sharp glare at you. “You know exactly what I speak of… No matter. With the way you went running from the ball I’m sure the prince realized his mistake. Choosing you to dance and spend time with. With the way he let you go, I’m sure it’s that he realized you are not and will never be good enough for him. You? A low life orphan baker? Royalty? Never.” 

Her words sting like the venom they are. But you can’t help but realize she’s right. No matter what you do, you’ll always be an orphan that so happens to be good at baking. You would be an awful royal. 

Maybe that’s why he chose to help you escape rather than continue to chase after you. 

Maybe he realized it too. 

You will the tears to not fall as you stick your chin out a little further. “I do not know what you’re speaking about, stepmother. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to get some more sleep.” 

She is a touch surprised at your instance, certain that her words would break you. She gives you another glare, but grabs the doorknob and slams the door to your bedroom. 

You flop back on your bed and stare up at the ceiling for a long moment. You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears pool in your ear canal. You bring your hands up and wipe them away, rolling onto your side and clutching at one of your pillows. 

You had to end it… whatever it was. 

The clock on his wall warns him it’s 3 am, but Schlatt ignores it in favor of pacing back and forth in front of a table where the shoe was perched. Every so often he paused to look over the shoe before pacing again. 

“Why did you run?” He asks the shoe, staring at it as if it will give a response. “Where did you go… why did you throw this shoe at Charlie’s head?” A small smile breaks on his face as he pictures the scene Charlie described to him three hours ago. “I would have given anything to see it… to be there myself… to stop you myself.” 

He stands still for a moment longer before pacing again. 

“Maybe… maybe you found it all to be too much…” He speaks, slowing down his steps. “It all caught up to you… didn’t it. It all sank in. You realized truly who I was and you had to get out… You… you don’t want me.” 

He stops again, plopping down on the edge of his bed. “I suppose I can’t fault you… But I deeply wish you hadn’t run.” He flops backwards and stares up at the ceiling. 

It was going to end… whatever it was. 

Schlatt didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until he wakes up. He spends a good amount of time staring up at the ceiling. Every knock on the door gets a “go away” as he lays in bed wallowing in his own self pity. The knocks stop for a couple hours. But then they’re back again. 

Schlatt startles out of his thought spiral and this knock on the door, this one louder than all the others. He groans at the sound, rolling over on his side and tugging a pillow over his head, blocking out most of the noise. “Go away,” He calls out, tucking himself into his bed further. 

The silence makes him believe whoever was outside listened to him. That is until the door opens and shuts behind him. He groans from the back of his throat, rolling himself over and sitting up. “I said, go away-- father-” He interrupts himself as his eyes meet his father’s green ones. 

Philza raises an eyebrow and the corners of his lips turn up slightly at his son’s behavior. “Good day to you too, Jonathan.” 

“Good day, dad.” Schlatt mumbles, sitting himself up properly. Schlatt moves his feet up slightly to make room for Philza as he moves and sits down on the end of Schlatt’s bed. 

Philza’s hand smooths over the blankets as he gives a glance around the room. His eyes catch on the shoe, still propped up on the table. “They gave you their shoe?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone. 

Schlatt huffs a laugh. “More like, threw it at Charlie’s head.” 

Philza doesn’t hold back and lets the laugh escape his lips. “Oh I knew I liked them. You picked well son. An excellent love match.” 

Schlatt sighs and turns to lay on his side, back facing his dad. “Apparently not. She ran away. I assume because she couldn’t handle me… who I really am. I don’t blame her after all the time I spent lying to her.” 

Phil furrows his brow and questions what Schlatt means by that. With nothing left to hide, Schlatt divulges the entire relationship. How they met and met again (which Phil was not happy about but decided now was not the time to bring it up) and how they sent letters to each other nearly everyday and how he knew they didn’t know his name but never told them his name or who he really is. How he had thrown the ball hoping they’d come and they did and how it has all been for them but it’s all been for nother. 

Phil nods along, listening carefully. He lets Schlatt take deep breaths after his rant. “I knew something was up.” Schlatt meets his eyes, curious but does not speak. “You’ve been so much happier in these past few weeks than I can remember… And you were so insistent on a love match. Deep down I knew… So my only question is why the hell are you moping around this room when you should be out there looking for them?”

“Didn’t you hear me, dad? They don’t want me. They ran away.” 

“Did they tell you they didn’t want you? Look you in the eyes and say ‘Prince Schlatt I do not want you?’”

“No but--”

“No buts, son. I haven’t seen you this happy in years. I know that you’re in love with them, whether you realize it or not. I know because you look at them the same way I look at your mother. And they wouldn’t have spent the whole night with you if they didn’t love you too. They wouldn’t have given you a clue telling you to come get them if they didn’t.” Philza motions to the shoe. “So again, I ask you. Why the hell are you moping around this room when you should be out there looking for them?”

The words resonate with Schlatt, filling him with hope, that maybe, just maybe you love him like he loves you… damn. Yeah. He loves you. 

“You’re right… I have to go dad, I have to…” Schlatt shoots up out of bed and digs through his closet and throws on a random outfit. “I have to get Ted and Charlie and a whole group and we have to go looking. Door to door. I have to find them. I am going to find them.” He runs a hand through his hair before whipping around to face his father with a grin. He rushes forward and presses a kiss on his father’s cheek. “Thanks, dad.” 

You sat staring at the blank piece of paper in front of you. What to say to the man that makes you feel everything. You twirl your pen in between your fingers a couple times. Letting out a sigh, you lean back for a moment, looking out the window. Your attention gets caught by the pigeon beside you who lets out a coo. You sigh again, reaching out and giving the bird scritches. “Hey there,” you murmur. The bird leans into your fingers, rubbing against you more. “Yeah… I know this letter won’t write itself.” The bird cocks its head and coos. “Yeah, just one more letter… a goodbye. I know you must be excited, you won’t have to carry my messages anymore.” Another coo. “Well, of course I’ll let you fly around outside. I’m not a monster.” It blinks at you. “Well I have to tell him something! I can’t just stop speaking to him. I need him to know… It’s quite literally not him. It’s me. I’ll never deserve him… no matter how much I care… for him.” The bird lets out a sharp and short coo. “Fucking hell. You’re right. I love him. Gods damn it I love him so much. Oh this is going to be a nightmare.” 

Schlatt sighs in frustration as he and his knights trudge to the castle. They’ve knocked on every single door in the kingdom and not a single one did you stand behind it. The sun was setting the knights stomachs were grumbling so Schlatt decided to call it a day and head back to the castle, determined to start again tomorrow. 

He picks at his dinner, tossing and turning it over with his fork, giving half hearted replies to questions that he’s really not paying attention to. He can’t help but replay every interaction he’s had with you over again, followed closely by several notable interactions he had throughout the day. One where the woman had caked her face in flour hoping to prove herself to be the baker. Another that when she answered the door said “I am not interested!” with a smug smile, as if she really did something, and then slammed the door in his face. As if he would be interested in her? He very clearly was looking for someone. 

His head is heavy with everyone he’s seen and spoken to today, he’s just ready to turn in for the night. 

And then he hears it. 

That beautiful coo he’s grown accustomed to listening for every day. The tell tale sign that you have sent him a letter. It’s Bob. Your carrier pigeon. 

And he has a letter attached to his leg. 

Schlatts posture instantly straightens and he holds out his finger, letting out a soft coo of his own. Everyone turned in confusion and watched Schlatt. Ted was about to speak before Bob landed on his fingers and stuck out his leg. Schlatt carefully took the rolled paper and fed the pigeon a couple nuts

Schlatt carefully unrolled the letter and began to read. 

My dearest, Prince Charming, 

I guess now that I know who you truly are it is only correct that I change the sir in your title to Prince. My prince… I had the most magical time last evening with you. Dancing around in your private garden is certainly something I will never forget and will always be grateful for. It was so incredibly sweet of you to give me your undivided attention. 

It unfortunately has come to my own attention that I am not good for you. I do not deserve you my sweet prince. I could never be someone that you deserve. I am a simple orphan that happens to be good at baking. No matter how hard I would try, you would always be way out of my league. 

I hope you find the love match that you seek. I hope you find someone good and kind, with a loving heart that will deserve you and be someone worthy of your love and care. Someone worthy of you throwing an entire ball for them. I don’t know how I ever thought I could be that person. I am so sorry…

I love you, Jonathon. 

But you deserve so much more than me. 

Yours, 

Your name is signed at the bottom of the letter as it always is. He reads the second to last line, once, twice, a thousand times, until he’s convinced himself that it’s real. That you really wrote that you love him. He didn’t care about the other stuff that you wrote. Well he kind of did. But he knew it was bullshit. If anything it’s him who doesn’t deserve you. 

If only he could find you to tell you this….

And then it hits him. 

He springs up from the table and rushes out, startling everyone in the dining room with him. The pigeon flaps its wings and lands on his shoulder, used to being carted around. Schlatt runs to his room where he grabs a pen and paper of his own. He scribbles “I love you,” before snatching the shoe off the table and rushing outside. Ted and Charlie rush out behind him, confused at the rush. 

“Schlatt, what are we doing?” They ask. 

Schlatt elects to ignore them as he hands Bob the messily rolled piece of paper. “Here, Bob. Show me the way to them.” Bob takes the paper, coos softly, and takes off. 

Schlatt instantly begins to race after the bird, Ted and Charlie following close behind. How relieved he was to finally find a way to find you. Bob would certainly lead him to you. He could only hope he could keep up with the bird. 

Schlatt was feeling winded by the time he reached the small house on the edge that borders the kingdom and the forest. He hadn’t thought to make his way all the way out here, thinking you lived closer to the village with the way you walked to the market. Obviously he had been wrong. 

Either way, he could only pray that Bob had led him to the right place. 

He couldn’t tell if the tightness in his chest and the shortness of breath was just from him running all this way or if it was his nerves. He decided to call it ‘a bit of column a and a little of column b’ and call it a night. 

The three approached the door, each taking deep breaths calming themselves from the journey taken to get here. Schlatt looks over his shoulder apprehensively at Ted and Charlie. He had knocked on over a hundred doors today, it didn’t make sense that this was the one he got nervous on. 

His best friends each gave him an easy smile and a kind and encouraging nod, eager for the prince to knock. Schlatt turned back to the door, letting out a breath, shaking his arms out, before reaching up and giving a sturdy knock. 

It’s silent on the other side of the door for a long moment. Schlatt’s heart pounds so hard in his chest he has to swallow hard to get it back down to his chest. The door know turns quickly and the door is pulled open and an older woman stands before him. He tries to not let his disappointment show, especially as surprise and utter delight paints her face. 

The woman drops to a quick curtsy. “Your highness,” she greets. Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard and it takes everything Schlatt has to not visibly recoil. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

A small bout of hope flutters down his spine causing Schlatt to stand straighter at the word “we.” “I am not sure if you have heard, but have been searching the entire kingdom for the one I danced with last night. Do you have any children, my lady?” 

The woman brightens up even more and squares her shoulders back. “As a matter of fact I do. I have two.” The woman turns and cups her mouth. “GIRLS,” She hollers, causing the boys to shutter at the loud call. 

Footsteps race across the wooden floor and two younger women appear. Schlatt feels a huge wave of disappointment was over his being as he looks at their faces and realizes they’re not you. He doesn’t hide his distaste as the girls push each other, trying to stand straighter and puff out their chest larger than the other.

“Neither of these young women are who I am looking forward… Does anyone else live here? A servant or a stable hand? Perhaps a cook?” Schlatt asks, taking a single step forward, looking around the room hoping for some kind of sign of you. 

The woman’s face sours at the question before her mask gets put back in it’s place. “No one else, your highness. Although I can assure you, my daughters are perfectly suitable--” 

“What’s that?” Schlatt interrupts as a noise sounds from one of the adjacent rooms. It sounded like metal being set down on a counter. “I thought you said no one else lived here.” 

