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stllmnstr · 4 months

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champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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PART ONE

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Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness.

Scratch that – thirty minutes.

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives.

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up.

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing.

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it.

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness.

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book.

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing.

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second.

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment.

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date.

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up.

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her.

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard.

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure.

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine.

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it.

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time.

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm.

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit.

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course.

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now.

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated.

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door.

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance.

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one.

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID.

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you.

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be.

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs. And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