The woman swallows harshly and moves to stand in front of the door. “That… that is just the cook your highness, they do not live here… or at least soon will not,” she mutters the latter part with venom before turning back to Schlatt, a perfect smile posing on her lips. “No one to concern yourself with, truly.” 

Any sense of trust for the woman is washed away when the scent hits his nose. He would be able to pick that scent out of a million different ones. It’s one of the best things he’s ever smelled. 

He would be able to recognize the scent of your double chocolate chip cookies. 

And he knows you’re in there. 

“By order of the king, I demand you step aside.” He barely recognizes his voice as it escapes his lips. It’s deep and authoritative… damn as each day passes he sounds more and more like his father… he’ll have to correct that. 

The woman opens his lips to protest. 

Deciding he wants to hear no more of his voice, he gently pushes the woman’s shoulder out of the way. His hand finds the door knob and he throws open the door without care. He breath is ripped from his lungs as he sees the person who stands in the kitchen… in front of those unmistakable chocolate chocolate chip cookies.

“It’s you.” 

The door slamming open scares the shit out of you. 

The entire day you had been lost in your own head. You finished the letter and gave it to your pigeon to take to Schlatt. As soon as it had left your sight, you made your way to the kitchen in a daze where you let yourself begin baking whatever your heart was feeling in the moment. 

It was only when you were beginning to clean up the batter dishes did you realize what you had made… and who you had made it for. You let yourself drift back into your head as you watched the cookies bake  through the oven window. You knew you would probably never see him again. Especially not after this letter. 

You took them out of the oven and let the pan clatter to the counter without much of a care. The soft cooing of your pigeon drew your attention away. You turned to greet it when you caught sight of the paper on it’s leg. Confusion fills you as you carefully take the paper. 

I love you.

It can’t be. 

The door bursts open, causing you to jump and whip around. Those damn fucking beautiful eyes. They always seem to follow you. To haunt you. Especially in your own house, those fucking chesnut brown eyes that say everything that you want to hear all without saying a word.

“It’s you.” 

Oh fuck he’s actually here. 

What the fuck? 

What is he doing here???

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he surges forward. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other moving behind your neck, hand moving up to cradle the back of your head. “What are you doing here? Why did you run away?” 

You stare at him in disbelief, mouth opening and closing a few times. “Did you not get my letter? I’m no good for you, Jon--Prince Schlatt, I do not deserve you, your highness. You deserve someone much better than me. Surely you--” 

“Don’t you understand,” he whispers, cutting you off. “There is no one better.” 

“But your highness--” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“What?”

“You know what. Don’t call me that. That’s not my name. Not to you.” 

You let out a sigh and rub your flour coated hands on your apron. “Jonathon.” 

The smile that spreads across his face nearly makes you melt into a puddle. “There it is.” He murmurs, drawing his face closer to yours. “That’s my name.”

“Jonathon,” You repeat, trying to pull your blushing face away from his to no avail. You clear your throat and continue. “As per my letter, you deserve so much better than me. I am sure you can find someone-” 

“Did you mean it?”

You look at him partly confused, partly annoyed at him continuing to interrupt you. “Mean what?” 

“Did you mean it when you signed that you love me?” 

Your heart stops in your chest. You forgot you said that part. You don’t think you would have said it had you known it would have caused him to come bursting into your kitchen. You look at him in disbelief, is he not hearing your words? He surely read the letter. Why is he being so insistent on this? 

You could never lie to him though. 

You clear your throat and move your shoulders back. You meet his eyes head on. “Yes. I did. But-” 

“I love you too.” 

The world stops again. “What?” 

“As per my letter,” he says, a shit eating grin playing on his lips. The shock flowing through your body stops you from rolling your eyes. “I love you.” 

You remember the small piece of paper that was surely on the floor now that you took from the pigeon just moments ago. Obviously that’s who the paper was from. You swallow hard. “Sure you can’t-” 

“But surely I can. I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you called me a big petty man-baby who looked hotter now than I did before.” 

“I… I…’”

“I love you,” He utters, moving impossibly closer to your face. “I always have. You are all I want. You deserve so much better than me… But I’m hoping you’ll lower your standards and settle for me anyway.” 

His eyes shine so brightly. Those damn, fucking, beautiful eyes. They stare at you, hopeful, waiting with bated breath for your answer. They stare so intensely at you… You never want them to look away. 

It’s you that closes the distance and presses your lips to his. He instantly responds, tugging you closer to his chest and kissing you back. The kiss makes your body sing in delight. The spark starts at the base of your spine where his hand connects to your body and shoots out, encasing you completely. From the tippity top of your head to the bippity bottom of your toes. 

He consumes you. Completely. Totally. Entirely. 

You pull away breathless from the kiss, meeting his eyes. “I love you, Jonathon. I want to be yours. Please. I want to be yours, if you’ll have me?” 

Jonathon lets out a breathless laugh and shakes his head once. “Oh sweets, you’ve always been mine. I’ve always been yours. From the moment I met you. I’ve been hooked, sweets. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.” 

He leans forward again and presses his lips to yours. You eagerly respond, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

After you break apart again, Schlatt tells you to pack your things. You don’t have much here anyway so it doesn’t take you long. Your step family could only watch with crossed arms as you moved about, taking your things. You would miss the house you grew up in, but you were more than excited to begin your new journey. 

Schlatt made Ted and Charlie help carry your things. Ted cursed at Schlatt for not thinking to grab a carriage or at least a horse in the pursuit of you. That spun a whole argument between the two, leaving you to converse with Charlie. 

You gave the man a shy smile. “Sorry for throwing my shoe at you… I panicked about someone following me. 

Charlie gives a chuckle and a smile. “It’s no worries. I’m just glad you made it home safely.” 

“Yeah me too! The magic gave out and I was left carrying a huge ass pumpkin home… My back hurt like hell this morning.”

Charlie tilts his head and gives you a curious look. “Not what I meant… but I do want to hear more about this magic.”

“What did you mean then?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, his head simply moves to where Schlatt and Ted were now in a physical altercation, Schlatt attempting to put Ted in a chokehold. 

A fuzzy feeling floods your chest.

He is your home… isn’t he?

Small Epilogue 

The two of you marry quickly. The royal family welcome you with open arms. They help teach you the ways of the royals but never make you feel less than for being a commoner before the marriage. You never stop baking, you think Schlatt would throw a huge fit if you ever did. He constantly blamed you for his “twink death.” And although you’re not entire sure what that means, you’re sure that happened way before he met you. 

You two love each other openly and loudly. It brings smiles to everyone’s faces to see the prince this lovey dovey with someone. There will always be those that disapprove, but Schlatt is there to hold your hand and tell them to fuck off. 

He reminds you he loves you every single minute of every single day… you think maybe he lays it on a little thick in particular when he wants you to bake something in particular. You never mind though. It’s your baked goods that brought you together in the first place. 

Who are you to deny your love the thing that the two of you bonded over first? 

Especially when he loves you with every fiber of his being… 

…and maybe even more so when you make him chocolate chocolate chip cookies…

And they lived happily ever after.  The End

As per usual, I am shit at writing endings. Thank you for reading my 16.3k word self indulgent fic <3

Leave a like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyeddddd

okay byeeeeeeee back to my several year hiatusssss

im still on tumblr even if i don't post my writing so you can always message meeeeeeee <3

byeeeeeeeeee <3

[lam-ila]

The Bet || Brock Boeser

Summary: Attending a family skate with your brother, Elias, reveals your relationship with his teammate, Brock.

Word Count: 1,051

Warnings: none (please let me know if you find any that i should add)

NHL Masterlist

a/n: this is for @cellythefloshie’s birthday bingo!! happy (early) birthday celly! i hope you like this!

the prompts i chose are “i bet…”, secret lovers, at the rink for the free space, inspired by (henry viii it’s a weird one ik but it was a fun little tidbit to include), and brother’s teammate

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

Your brother, Elias Pettersson, invited you to the Canucks’ family skate. It was a tradition for you to go every year and you weren’t going to break tradition this year. However, this year was different; this year, you were not only going as Elias’ sibling, but also as Brock’s partner.

Except no one knew that. No one except you and Brock.

So there you were, at the family skate as Elias’ sibling, not Brock’s partner.

You were on your second lap around the ice with your brother when Quinn called him over. Taking that as an opportunity to talk to your boyfriend, you skated over to Brock, hoping that Quinn would take a while to talk to Elias.

“Hey babe.” Brock greeted you with a smile, trying to take your hand in his. You skated a little to the left, creating a bigger distance between the two of you.

“Brock!” You scolded him. “Elias is right there.”

“So?” He asked, skating to left, just like you had, to lessen the distance. “I bet you can hang out with me for the rest of the family skate without him noticing.”

“Um…” You glanced over to Elias and Quinn who were already on the other side of the ice. “Sure why not? Ten bucks?” Brock dramatically shook his head, making you laugh.

“Nope, I’m not taking money for this bet.”

“Then what do you want?” You scrunched your face, confused at what Brock wanted.

“If I’m right, we tell Elias about us.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“We tell Elias about us.”

“No.” You stated while starting to skate away from Brock, but before you could leave, he caught your hand, halting you in your tracks.

“Oh come on,” Brock skated up to you after letting go of your hand, so that you were both in line with each other again. “it’s been three months. He deserves to know.”

“He’s not gonna be happy.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I know that. He’s my brother. I know him.”

“He’s my teammate and my friend. I know him too. He’ll be fine.” You stayed quiet for a bit, contemplating whether or not to go along with the bet.

“Alright fine.” You broke your silence. “Let’s see if he notices that I’m with you.”

—————

You and Brock skated around the ice together for a little under an hour longer with you constantly having to avoid and ignore Brock’s attempts to hold your hand. You understood that he wanted to be vocal about your relationship, but you weren’t ready for that yet; as much as you wanted the world to know, you felt as if there was an anchor holding you back, especially when it came to telling Elias. You knew he wanted what was best for you and what was best for Brock, but you were unsure if what he thought was best for the both of you was each other.

“You two have been chatty today.” Elias said, seemingly coming out of nowhere as you were focused on your thoughts. You slightly shook your head as if mentally rewinding your memories to remember what he said.

“Brock and I were just-” you started before Brock cut you off.

“We’re dating.” He sternly said.

“No.” Elias spurted out, stopping in his tracks. “No you’re not.”

“Yes we are.” Brock gently took your hand in his and this time, you let him. “We’ve been together for three months.”

“No you’re not.” Elias repeated, a little louder this time.

“Elias please,” you added, looking around at everyone skating around you three. “you’re making a scene.”

“I’m making a scene?” He perplexedly exclaimed. “You’re the ones who have kept this a secret from me!” You looked around once again, noticing more people starting to stare at you.

“Can we at least get off the ice?” Elias followed your gaze, noticing the stares present upon your trio.

“Yeah, sure.” He quietly said, skating away and off the ice. He plopped himself on one of the benches, aggressively untying his skates and focusing all of his attention to them to avoid looking at you. You trailed behind him with Brock trailing behind you and sat yourself next to your brother. Before you could lean down to untie your skates, Brock crouched down to untie them for you.

“E?” You asked while looking at him, unsure of how he would respond. He continued to avoid your glance, reaching for his running shoes and putting them on. “Elias please, talk to me.” Brock finished taking off your skates, handing you your running shoes. You followed your brother’s actions and put them on.

“My shoes are over there.” Brock pointed away from the bench you and Elias were seated at. “I’m gonna go get them.” You and Brock locked eyes as you gave him a quick and short nod, silently telling him that you and Elias needed some time to talk to alone. Once Brock was out of earshot, Elias spoke up.

“I want what’s best for both of you, but I’m not sure if…” He trailed off, virtually confirming what you already assumed. You stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. “He’s been in five relationships since I’ve met him,” Elias hesitantly continued, voice slightly quivering. “all of which have ended terribly.” Your brother finally turned his head to look at you, although he still couldn’t find it in himself to meet your gaze. “I don’t want that to happen to either one of you.”

You took a deep breath, thinking of the right thing to say.

“I understand,” you looked over at Brock sitting at a bench further away from you, then back at your brother. “but you have have to have a little faith in us, in me.” You paused, studying Elias’ face to try and figure out what he was thinking. “Please trust us just a little when we tell you that we made a good decision.”

You looked back over to Brock, who was now looking at you and you motioned with your head for him to come back.

“Okay fine, I just-” Elias sighed heavily, cutting himself off. He turned to Brock and pointedly stated “Don’t. Hurt. Them.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.” Brock said, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Good because if you do, I’m coming for you.”

——————————

NHL Tags: @readyfreddy @jostystyles @jimothystu @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @11livpangburn @matthewkniesys @lifeofpriya @fallinallincurls @islesnucks @jimmystrudel

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[sourbinnie]

☆ home ☆

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> angst ; hurt/comfort ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> skz + 9th member!reader (gender neutral) ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> the truth is out (again) but this time it brings tears along the way. ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> none ♡ request ¿? ♡ -> yes!

old faces, new smiles

a/n: i didn't do the same scenario cus i didn't wanna be repetetive but i did something quite similar, that's why i'm putting the og fic link! hope you enjoy it and thank you for requesting<3 / also this one is in first person and idk why, it just came out that way.

i knew doing one of these interviews where they asked nonstop questions about your past, your family and just how your idol journey started was gonna be difficult. i already went through telling my members that i was on hybe before, yet now i found yourself in a similar situation. reliving memories was not hard but having to share them in such a deep space with others and not shed a tear or two was gonna be a challenge.

i sat down with the rest of your members and prepared myself as hyunjin held my hand carefully. he knew i was nervous about these kinds of things, i was one of the shy members of the group and yet they always brought the best out of me when we talked.

"okay are we ready?" chan asked and everyone nodded. the conversation started with the older members sharing their best memories in jyp and how much their family meant and how they supported (or did not) them. it was a light and sweet conversation, there wasn't any tears but there were clear emotions in chan's voice, minho's expressions and changbin's movements. 

it wasn't hard to notice that i was really freaking out when they were sharing images and videos of us as trainees. it completely stopped when they showed the hybe dance practice rooms and my videos in there, doing choreographies i still remembered to this day and i knew it was my turn to speak. i laughed when they showed old photos with different idols that i still hold contact with these days. some really close friends, some that i haven't heard back from in a while, some that left like i did and some that debuted just now.

"it's insane how much potential you've always had (y/n)." changbin said it clearly and it took me by surprise because i wasn't expecting compliments this early and i got really embarrassed by those kinds of comments. they filled my soul but i never knew how to answer them. 

"even now looking at you, you grow more and more every day." minho mumbled and i still caught every word of his in my ear. it was truly wonderful seeing your elders appreciate you in such a moving way.

this is when the questions start so i prepared myself and i try to rethink what i went through.

"so as you all know, due to that interview with le sserafim, i was a hybe trainee. i spent most of my early teenage years training and made a lot of friends that i miss a lot these days but i hope to see someday." i took a deep breath 'cause even if they weren't completely gone, people just disappeared from my life left to right and i still miss them to this day. "it's insane how different it is from one company to the other but i left hybe with the best memories that i could and i made that decision myself."

"why did you decide to leave?" seungmin asked and i realized that i never was very clear on why i left, i just said that i had to move out and that jyp was closer. it wasn't so much like that but a bit more complex and i didn't want to sadden the mood that day but right now it felt like the situation was gonna be brought to that.

"i-i don't know exactly what it was. i just made the decision when i was going to debut that i wanted to leave the group because i didn't feel prepared mentally and physically to be an idol, which was a shame because i knew a lot of people wanted to be in my position and i felt like i was letting them down. so i decided to leave hybe and move to a different place." i said bitterly and honestly but with everything i was feeling at that moment. i knew my members right now would understand what i was saying but at the time i remember no one understanding my decision. 

i felt the tears the entire time in my eyes but right now i had let them go as they flowed through my cheeks. i grabbed a little tissue that jeongin was handing me and whispered a "thanks innie" as i wiped them away.

"what you did was incredibly brave. you put yourself first and what you needed at the time was that. i know it might be hard looking back and thinking that but for a reason you ended up here with us and i think we wouldn't be complete without you." chan said as he patted my back and i just gave him a little smile. it brought me back to where i was, with my friends, well more like my family.

"when i decided to get back to the idol life and back to my dream, i knew i had to go somewhere else. i just felt like i needed to start over again for me and for everyone to see that i could still do it. so i ended up at the competition with all of you and unfortunately got eliminated but then returned and since then i did not look back." i said smiling as everyone cheered and looked at me with a spark in their eyes. all i ever wanted was to make my members' proud and i felt like i was achieving that.

"you really did bring our joy when you came back (y/n), it wasn't easy without you. also felix and minho coming back was one of the best decisions!" jisung added as minho hit him in the shoulder for forgetting them but it just made me laugh. i sighed as i looked around and held hyunjin's hand still in mine.

"i just feel like it wasn't over, it never was. maybe i misread things at the time that i left but if it wasn't for that, i wouldn't have ended up here." i nodded and looked back at everyone. the way they were listening to every word i said was too much because i usually struggle with expressing emotions and saying the right things but i felt like i nailed it this time with how much they were giving me right now.

"i feel like you made the right choice. we wouldn't be having an ace right now if you didn't join back." felix said and i rolled my eyes 'cause i hated when they called me that. 

"two aces, don't forget about me." jisung said winking which made minho hit him again and i couldn't help but laugh again. god i loved this group so much and that wasn't gonna change ever. even right now as i was trying to hold back the tears because that conversation meant so much to me, they still managed to make me laugh every time that i needed it.

"i feel like i've said everything i have to say. stop showing pictures and videos of me please, i beg you." i said and what did they do? show more pics of pre debut me. 

"the fact that i've got most of these saved speaks volumes of me." hyunjin said, which made me drop his hand and look at him in disbelief. "it's blackmail because you have pictures of me as a baby!".

these are the discussions that are held on the dorms on a day to day basis. but either way, i wouldn't change it for anything in the world and i couldn't believe that i was brought to such a beautiful situation where i would meet my family, my friends, the ones that i would spend the rest of my days with if i could. everything felt on it's right place like i hoped it would and i could not be more thankful.

[justkpopjokes]

Espressivo’s Café || Lee Jihoon

Ft. Woozi + gender-neutral!reader

AU: coffee shop, except Jihoon can do magic with his music

Word Count: 868 words of bullet points

@kpopboops​: “scenario with coffee shop date aesthetic w/Woozi and then he plays his guitar or something ahdkglkslafmsm I’m soft 🥺”

A/N: Hi Lucy, you requested this LITERAL YEARS AGO and I’ve had this in my drafts since then 😭😭 I know you requested something soft but it’s me so I made it fantasy!! This was going to be a whole thing since there’s a lot of world building, but I canNot bring myself to finish it so here’s a short version ^^ maybe if anyone wants I can write a sequel with Woozi or another member in this world (requests open btw)

“Mom, I’m heading to Espressivo’s!”

“Oh, not that place again…honey, you know that area is crawling with those Pop heathens.”

“I know, Mom. I’ll be careful.”

Despite your family’s warnings, you never wanted to stop going to Espressivo’s Café

The café sat right at the edge of the wall which separated your home precinct with the next

But despite all that, it was the only place where Jihoon would be able to play for you!!

So you scurried on over to the coffee shop, excited for the serenade which awaited you there…

Long before you were even born, your homeland had been split into several precincts; each precinct had their own culture, formed around music

after the “Musicorum Division,” fences were built to separate the precincts

Now, you may be wondering, why were these precincts split up in the first place?

Music is your people’s way of life, you see, because it could influence the world around you

A simple melody could cause plants to grow or bread to rise

Naturally, people’s moods were affected as well

But like with any music, not all tunes were everyone’s cup of tea;

While the classical music you were used to was as calming as the sound of rain, the same notes could drench another person in sorrow and tears

So, people were separated into precincts based on whichever genre of music made them happiest

However, while you were from the Classical Precinct, your heart (and ears) longed for something more

And that’s what drew you to Jihoon, a musician from the Pop Precinct

The Pop Precinct was right beside yours, separated by a tall brick wall

Although anyone could travel between the walls at certain entrance points, they walls were built to prevent sound from passing through

That way, no pop music would be heard on your side of the wall (and vice-versa) to hurt anyone

However, one day, months ago, you were grabbing a drink at Espressivo’s Café

When you began to walk home, you heard a faint, jarring sound wafting through the air

It was a guitar strumming an upbeat tune—something you didn’t hear all too often

Following the sound brought you behind the café to a gap in the brick wall

A couple bricks had crumbled and fallen out here and there, letting the sound waves through

You noticed a boy sat there, but on the Pop Precinct side; he gazed through the gaps in the wall, playing for a flower that was growing on the other side

The music stopped the moment you said “hello” to the stranger musician

You: “Sorry! I didn’t meant to—“

???: “It’s okay.”

After a moment of silence, the musician began to play again

You didn’t say a word, instead taking a seat yourself and enjoying the drink you had bought at the café

After about 10 minutes of playing, you ask the stranger’s name

And that’s how you met Jihoon, an aspiring composer!!

In the present, months later, you’ve met up with Jihoon at the wall at least once every week

He’s not really the talkative type, instead preferring to express himself through his music

And you’re okay with that!

Unlike other people in your precinct, the music Jihoon plays lifts your spirits

So you sit with him, content with listening for at least half an hour every time

Jihoon feels flattered that you like his music, appreciating whenever you tell him how his music makes you feel

Your opinion gives him a different perspective which he uses to improve, so it really matters to him!

Once, you even suggest a melody idea, singing it just loud enough for Jihoon to hear (as to not let anyone else from your side of the wall catch you)

He’s able to recreate it perfectly and some more flowers grow beside you

Jihoon gets excited, asking you for more input to see if your ideas combined could help the flowers bloom

Soon, there’s a miniature flower garden sprouting beside you!

Jihoon: “You see, this is exactly why I like playing here.”

You: “What, the flowers?”

JH: “Yeah. The ground in our precinct is mostly pavement… I like the grass on your side. That’s what I want my music to do: bring life.”

You: “Hm… Why don’t you come over on this side of the wall?”

JH: “If I go over to your precinct, I can’t play my music. Not the same music, anyway. That would defeat the purpose.”

You: “Well, yeah. But you could look at the flowers up close and get coffee instead!”

JH: “…True.”

So the next day, you agree to meet Jihoon at the café!!

It’s nice to finally meet him properly—to be honest, it’s a bit nerve wracking for the the both of you, but he’s truly as sweet as he sounds

Jihoon orders a drink as you sit and chat, finally getting to try the order you keep talking about

Then you show him to your little spot at the wall, but this time on your side

Jihoon gets a little excited seeing the plants up close

(Him rn: 🥹)

And so that’s your little secret, what you do together every week: make the flowers bloom as Jihoon plays little tunes for you <3

[msbarrybeeson]

Before You Go | Future Leo X GN!Reader (Part III)

A/N: I am conflicted over using gender-neutral terms to replace “Mama,” because I haven’t found a single one that holds the same vibe as the initial. If there are any suggestions, let me know! Remember that constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Summary: You’re both adopting-parents of Casey. Leonardo returned from a patrol to find his family surrounding Casey, about to say his first words.

Reader: Gender-neutral pronouns are used, except the terms “Mama” and “mother-figure are used as well. Second POV.

Pairing: Rise! Future! Leonardo X Reader

Warning(s): Insecure of one’s parenting.

Word Count: ~1980

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / ...

~

“No way, is Casey saying his first words?” Michelangelo gasped. He was followed by his older brother, coming back from an area patrol together. 

That question stopped Leo in his tracks. "H-Hold on, really?"

In front of him, April and his brothers surrounded you, while you sat 2-year-old Casey on your stronger arm. He glanced around curiously at the small crowd, but paid no mind as he played with your hair.

"Bwuah.. bah." Sounds bubbling from his mouth. You smiled. "I have a good feeling, Mikey."

Leo stared from afar. 

..It had been so long since he felt this kind of warmth. All the smiles on his family’s faces were enough to give nostalgia.. back to when life was relatively.. normal.

"What'cha doing, standing over there!" April called out, waving her arm up. "This is a moment of a lifetime! Don't tell me you're backing out of being a parent." Donnie snickered from hearing her teases.

Leo shook his head. Then, he rolled his eyes. "Hey hey, c'mon, don't put me down like that, April. I'm not some deadbeat guy."

Being the Doctor Feelings he once proclaimed, Mikey held his hands to his chest. A bubbly smile grew. "Ohh! I’m getting it now: Lee’s having his inner, emotional, father-moment!"

And of course, a dark blush appeared on his face, embarrassed he was figured out so easily. Granted, he was talking about his own brother and Doctor Feelings. "Yeah yeah, whatever you say, little brother," he huffed. "Let's not tease me right now, guys. I just got back from a patrol with the others."

Leo strolled closer to you from behind, head leaning on your shoulder. "So.. what’s he’s saying?"

"Yet to find out." You slowly rocked your body back and forth.

“Y’know,” April wondered, “I’ve been thinking: aren’t kids supposed to start talking before they turn two?”

You and Leo felt yourselves freezing at the realization. Supposed to? But what about Casey? Did this imply that you two hadn’t done enough?

Fortunately, Donatello noticed your unease. 

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “I mean, we are living in an underground base during an alien invasion. I doubt any of us would own time to cater to a human child full-time.” Donnie raised his “eyebrows” once, giving the message to April.

“Yeah yeah, that makes sense.”

"..Moving on...

Allow me to make a guess: he’ll begin by praising my name and intellect with, 'I love you Donatello Von Ryan and you're the greatest being this universe has to offer,'" Donnie claimed right from his heart and ego.

"God dang, Donnie, I swear," Raph murmured, "if this kid grows up to praise you like some sort of egotistical saint—."

"Scoffs! That could mean one thing for sure, Raphael: Casey will grow to be one of the most intelligent children, taught under by yours truly."

April put her hand on her hip. "Huh. Not gonna lie, I still can't believe Cassandra would name him after herself."

"Doesn't sound far from her, really," you chuckled. "In fact.. I'd be surprised if she managed to make a whole different one."

"Bah.. boo mah.."

"Ooh, ooh!" Mikey leaned his head closer to Casey. "He's going to say something!"

"Putting my bets on 'Mama!'" April raised her hand. Donnie, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and feigned, "Wow! That is so original. Yawn."

"Uh, excuse you." Leonardo looked offended. "Where's the amor for the father-figure?"

You deadpanned. “Since when have we established the ‘Mama’ label?”

"Ever since Leo kept calling himself ‘Papa,’” April chirped. “Sorry, Leo, being the mother-figure, (Name) comes before you." 

"Hm. Raph’s gotta agree."

"Seriously? Even my own brother!?"

"No worries, Lee, I got you!" Mikey leeched onto him.

Donnie coughed. “Continuing to believe he’ll say my name.”

Your eye twitched. “Hey, don’t be disappointed if he says a whole ‘nother word, you guys.” The baby laughed, his giggles drawing the attention of everyone from their debate. 

"Luh..," he blubbered, "ooo."

“...”

"Oh my gosh!" Mikey tightened his grip onto Leo. It was slowly making him struggle to breathe. "Did you hear—? Are you guys thinking—? I think he just said, 'Love youu!'"

"Sorry to break your bubble, but I'm pretty sure they're random syllables, Michael."

"Don't be so pessimistic! We should be happy! Casey’s finally said his first words to us, and they’re ones of love!" "Ew."

Mikey smacked Donnie.

"..Next word has gotta be 'Mama.'" April crossed her arms.

"Uh, I think you mean 'Papa.'"

You sweat-dropped. “I don’t think the debate’s necessary, guys.”

“Leave 'em,” Raph laughed, grabbing your attention. “This is probably one of the only times we’ll ever have our good moments together.” You smiled, watching Mikey and Donnie getting into a passive-aggressive argument themselves. “How’re you and Leo doing with the kid?” Raph asked, inching his giant finger closer to Casey, who proceeded to chew on it.

“The good thing is.. taking care of him is starting come naturally.. and Leo’s still taking my advice to get some rest before we switch roles.” 

Raph found you delaying in your response.

“But. I’m guessing there’s one somewhere.”

“Agh.. It’s just.. Leo seems to be doubting himself again. I was hoping for a chance to talk to him, but maybe.. this time isn’t the right time to do so.”

The snapping turtle moved his hand to your shoulder. “No worries, (Name).” His thumb gently rubbing your nape. “Leave it to me this time.”

“..Okay.”

"Oooh, don't you dare start with me, Leo,” she warned. “It's 'Mama.'"

"'Papa.'"

"'Mama.' Guess you don’t love your lover enough."

“Woah woah, hey!” Leo gasped. Flabbergasted from how April spat that out out of nowhere. "Are you being a mis.. misogynist!?"

“‘Misandrist,’” Donnie corrected.

"'Mama.'"

"Mah-mah!"

“...”

Everyone’s eyes flickered over to Casey, face beaming in the dim cavern.

Out of the stunned group, metallic arms rose from Donnie’s battleshell and tore up a sheet of paper apart. You had no idea where did that come from. "Sigh. Of course, my dreams of raising a follower is demolished once again. Back to the drawing board with my robotic—."

"AWW, he said, ‘Mama!'" The box turtle leaped. 

"Woo! Raph and I call for the air-conditioned room privileges!" April cheered, high-fiving the snapping turtle, who grinned. “We called it!”

“Mahmah!”

“Yes, Casey. It’s me.” An upward quirk of your lips and you snuggled your nose with his. “Mama is here.” The toddler squealed. 

It was this moment that none of you failed to see how Leo’s so-called smile falter. A distant look in his eyes as he came to lower his gaze. 

Raph nodded towards you and April. The both of you returned it, heading into one of the tunnels in silence.

That left the brothers.

It wasn’t until Leo finally tilted his head up that he registered the quietness and lack of your presence. He groaned. “Guys, c’mon. I know what you’re doing, and I don’t need another talk right now.”

“Leo,” Mikey reassured. “It’s okay to talk about your feelings with us, y’know. We’re your brothers! Your family! And family supports each other.”

“Besides,” Donnie crossed his arms, leaving one of his metallic arms to comfort his brother’s back, “it’s about time you quit ruining the mood whenever Casey is brought up.”

Raph hummed. “You’re thinkin’ too much on it, Leo. You know whatever the kid says don’t make you any less of a parent.”

Leo huffed. “I know, I know.”

“Uh huh.” Donnie scoffed. “If you really know that that’s the case, then what’s the actual problem?”

“Nothing.”

“We know it’s not ‘nothing.’”

“...”

“Okay, we can do this then.” Mikey held his brother’s shoulders. The Doctor Feelings side revealing. “I’ll ask the questions you answer by nodding ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

Is it about Casey?” Leo nodded ‘yes.’

“Okay.. Is it about his first words?” He shook his head ‘no.’

Mikey held his chin, pondering. “Is there a specific issue?” Once again, Leo shook his head. The box turtle figured it must be a general conflict. You told him not long ago that his brother was being reserved as of late. You often confided in him your troubles.

“Is this also about (Name)?”

He nodded.

“Is this also about the Kraang?”

..He nodded. This time, Leo proceeded to respond. “Nothing’s the same ever since they invaded.”

“Of course—.” Raph eyed Donnie.

“We could’ve had a normal life. We all could’ve gone for ice cream, jumping to a pool, see snow again.. But look what came to us instead.” A bitter tone. “This isn’t the life I wanted for all of us. This isn’t the life that Casey and (Name) deserves. I-I can’t accept it.

It doesn’t help to think back on their and Cassandra’s words.”

“What do you mean?”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Cassandra told me (Name) wanted a kid. (Name) told me they couldn’t risk taking care of one in this fucked up place.”

“And they have Casey—.”

“But I know they’d be happier if things were different.”

“Oh? You mean if (Name) doesn’t have fertility issues?”

All eyes on Donnie. “..Huh?”

“Hey!” Mikey exclaimed. “How’d you know that? I thought I’m the one with secrets.”

“Well, Michael, being forced to stick down here and manage weaponry and defenses means keeping track of everyone’s biological systems.”

“..You.. kept trackers on us?”

“Correction: in you. Do I have to remind you that I’m the reason you all managed to survive this long?”

“Ah..” Raph was stunned. “Ah, uh, moving on..

Yeah, we would be happier if we didn’t have the Kraang up on our asses. But even then, this is our reality now. 

We can’t go back. 

And sometimes, your best option is to deal with it and make the most out of what you have. You got that?”

Leo’s breath hitched. He glanced upon reassuring smiles on his brothers’ faces (much less of a smile on Donnie’s, but the aura was there).

“You may be the leader, Leo, but I’m still your older brother,” Raph spoke softly.

A sigh left the red-eared turtle, and he pulled them all into a tight embrace. “Thanks hermanos.”

.

.

.

"Lee-oh," you pronounced slowly, leaning close to Casey. You hadn’t noticed your leader in blue lingering next to the cavern entrance. You always managed to forget that Donnie built an entire underground system for water and air. Yet, your resources weren’t enough to make decent rooms. 

The baby blinked and giggled. "Eeee.."

You wiggled his arms. "Lee-oh."

"Ohh.."

Leo couldn't hold back the wide grin on his face. His heart melted. “I always knew you love me, (Name)," he spoke up.

"God, Leo! You scared me!” you cursed, holding Casey back in the comfort of your arms. "..How are you feeling?”

“Comforted.. thanks to my brothers.”

Once he walked closer to your side, you leaned up to kiss him. “For you to know you’re making a great father-figure. And that you have nothing to worry for about me or Casey.”

Leo blinked and blinked. 

Then, being shy, he hid his growing blush behind his blue scarf. 

It was one you made for his birthday five years ago from a ball of yarn that Todd found, rummaging through wrecked shops. Even after that much time, Leo still became flustered around you.

“Bah.. lo...”

His left arm wrapped around your waist. “I’m glad to have you here, (Name).” You leaned into his plastron. “The same goes for you, Leo.”

“Ee.. oh.”

“Mhm—. Hold on.” The red-eared turtle sat upright. “Did he—?”

“Ee.. oh!” Casey sounded. Lacked a consonant, but the idea was there. 

You chuckled, seeing your boyfriend’s wide-eyed reaction. “He said my name!” he cheered, pulling the toddler from your arms to hold him up. “Leo,” he said.

“Ee-oh!”

“If you were worried about him not saying ‘Papa,’ I’m sure it’s only because April kept repeating ‘Mama’ back there,” you concluded. “Not sure if I’m completely comfortable with the whole label thing.”

“Being called ‘Mama?’”

“Hm.. If I ever feel like changing that up, I can wait until Casey’s a bit older to comprehend better.”

“Ohoho~.” Leo grinned, bringing the baby closer. “Say, ‘Papa.’”

“Ah..”

“‘Papa.’“

“Pa.. wah...”

“‘Papa.’”

“Papah!”

[boneless07]

Two Nerds, One Bed || Spengler x reader

Title: Two Nerds, One Bed (Egon Spengler x gn!reader)

Warnings: Lots of fluff, I feel like Egon might be out of character a bit but.. shhh...

Word Count: 2,200~

Notes: You (reader) celebrate Christmas. You also hate Christmas and would rather not go to your family’s house because I said so…  I am not projecting at all… Gender-neutral reader (but kind of on the feminine side of things just bc I'm used to writing fem readers , but it's also vague enough that it qualifies as gn?? bare with me guys, I’m not used to actually posting my work) I looked up overused yet loved tropes and this one was it. There also may be typos, I’ve gone over this like a hundred times and I keep finding stuff to tweak--Hope you enjoy!

A pretty rude ghost on the outskirts of the city. A two-man job on Christmas week. Now, the Ghostbusters didn’t take out-of-town calls often, but it was a big week and they were feeling generous. The cranky old lady who called said she’d pay handsomely to get the damn thing out of her house. 

Even though he was the one to take the call and accept the job, Venkman had the week planned with Dana, so he dumped the work on someone else. Winston was with his family, so he couldn’t and wouldn’t take it. While Ray stayed in New York, he was doing his own celebrating with his beloved "Ecto-mobile" and a family of his own.

On the other side of things, Egon was Jewish--but even then, he never really celebrated holidays, so the entire month just felt like a normal month in New York for him. Just a lot more snow and terrible, repetitive music playing on the radio. Work seemed to get busier, the city-people angrier even when they sang of being jolly. He hyper-focused on people’s emotions, always trying to find where it came from… home issues, the cold, he’d never know.

As the last of the gang? You wanted any excuse not to go back home for Christmas. You wanted snow, and you desperately wanted to stay hundreds and hundreds of miles away from your mother asking when you’d get a real job–a desk job–and not some silly performance gig. New York was your new home, ghosts and all. Your family home was left far behind you and forgotten. For the most part.

So, you and Egon were the only two 'busters available for the job. He looked up a hotel near the old lady’s place so that on the way back you two had somewhere to sleep beside the car, and you kept your fingers crossed that it wouldn't be packed when you got there.

 The customer’s name was Gerda, she was a somewhat scary woman in her late 70s–living alone and content as so. She made sure to hammer that into your heads, saying how annoying the surprisingly quiet and low-rank the ghost haunting her was. Ms. Gerda wasn’t exactly the kindest woman, her thick German accent didn’t help much with that, either–but she thanked you after paying cash with weighted appreciation in her mother tongue. Then, she promptly kicked you out.

You left with the ghost trap still smoking, shoving it into the back of the car with the hope that it’d be fine overnight by itself as you drove to the hotel. You packed light, and thankfully neither of you were slimed, so you were mainly clean and sane looking as you entered the very busy lobby. You had stripped to your everyday clothes (plus a few jackets and scarfs for the cold) before walking into the building. It seemed busier inside than out.

You went to the desk ahead of Egon, bitterly cold and overly excited to get into a room with hot tea and a nice shower. And warm sheets, though they wouldn’t be very warm at first. "Sorry, there's only one available at the moment." The young lady at the desk said, blowing a bubble with her pink bubble gum. She didn't seem at all sorry, more annoyed that she had to be working and talking to customers.

Egon raised an eyebrow, noticing your failure to respond fast enough. You were just weighing your options. You and Egon, spending the night in the same room? What would he even think about that? He seemed like he was going to decline, probably offering to drive back to the station while you slept in the passenger seat–he was too nice like that sometimes. You wondered what you did to deserve his kindness.

“We’ll take it,” You said quickly, pulling out your wallet. Egon looked to you as if asking if you were sure, and you just shrugged. “I don’t want to drive all night and I’m sure you don’t either.” You whispered, earning an honest, semi-enthused grunt from the man.

"I'll sleep on the couch. Or the chair. Whatever's there.” Egon said slowly as you made your way down the hallway, your eyes glancing from the number attached to the key, to the room numbers. “You take the bed. I know your back hurts whenever you sleep on anything else," He said as he took the key and opened the door for you. You would’ve laughed at his words had you not fallen victim to his unintentional charm. He was too caring then, it caught you off guard. You simply didn’t spend enough time with the man to warrant such a reaction.

With Venkman, you got flirted with constantly, even when he was in a relationship with Dana. You honestly couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested, or if he did it for shock factor. Probably the latter, but it was unnerving either way. He’d probably be trying to get you into bed if it’d been Peter who went on this trip with you. Winston, Winston was a good guy and a good friend. But sleeping in the same bed? You’d be embarrassed beyond words. The relationship between the two of you was strictly platonic–the same with Ray. 

But with Egon things were different. Way different. You wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with him, and your big fat crush on him certainly contributed to the idea that made your face turn red. He was gentle, kind. Awkward. But anyone would be awkward if they were as smart yet stupid as him. 

You were also surprised at how composed you were, taking initiative with the keys and the like. You wondered if Egon found it curious, how quick you were to agree to a one-bed situation. But if he was thinking about it, he didn’t say anything–all the words leaving his mouth were about the sleeping situation instead.

As you looked around the room, you both placed your bag on the bed and inspected the quite sad furniture. "You were saying?" You said. It was only the bed, a desk, and a broken chair–it’s back laying in the corner of the room. 

"The floor looks comfortable," He said, you knew he was joking. You snorted.

"Just sleep with me," You suggested, seemingly unphased. Though inside you certainly were not. At times like then, you were glad Egon couldn't read minds. "It's not like you've got another choice." You sighed, placing your bathroom bag on the nightstand beside you. 

"Plus, I'm not the only one with a bad back, Dr. six foot two.." You joked, your hands pointing towards him and wiggling. The eye contact almost made you drop, your knees threatening to buckle and break.

He blushed at your comment, removing his luggage from the bed just to do something with his hands. "Fine, if you're sure you're comfortable sharing with me." He said, face warm, but you didn’t notice as your mind was elsewhere. Aka, being lost in his eyes, which were then looking anywhere but back into yours.

"Well, why wouldn't I be? You're certainly not Venkman." You joked, but it was true. He was respectful in all regards. If he accidentally touched you, he'd apologize. Not many men did that, not many men you knew at least.

"I trust you," You said, quietly removing your bag as well and putting it on the floor to join Spengler’s. You heard a noise from his side, sounding like he was clearing his throat. You looked away, slightly embarrassed at what you’d admitted. "Well, it's not that late yet.. want a drink? They should have a water heater around here somewhere. Teabags too."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over his knee as he watched you inspect the little kitchen area. "If there are any." He shrugged–a nod somewhere in there as well–an awkward gesture of approval and appreciation. You smiled back.

You found the water heater, put it on, and made the two of you some tea. It wasn't the best tasting tea--they didn't give you any sugar, so you sipped reluctantly the rest of the night just to have something–free–in your stomach.

The hours passed, the clock reached 10 pm. "When do you usually sleep?" You asked as you shimmied your way under the sheets in your pajamas; sweatpants, and a t-shirt. Minus the socks, but you regretted taking them off as it got cold very quickly.

"Not this early," he admitted, pulling the blankets that I stole back over his lap as his eyes fixed on the book in his hand. "You go to sleep at ten, I assume?"

"And wake up at six." You nodded, a yawn escaping your lips. He looked down at you and smiled a bit before closing the book on his bookmark--the one you bought him for his birthday a year ago. He asked for no presents--nothing special, but you couldn't resist. 

"Well, you seem exhausted. Goodnight." You nodded at his words, closing your eyes. A part of you was disappointed at how quick he was to dismiss you to sleep--you had hoped to perhaps talk a bit into the night. But as the lamp light from his side of the bed turned off with the sound of a little click, the room plunged into a quiet darkness.

After a couple minutes you began to shake, you brought your hands to your mouth, hoping your breath would warm you. It took you a couple more minutes before you decided to speak up about it, the cold becoming too much. "Uh. Egon?" 

"Mm?" He didn't sound very tired at all. You felt somewhat silly to sleep next to a man who didn't want to sleep much at all.

"I know you're not big on touching me and stuff--"

"That's not what I meant," He interjected, but you kept talking.

"--but it's like, really, really cold. Can you hold me?" The plea came from your lips quickly, coldly--teeth chattering. You could hear him clear his throat quietly before making an almost inaudible sound of approval.

He turned on his side, bringing you into a hug. A very, very awkward hug. It felt warmer, but it felt a lot more awkward than you expected it to. So, you shifted on your side as well, facing him and pressing your face into him as you snuggled your body into his chest.

He didn't make a sound, but he seemed to have loosened a bit, his arms feeling less robotic around you. "See? Not so hard, now is it?" You giggled into his chest after another nice moment, words muffled into his sleep shirt.

He just tightened his arms around you, one palm laying flat on your back, his thumb rubbing sweet, soothing circles into your shoulder blade.

It felt nice, in that... ‘is this allowed?’ kind of way. You'd liked Egon for a while. Romantically, and not. Beforehand, that was. You were best friends before any real feelings surfaced. And cuddling with him just felt.. so right.

"You feel warm," He commented, causing you to press your hands to his chest, toying with the fabric of his button-up shirt with his matching trousers. God, he was such a silly man. You let yourself breathe, trying to resist the urge to inhale his scent. He smelled like… maplewood and pine. A hint of citrus too, you tried not to lose yourself in his aroma.

You could tell he was trying to see if you were faking it. Perhaps pretending to be cold so you could wrap yourself in his arms. "Mm, you're warmer. You feel so good," You murmured, snuggling closer if it was possible.

He gulped, you felt it, and his heartbeat was beating against your right fist as you balled up his shirt and let it go a few times. 

"Go to sleep," he hissed, and you looked up at him with a scrunched up nose, lightheartedly offended.

"Rude," You said, before scooting up, face closer to him. His eyes seemed to widen, and you couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"You can't sleep with your glasses on, Spengs." You took them off his face slowly before reaching over him to put them on his side of the nightstand. 

"I was not exactly planning to sleep just yet," His voice was nervous again.

"How am I supposed to sleep if you don't? Come on, close your eyes," You sighed, laying your head on his pillow--leaving your own behind in the sake of warmth. Your hands covered his eyes, and once you knew they were shut, you took your hands away. "There,"

"This is not doing much..." Egon chuckled, his thousand-dollar smile being flashed your way. It was beautiful, he was so beautiful.

You pressed your hands to his jaw, cupping his face as he smiled with his eyes closed, laughing at your stupid attempt to get him to sleep.

"Stop being so handsome or I swear I'm going to fall in love with you," The words left your mouth before you could really process them, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

He opened his eyes, meeting yours quickly. He muttered your name. You readied yourself for the worst, shutting your eyes tight to avoid seeing his face in the dark. You didn't want to see his discomfort, if there was any.

"Well, I should continue to be handsome then," He said, quiet, under his breath, but loud enough in the deathly silence that you could very possibly hear it from the damn bathroom. "Because I seem to already in love with you. I’ve just been hoping you felt the same." 

Your hands stayed on his face, cupping his cheeks a bit tighter--and you kissed him. He kissed you back. It certainly wasn’t the most skilled kiss you’ve ever been apart of, but it was certainly the best one you’d had. ‘Cause it was with Egon. And he’d admitted to you something you could’ve only dreamt of. That he loved you.

[dreamkidddream]

Happy Birthday Diavolo! || Diavolo

The last fic of Spooktober is finally here!! 🥳 thanks for reading and suggesting ideas for it, it was honestly fun even if it took basically two months to finish 😅 the 800 follower special is next! Thanks for all the support and reader is gender neutral! 💙

Dream’s Spooktober 2021

“Ah MC, do you mind if I steal you for a moment?”

“I think I should be asking you that, but of course!” You laughed and grasped Diavolo’s hand that he held out. You don’t know how someone of his stature would be able to sneak out of his own ball, but alas he found a way. Weaving you through his own castle and barely avoiding the other higher class demons (and almost having a run in with Lucifer himself), you found yourselves in his room, the click from the lock ringing in the air.

“I apologize for taking you away from the festivities, but I figured that we could both use some fresh air, and there is something I need to speak to you about privately.”

“Oh what is it? Is everything okay?” You worried. He looked troubled, and that wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing on him. It was the opposite from the joyous demeanor that he would show.

“Hopefully it will be.”

You raised an eyebrow, officially lost. You’ve never seen him be so conflicted before. What exactly is he talking about?

“I understand that you already gave me my present, and while I am vastly appreciative of it, I realize that I yearn for something else.” He held onto your hands ever so delicately, rich golden eyes locked onto your own. “It’s my own fault for not telling you sooner, but I hope that it isn’t too late to receive it.”

It did sting a little to know that your original gift wasn’t enough, but if you were able to make up for it now it doesn’t make sense moping around about it. The heat you felt just from interlacing your fingers together combined with his massive form was enough to leave you dizzy. You forget just how majestic he looks in his true form, the gold adorning his body showing his status as a true royal. From the regal jewels to the grand pairs of wings that twitch ever so often, your eyes were automatically drawn to him.

You were snapped out of your stupor when he gave your hands a slight squeeze. “MC. I honestly don’t know where to start.” He laughed bashfully. You noticed the blush that was steady growing on his cheeks, and as his laughter died down, the smile remained. “All of the visions that I have for the future of the Devildom are coming to fruition. The three realms are in peace with one another, the brothers’ family is reunited more than ever, and…the loneliness that I was once used to feeling each night has vanished. This couldn’t have been done without you MC, and for that, I am forever in your debt to you. No amount of words could ever explain the gratitude that I hold for you. Nor can it explain how far I have fallen in love with you.”

The air shifted, and your heart was fluttering even more at his words, the warmth spreading throughout your body increasing each second.

“Is it so wrong that I want to keep you by my side for all eternity? To be selfish enough that I won’t ever have to fear losing you?” He continued. “And I have thought long and hard with what I wish from you, but the only thought that continues to cross my mind is to have you entirely. I desire you MC, and nothing is more valuable than the time that I get to spend with you each passing moment.”

Then he proceeded to drop down on one knee, placing a kiss gently on each of your fingers, never losing eye contact with you. “I know that one day I will soon rule over the Devildom, and I wish for you to be by my side when the time comes. I wish for you to be by my side now, and to never leave.”

You stroked at his cheek, grazing your fingertips along his curved horns, not missing the shudder that he gave along with his low purr. Diavolo’s gaze glowed in the dim room, the rich gold twinkling in the moonlight. His blush was on full display now, but he was beaming with nothing but pure affection.

“Choose to become mine MC, and let me become yours for all eternity.”

As he finished, you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “Yes, Diavolo, yes! The answer will always be yes.”

He let his own laugh in return, and spin you around in glee. The only things that could be heard coming from his room was the sound of your combined laughters. You both inched closer until pressed his lips against yours softly, the one of many to come.

You made him the happiest demon, and now he gets to return the favor for all eternity.

[my-1heart]

Birthday Naps

Leona Kingscholar x reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 999

Notes: not many ideas came to mind for his birthday so I decided to incorporate his love for sleeping and my genuine interest about his homeland. Also there’s an airport here cause idk what twisted wonderland has :)

Happy Birthday Leona! AND THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!! <333

Normally, his birthday would be spent at NRC. The dorm’s lounge area would be decorated and everybody would be partying till the late afternoon.

This year, however, Leona requested that they all took the day off as he didn’t want another party this year. While it was appreciated, it was also a hassle to put things up only to take them down a few hours later, so he made it clear that he wanted no party this year.

This year, he’d spend his birthday with you and you alone… or so he thought.

While lounging in his room, a few days before his birthday, you had asked him about Afterglow Savanna (Sunset Savanna).

He told you many things, from how the temperature was to the views and even to the traditional clothing that is worn there.

To say you were intrigued was putting it lightly. To hear him talk about his home made you curious but all the more excited on when he’d take you there.

“Hearing all about your home has me all excited for when I actually get to visit! Oh my gosh, do you think I’d be able to wear any of the traditional clothing?? Or maybe get to see your home??” You began rambling as you fantasized about your trip to Afterglow Savanna.

Hearing you talk so happily about his home, warmed his heart. Truth be told, he wanted to take you home, but he also didn’t want his family to bother you both or overwhelm you, but seeing you so enthusiastic about traveling, now’s a better time then never.

“Hm. Do you wanna go home with me then?” He asked.

Immediately, your eyes lit up. Was he serious? Surely he wouldn’t pull your leg like this.

“Really?? Of course I do!” You cheered.

“Alright. This’ll be my birthday celebration then. Taking you home.” He announced, before flopping down on his bed.

•••

A few days later, you guys would be rolling suitcases towards the airport entrance.

Leona had suggested a quicker trip via magic mirrors, but ultimately decided it’d be nicer to spend time with you before getting to Afterglow Savanna, thus airplane tickets were bought.

Once everything was in order, you both sat down in the lounge provided by the airport. Leona seemingly wanting to doze off already as this had been too early of a start to the day.

“If anyone ever told me that I’d be spending my birthday, waking up at 5 am to go to the airport, I’d think they were joking. It’s way too early.” He complained.

“Well it’s definitely better to be safe then sorry.” You laughed, looking over at the clock.

“We still have about 45 minutes before boarding time so we can just hang out here until then.” You said, smiling.

Leona let out a low huff before leaning against you, ready to doze off. But for whatever reason, his eyes didn’t shut.

“What’s the first thing you wanna do when we get there?” He asked, looking out the big windows.

“First thing? I’d definitely want to get food and then maybe go sight seeing?” You answered, to lost into planning to notice Leona’s sudden movements.

Leona’s hand grabbed yours, before he looked at you, his face a mere inch or two away.

Because of the sudden proximity, you could feel your face warm up just a bit. This only caused Leona to smirk.

“Why so red, Herbivore?” He asked, visibly smug.

“Leona, you’re a little…” “A little what?” “A little too close!” You yelped, quickly pushing him back a few inches. Leona began laughing, only causing you to get even more flustered.

Just then, the announcements came on.

“Flight to Afterglow Savanna, Gate 13D, is now boarding. Group number 1, please begin lining up.”

Leona then stood up, stretched, and yawned.

“Looks like that’s us, huh?” You asked, to which he nodded as he grabbed his bag.

Quickly standing up, you both made your way to the desk and waited to have your tickets checked. Once everything had looked good, you entered the gate door and began walking towards the plane.

Once there, you gave the plane a quick tap before entering. Finding your seats had been easier then expected as you found yourself already sat almost as soon as you entered.

“Hey, what was that tap for?” Leona asked, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh! It’s just a thing I do.” You answered, quickly looking out the window.

While everyone else was still coming onto the plane, Leona and you got comfortable.

“This flight is a lengthy one, huh?” You asked, observing your ticket.

“Mhm. Taking the mirror would have gotten us there in an instant, but I’d rather not be bombarded on my birthday and flying is the only way to delay that, so here we are.” He answered, yawning.

“Leona, the flight is like 8 hours… that’s gonna bring us well into the late afternoon maybe even evening!” You sighed, only now noticing the smug look on his face.

“Exactly.” He answered, before leaning comfortably on you.

And soon enough the flight would start, safety instructions given, and the lights off.

“8 hour flight, sounds the same as an 8 hour nap.” He claimed, getting comfortable in his seat.

You let out an audible sigh before you laughed a little.

“Okay, birthday boy. If a nap is what you want for your birthday, then have at it!” You exclaimed, reaching to hold his hand.

“Birthday naps. Maybe one of the best presents I’ve ever gotten.” He laughed, before quickly closing his eyes and dozing off.

“Oh Leona, that skill of yours can be so handy sometimes.” You sighed, slightly starting to lean against Leona.

“Happy birthday, Leona. I hope this year will be a ton more fun then the last.” You cheered, before feeling the exhaustion seep in.

Fortunately for you, Leona heard every word you said and he couldn’t stop the small smile that adorned his face while he slept.

[missmouse25]

Hey! I have another max f request if that’s okay! Reader and him are dating and he teaches reader how to play video game son streams.

Babes, your requests are always welcome ❤️❤️❤️

The Ultimate Win - Max Fewtrell

gender neutral first person pov // 881 words // theres like two suggestive lines near the end if you squint. other than that, please enjoy! -------------

“A free Sunday evening: when last did we have one of those?’

Between going to races, working, hanging out with friends and family; it seemed like forever ago since Max and I had been able to do something for ourselves.

He’d been desperate to get back to his casual gaming and streaming with his friends, so today I let him be.

That was until dinner was ready.

~*~

Tentatively, I knocked on the door to his streaming room. It wasn’t that I was nervous about being on camera, that was something I’d done plenty of times before, I just didn’t want to disturb Max during his alone time. Especially knowing how it sometimes frustrated me when he did the same thing.

Opening the door, I peeked inside. Max had his eyes fixed on the screen, headphones on. He was focused hard on his game; I was certain he hadn’t noticed me yet.

I spied on open spot on his desk and as sneakily as I could, slid the plate into the gap.

With a quick wave to the camera, I turned to leave but before I could get out of the door, something was pulling on my hand and pulling me back into the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Max’s voice sounded playful.

“Back to where I came from,” I answered. “Leave you as you were.”

“Aren’t you even going to say hi to chat?”

“I waved at them; they saw me.”

Max ran his fingers over the back of my hand; biting on his lip as he looked at me. The cogs were turning in his brain.

“Come sit for a bit,” he said, standing up before guiding me to his gaming chair. “You can play while I eat.”

My eyes went wide.

“Um… no…”

“Don’t worry babes,” Max assured me while pulling up another seat. “I’ll walk you through it. And everyone in the game is super chill.”

I scanned all the electronics in front of me and felt overwhelmed. Gaming was not my thing. As my brain going into overdrive, Max was calmly putting the headphones on my head: one side on my ear and the other one just behind.

“Ok, just tell them that you’re playing a friendly round with them,” Max told me, sitting down and picking up his plate.

After following that instruction and being deafened by a cheer of encouragement, I timidly took the controller.

“Don’t stress,” Max said in between mouthfuls. “I got you.”

Patient as a saint, my boyfriend guided me through the set-up and told me all about the game. Once the round started, he explained the controls.

“I don’t have enough fingers for all that!”

I was trying to look down at the buttons and keep an eye on the screen.

Max just chuckled.

“You have to prioritise. It’s the thing you’re always telling me I need to do.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

It made him smile more.

“Stick with the squad.”

I refocused and continued the game. Sadly, it didn’t last long.

“Aw… Tough luck, babes.” Max tapped a key on the key board, presumably to mute us from the rest of the gang while I stared at the “you died” screen.

“We can talk to chat till the next game.”

“I wasn’t very good,” I said, looking at the flurry of words off to the side of the monitor.

“For a first go, you didn’t do too badly. It was only the shooting bit that got you.”

Max rested his hand on my leg as he looked at what everyone else was talking about.

“See, everyone says you did great.”

“They’re lying but I do appreciate it,” I said.

We played a few more games. Max guiding me and giving me a rundown of the lingo. It was so cute for me, seeing him being so supportive in spite of my results. Even simply having Max near me felt comforting.

“We won!” I shouted, almost jumping out of the chair.

I could hear Max laughing but also clapping his hands in congratulations.

“Well done, babes.”

“I didn’t do much but thank you!”

I sat back down properly, feeling giddy and turned to Max. He was smiling so widely that it gave me butterflies. Without even thinking about what we were doing, I leant forward and kissed him. When we pulled apart, Max looked very smug.

“Ok, everyone, I think that’s a good place to leave tonight’s stream,” he said, stealing his headphones back.

“Probably a good idea,” I said softly, so only he could hear.

Max closed down all the programmes after we said goodbye to everyone; after chat had been filled with hearts.

Finally, he stood back, stretching his arms above his head and exposing a tiny bit of his tummy. I took a chance and poked his bare skin.

“Hey, what was that for?” Max leant on the arms of the gaming chair; his face so close to mine.

“Just me saying ‘thank you’. I had lots of fun,” I stated.

“Me too. You must play more with me. You’ll get better and better.”

“Only if you’re there to help me.”

At long last, Max closed the gap and our lips met. regardless of any game I could play, being with Max was my biggest win.

[kpopaeipathy]

Relax (Eun Woo Oneshot)

Pairing: Guard! EunWoo x Royal! Reader (gender-neutral)

Genre: Fluff, maybe slightly angst

Word count: 1,987

No warnings

Summary: When Eun Woo wants to protect you, but you just want him to relax and enjoy.

A/N: This was inspired by this prompt.

The mountains that surrounded the city reflected the colors of the sky more clearly, as if they were its own starless, self-lit expanse, lacking only by the hardy winter trees. Looking at them brought a feeling of peace and tranquility, protection even, because no one would dare tarnish such beauty. But it was not the splendor that prevented the invaders.

The few who tried to cross them quickly understood the dangers that probed the ground covered with frozen water in crystalline form. A sound at the wrong time would cause the crime to be covered by the cold, deadly hands of the natural shield of that small royal town.

The entire realm, in fact, was devastatingly beautiful and intimidating, hidden between mountains and valleys, protected by nature more than by guards and armies. They didn't need to get unstuck much to deter invaders and thieves. Never, in all its grand history, had the kingdom of Hanian been so threatened as to demand extra protection from any royal or its subjects.

Therefore, the citizens of Etherna, the royal city, did not understand the gravity of the situation and continued to offer their grandiose balls and banquets, to which the royal family could not refuse to participate, as the flaunting would be more dangerous than the possible invaders.

Also, there was the fact that this city was the most protected and the most difficult to enter or leave. Which in itself was a danger, as escape was unlikely. Even so, they were all gathered in the magnanimous gardens of Lady Khmer's mansion, dancing to flutes and violins.

"Would it kill you to relax?" you provoked your personal guard.

Since before you left the palace, Eun Woo had been alert, rigid, ready to attack anyone who got in your way (which almost happened when one of the guests who had already arrived at the dance drunk bumped into you and fell in front of you). Cha Eun Woo was the best guard in all of Hanian, assigned to you to protect the sole heir to the throne, but the fact that he was inordinately good bothered you a little, mostly because you would do anything to see a smile on his perfectly shaped lips.

“Probably,” he responded to your teasing, still scanning his surroundings as if searching for some hidden killer. “Likely it would kill you too. That's rather the point."

You smiled. Eun Woo's acid humor and straightforward responses were the traits you liked best about him. Of course, you also appreciated the symmetrical face and satin skin, with eyes so expressive they made up for the constant serious and focused countenance. The body was also not to be thrown away, with defined muscles and prepared for any battle.

“I'll risk it,” you said, drawing the guard's gaze to you, and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Eun Woo frowned and didn't move, noting the gloved hand in front of him.

Before he even opened his mouth to respond, you already knew what the words would be, so you just spoke before him: "It's an order."

A deep sigh was the only clue to the tormented state of your personal guard, as he remained serious and alert as he gave in to your request and took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor.

The smile on your lips deepened when you saw Eun Woo sigh once more at the scandalized looks of the other guests. It wasn't the first time you decided to shock royalty by dancing with your personal guard. In fact, that was your most common rebellious act and you didn't understand how the nobles and burghers weren't used to it yet.

“Look at me,” you ordered as Eun Woo's dark orbs scanned the hall on your first lap of the track.

He didn't sigh this time, just looked into your eyes and stayed that way for the rest of the time. The muscles were still stiff under your hands, a clear indication that he was still prepared to jump in front of an arrow to defend you.

“I'm not going to tell you to relax,” you stated, realizing that your words had exactly the opposite effect.

That was your best-known trick, at least between the two of you. After so many years as monarch and personal guard, you and Eun Woo had forged a kind of friendship that no one in the realm understood. Sometimes even you didn't understand. However, you came to appreciate the man in front of you so much that you used every resource in your power to make him relax and have fun whenever you could. Eun Woo never complained, not even to his companions, who often blurted out near you that Eun Woo had already commented on appreciating your dedication to his mental health.

He had never questioned you either. From the first time you had tried to make him relax, Eun Woo had accepted your orders like any other, as if your every word mattered. Until this moment, of course...

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his husky voice invading your senses and raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

"I don't like to see you so stiffened."

"I have a duty here, Your Highness." Despite the firm tone of voice, you could feel that he was dancing calmly, as you intended. “If anything happens to you because I was careless for a minute…”

“Nothing will happen,” you interrupted him. “We are in the most protected kingdom in the world, in the most difficult city to penetrate. I have the best guard ever.”

“None of this is a guarantee…”

“If someone breaks a plate somewhere, you will stop your steps, put me behind your back, and verify who was responsible so you can kill or forgive. If a hum invades the melody that surrounds us, you will scan the surroundings with those deep eyes and find the reason to decide whether to hide me or continue dancing.”

"Your Highness..."

“I'm well protected,” you wouldn't let him speak and stiffen again. After all the turmoil your kingdom was going through, you and Eun Woo, as well as everyone in the royal family, deserved that night's rest. "I have you so I'm fine."

He sighed again, this time more softly. And for a split second, you saw the corners of his beautiful lips move upwards as if they were trying to smile.

“You overestimate me,” he said, causing you to snap back to reality and stop dreaming of a completely relaxed Cha Eun Woo.

“No, I'm a realist. It's different,” you replied, still smiling.

You were silent again, enjoying the last chords of the waltz that lulled you. Eun Woo was by far the best dance partner you've ever had and the fact that you talked and interacted in those few minutes made it the dance you'd most enjoyed in your entire life.

When you left the dance floor and returned to the secluded and sheltered corner you were at before, you treasured that night even more, as it was the first time Eun Woo had held your hands together for so long after the dance. He only released you when you were stopped and alone again.

“Your Highness,” he called softly, drawing your eyes to the perfect face that didn't even resemble that of a royal guard. "I appreciate your concern and I admit that perhaps I overreacted tonight."

Even though your eyes widened at the unexpected words, you managed to control yourself in time to joke and say, "Perhaps?"

This time, contrary to everything you knew and recognized about Cha Eun Woo, the smile rehearsed on the dance floor actually appeared on the guard's face, reaching his dark eyes, which thinned as they smiled along with his lips. Your heart raced in such a way that you thought you were having a cardiac arrhythmia.

"As I was saying," he continued, keeping the corners of his lips raised and your heart pounding, "I may have overreacted tonight, but I need to ask you not to distract me again."

“What? Why?" You didn't understand. You even won a smile with your endeavor, how could he not want you to do that again?

"I cannot lose you."

Frustrated, you took a deep breath and huffed, clenching your hands into fists before you began gesturing as you said, "I already told you, I know I'm well protected..."

"You'll always be," it was Eun Woo's turn to interrupt you, "that's not the point."

"Then what is?" you asked, moving closer to him when you noticed the smile leaving that face you cherished so much. "Why can't you just have a little fun with me?"

“But I have fun with you all the time…”

“Eun Woo…”

“Your Highness,” he spoke pointedly, cutting off any argument that began with his name that would make him keep silent if you ordered him to. "I wouldn't forgive myself."

“What are you talking about?" you asked, furrowing your brow.

Again, he sighed. Then, once again contradicting your expectations and shocking anyone who looked at you, including yourself, he placed his hands on your shoulders to stop the advance you kept making towards him. But he kept you close enough that the whispered words that came out of his mouth could only be heard by you.

“I can, yes, pay close attention to my surroundings and protect you faster than any other royal guard, but even I have my limits, and having you in my arms, looking at the smile that paints your face, is a very powerful distraction.” Once again, your eyes widened at the words. “At any other day, any other time,” he continued, “I wouldn't mind not resisting you. But we are facing a unique threat, an enemy that knows how to penetrate our defenses that should be impenetrable. I can't afford the distraction. If I lose you, I won't forgive myself.”

That was definitely the longest speech that Cha Eun Woo had given you in all your years together. Not only because there were so many words, but also because there was still so much he was saying between the lines. And it was everything you've dreamed of hearing since setting eyes on that perfect-in-every-way guard.

You knew you could never ask for more from him than that, knew you could never get what you really wanted from him because it wouldn't be fair for you not to be able to give it back. Your eyes filled with tears at the realization that you couldn't respond to unspoken words. Your lips trembled with the force you took to hold back the answer that was on the tip of your tongue. You loved him. With all your might. Nor would you forgive yourself if you lost him.

So you understood and accepted his argument, nodding once firmly so that he could see that you were agreeing without saying anything. Eun Woo watched your face and opened his eyes a little wider than usual, in his own expression of surprise, before reluctantly releasing your shoulders and taking two steps away.

“I promise not to distract you anymore,” you finally managed to say.

"Thank you," he muttered, looking away from you and taking in his surroundings.

Once again, you looked at the icy mountains that surrounded the city and wished that protection was enough to bring peace to Eun Woo's mind and body, you prayed to any of the gods that the threat would be neutralized so that your guard could relax in your arms again.

You smiled then, looking back at Eun Woo, who once again had the mask of concentration and seriousness on his face.

"But can't we even take a walk in the gardens?"

"Sure," he responded to your teasing, "I can put a target in your head too if you like."

The acid humor was still the man's best feature.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet. 

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork. 

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face. 

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross. 

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it. 

Well, you love him for a lot of things. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.” 

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.” 

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.” 

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around. 

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.” 

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice. 

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.” 

“Can I do anything to help?”  

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”  

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young. 

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter. 

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away. 

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either. 

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles. 

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option. 

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart. 

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer. 

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.  

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —” 

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.” 

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face. 

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness. 

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish. 

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.” 

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully. 

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?” 

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.  

“Except they’re babies,” you add. 

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You swallow hard. “For what?” 

“Being honest.” 

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.” 

“Yeah. It really is.” 

He’s quiet again. 

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this. 

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here. 

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real. 

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.    

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe. 

You’re asleep before the next commercial break. 

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why. 

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.” 

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.” 

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.” 

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now. 

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up. 

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence. 

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black. 

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it. 

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator. 

This is crossing a line, and you both know it. 

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.  

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes.”  

Maybe you’re both trembling. 

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel. 

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

More Criminal Minds fic is here. 

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe: First Kiss HCs

I tend to make things gender neutral by not putting in pronouns and just using “you” but you can definitely read this as female^^ But I completely agree, I love this boy so much. He’s my favourite character to play (im so sorry razor) until Xiao comes out. I literally have a genshin team named “waiting for xiao” and it’s just Childe and Zhongli haha. 

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Today’s appreciation post goes to childes-starconch. Fitting that this is a Childe fic but ty for your support^^ I always notice you pop up as soon as I post a fic and I really enjoy seeing you. Hopefully you read this since tumblr won’t let me tag people, for whatever reason I don’t know anymore, but just saying hey, I see you 💕💕

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I’m just gonna piggy back off my last Childe fic. I’m sorry. 

Semi Part 1:  Fiance HCs [honestly, one of my favourites haha] 

Xiao Ver:  First Kiss HCs

Venti & Kaeya: Mistletoe HCs

Venti, Xingqiu, and Razor: Kissing HCs

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​@youaskedfurret​ @snowy224 

@youaskedfurret​ @diaxfeliz​ @wintergreen-aix​ @dandelily​ @thegayrubberducky​ @lovelykittycatmeow​ @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos​ @strwbrry-lia    @tigerpriestess 

For some reason I can’t @ certain people. I’m talking to tumblr about it. 

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Childe: First Kiss HCs

Childe was never one to shy away from affection, be it holding your hand in his or wrapping an arm around you, he was always happy to be close to you. He was always a bit territorial which lead to some embarrassing situations for you but it was from a good place in his heart. But when it came to public kisses, he preferred to keep it between you two. It felt too private of a moment that he didn’t want to broadcast to the rest of the Fatui, especially to the other Harbingers. That is to say, if he actually kissed you in the first place. For all the two braincells Childe had, one was fighting and the other was protecting his loved ones, just imagining kissing you was too much for him and he needed to go find some poor recruit and beat his inner problems out. The Fatui recruitment process would always dwindled down during his inner turmoil sessions that Scaramouche himself, had to throw his goddamn hat at Tartaglia, and yell at him to hurry up and fix his problem. It was clogging up the air. 

When he tried to think about it, it shouldn’t be this hard to simply lean in for a kiss. But it was his first and while Childe might run into whatever danger or prospect of a fight without a second thought, he didn’t want to ruin it. What if he accidently bonked his forehead with yours? He should remove his mask then right? Just in case? He’s only given forehead and cheek kisses to his younger siblings so it should be the same right? Yeah he could do this, this was just another battle for Tartaglia to conquer! 

But whenever he would see you or you would both sit and bask in each other’s presences. He couldn’t bring himself to initiate something or heck, even looking at your face made him a bit hot under the collar in sub-zero temperatures. He can almost hear Scaramouche and Signora laughing maniacally at him behind their hands. He’s the youngest of the Harbingers, he should get a “get out of jail for free” card that all youngest children have whenever they get into trouble. But in this case it’s murder. He quickly slaps his cheeks to get his mind off fighting for one second which startles you beside him. 

The first time you’ve seen Childe shy was when he first confessed to you, stuttering that he liked you and just really badly wanted to hold your hand without using the frost of Sneznaya as an excuse. You flushed pink but nodded that you returned his feeling and slipped your hand in his. Whatever shyness Childe had was quickly wiped off his face and he cheered and brought you in for an eskimo kiss. Rubbing your nose with his as he laughed in joy, the tips of his ears and cheeks still coloured pink. You always hold that memory dear to your heart because not only was it the start of your relationship, it was the first time you felt you were staring at Ajax. Not Childe. Not Tartaglia. Just Ajax. 

But now, you’re not to sure what to call this. Lately he seemed to be out of it, always staring off into space or frowning at some poor poor snowmen that did not deserve that much pressure.  Was being a harbinger starting to take it’s toll on him? Did something terrible happen to his family or was the Tsaritsa being too hard on him? You were beginning to get concerned because you’ve never seen this much mental turmoil in him. This never really happened before and he usually bounced back pretty fast. Would it be better if you left him be and he sorted it out himself? Would it be better if you asked? 

Childe is startled out of his thoughts of possible committed murder because he’s too scared to ask his own partner if kissing was something they could do, when he felt your hand slowly nudge his. No matter how many times he holds your hand, you’re always warm. It could be snow storming outside and the only heater he would need would be you. He offers a small but warm smile as he laces his fingers with yours. He remembers when you first started going out he was so scared about boundaries and what was okay. Brushing your fingers together and overall, not doing a good job at saying he wanted to hold hands that even he cringes slightly at his younger self - even though it wasn’t that long ago and he’s doing it again just with kisses - but now he borderline clings to you like some overgrown animal. Scaramouche’s words, not his. 

It’s still evening in Snezhnaya and the Tsaritsa herself seems to be taking a vacation because there’s only a light snow falling down between the two of you. You’re both sitting outside his house while his family is inside, warm and having fun playing games. He breathes in, closes his eyes, and let’s the world fade away just a second. He slowly brings his other hand to cup your cheek, his hands are always numb and the tiny pin pricks are dancing on his fingers again before they fade away too, and guides you towards him so he can place a small kiss on your fore head. Then tilts your face to the side so he can kiss your cheek. Brings his nose near yours to nuzzle against. Then hesitates when his lips hover above yours. 

“Ajax is there something bothering you?” you ask softly, you’re so close to each other that all you can see is him. The small puffs of breathe you both take bounce off each other’s face before evaporating into the air. You never really took the time to appreciate Ajax’s bright blue eyes. His pupil from this distance seems to be slitted too. 

“Hm? Ah no, of course not. Where did you get that idea?” he tries to laugh it off and tries to move back before you quickly bring your hand to the back of his head and nudge him forward so he stays in place. It wasn’t like him to run away from something, it was really starting to bother you what could get Ajax of all people to retreat from something. 

“You know if there’s anything that’s bothering you, you can talk to me right?” you asked as you brought both your hands to cup his face as you softly rubbed circles just under his ear. He closed his eyes and hmmed happily at your actions and nuzzled further into your hand before turning his head inward to kiss your palm. Before relaxing and parting his eyelids half way as he seemed to be back in concentration mode. Before awkwardly saying what was troubling him these past few days. 

“So wait, you mean to tell me that this entire time I was worried about you. How out of it you were and how many fights you’ve been getting into. Was because you wanted a kiss?” you asked dumfounded as he pouted but nodded. You sighed but bonked your foreheads together softly, “You’re such an idiot....C’mere.” 

“Wha-” 

You grab the scarf on his harbinger uniform and tug him forward as your lips slot over his. You kiss him hard and for a few seconds as Ajax just stares at you as his brain tries to catch up, before his eyes seem to dilate and he kisses you back just as hard. All his past worries are quickly thrown out the window as slowly pushes you on your back, cushioned by the soft snow, as he basks in the feeling. It’s a bit sloppy given this is both your first kisses but that’s what adds to the charm. You both have to separate at some point for oxygen but Childe looks like he’s ready to dive in again. 

“One more,” he pants as he goes in for another but you quickly place your hand in the way so he ends up kissing your palm. He whines but you chuckle at him, place a small kiss on the back of your palm of where his lips would be, and push him off you. You’re both still outside his families home and you aren’t in the mood to be caught in this kind of position. Especially not in front of his younger siblings. He rests his cheek on your shoulder and looks at you, trying to make his eyes bigger and look like a kicked puppy. You sigh as you give a small pet on his head, running your fingers through your hair. What a troublesome partner you’ve gotten. 

“Alright, one more.” 

---

My entire taglist was just made for the  “Enemies” to “Lovers” post and I still haven’t started hehe. Trust me, it’s coming. I’ve got requests for it and we’re slowly getting there. The entire time I’m writing this I’m just thinking “honey..no, that’s not how this works.” God you’re so dumb. I hate you. You’re my favourite character. Pour one out for Xiao, I was going to make this a crack fic too but ended up making it somewhat serious. 

So yeah, xiao is a cat and childe is a fox. In other news, water is wet. But I did actually google fox behaviors just for this shitpost. ALRIGHT TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF “WILL TUMBLR BE NICE TO ME?” OR DO I NEED TO DOUBLE REPOST AGAIN. 

[andtheydontstopwriting]

The Fourth or Bust 【Rodrick Heffley x GN!Reader】- One-Shot

rating: pg

genre: just pure fluff

word count: 1323

summary: it’s your first fourth of july that you actually do something on associated with the holiday, and let’s just say it won’t be a bust at all.

author’s note: this is based upon whatever universe i created with curses and easier, but made this version gender neutral! as usual i am still growing and working on my skill so feedback is always appreciated!!

The Fourth of July was a holiday you had not exactly celebrated before. Growing up in the Upper East Side of New York, the most that would happen was watching fireworks from a distance, but there would be no party or no cookout, not even a hotdog or hamburger. Even if your family went camping, it was not the traditional sort of camping. It was luxury cabins in the woods, and a grill or campfire was never even considered. It was boat rides, swimming and drinking for the adults and expensive fish for dinner. 

So when your family moved out of the city and into a small town in Massachusetts, things started to change. Well, they did not change for your parents--maybe your mother who went to drink with her friends she had made since the move, but your father would prefer to keep up traditions and only went to the parties his co-workers would throw to ensure things would only be kept strictly business. 

For you and your brother, however, it was an entirely different story. Your brother went to the bigger parties, thrown by one of his friends. Where you went to a neighborhood thrown celebration party with your boyfriend, Rodrick. 

It apparently was one his and his family went to yearly, and he was just excited that he could bring someone that was both his age and someone he enjoyed to be with to the party this year as his dad had made it clear none of his friends could go, considering it was thrown by his neighborhood rival dad. But Frank had taken a liking to you and thought you were a good influence, so allowed you to go. 

When the Fourth finally rolled around, though the wait was not long as it felt it had only been a couple days since school had let out for the summer, you were up bright and early as Frank had told you to be at the Heffley’s house nice and early in the morning and you headed to that instruction. Getting ready was quick and to the point, trying to not overdo it with a simple shirt and a pair of shorts to withstand the warmer weather, slipping on your sneakers before leaving at the front entryway of your home.

                                                      :~+~:

Okay, so you were a few minutes later according to Frank, but in reality you had arrived at the time Rodrick told you to be there--around 10 or 11. So maybe it was late, but also not late at all. But according to Mr. Heffley it was as he had to run by whatever nonsense rule and expectations there were with the entire family before going into ‘enemy territory’ for the afternoon. Susan assured you that you’d be fine no matter what, it was mainly for her boys to stay out of trouble, but Frank did not want to signal them out that summer.

The party itself was what she expected whenever she saw or thought about a typical middle class suburban Fourth celebration would look like and be like: flag decor everywhere and the only thing in sight aside from red, white and blue, was chips, hot dogs hamburgers, cakes and cupcakes and whatever snacks associated with a backyard barbeque would have. While it was not your first to have these sorts of foods, as it was becoming increasingly common the longer you stayed in Plainville, it did not make the excitement to have them around any less momentous for you. You have learned to contain this excitement, often utilizing the seen not heard tactic you and your brother used as young children attending a high society party to conceal that excitement. Though judging by the amount of both yours and Rodrick’s plates, it was clear. 

“Got enough food there, babe?” Rodrick asked, looking at the food on the paper plate in your hand.

“You shouldn’t be talking, sweetheart.” You countered with a slight laugh, “But I don’t know when I’m going to have this stuff again, so gotta take advantage of it.”

“I’m sure if you tell my mom that, she’ll make sure we’ll have hot dogs and hamburgers every time you come by,” Rodrick pointed out before eating a chip, adding with his mouth full, “She loves you that much, after all.”

“I may just have to do that then.” You agreed though you were not sure if you would actually do so, but it would be a nice thought and something to use for the future and rest of the summer if she was ever craving a hot dog or something later on. 

The barbecue during the day was quite fun though you could tell Rodrick was getting over it really fast as the day dragged on because there was not a whole lot to do until night started coming and the fireworks were to begin. But there was something you had found enjoyable about the non-business, non-formal party in the backyard of someone’s house that kept you entertained in the summer heat. While you knew that staying so long in the summer heat most likely was not the ideal situation, but regardless you enjoyed it. 

With dusk approaching, that was the agreed upon time the Heffley family would leave to head to the town’s firework show, as it was the time most of those who went to that backyard party would be leaving, too. The fireworks were also something you had been invited to, and you did not have to be asked twice because fireworks were the few things that your Fourth of July shared with everyone else. There was something special about them, though the loud noise was not an ideal, the colors were worth it.  

Driving out to where the fireworks display was...was something, largely because it was you driving you and Rodrick behind the Heffley SUV, and the entire ride was Rodrick complaining about the day they had.

“I almost punched Greg about three times this afternoon, and I can’t even tell you why.”

“Why did it have to be so hot out? This tan line is gonna suck so much.”

“If it weren’t for you, I probably would have actually punched Greg now that I’m thinking about it…”

You could only smile and attempt to respond back to anything he was talking about, but they were all in rapid succession as they often were. You had noticed that when you two were alone, Rodrick’s thoughts simply just...came out without much of a filter and sometimes without pause. Whatever came across his mind, he said if he knew he could do so when you were around, largely because if it was just you, he knew you would not get him into trouble. It showed how much he really trusted you, and it made your heart swell just thinking about it.

And this feeling only increased as the family and the pair of you had arrived at the fireworks show. Instantly, as it often did when out in public, Rodrick felt he needed to keep you close and his arm went around your shoulders as Frank led the family and yourself to the best spot he could find to watch the show. It was a nice change of pace to be with a family who loved each other, deep down anyway, despite the chaos they held in everything they did. 

Once the show had begun and you had settled yourself against Rodrick as you both looked up at the sky lit up with exploding color and shapes, the smile on your face never did fade once. Though, you felt a pair of lips on her head and turned your head up to look at Rodrick, who was looking at you with the out of character softness you had only seen a handful of times.

“You know, you’re probably one of the best things in my life.”

“I think I can agree with that.”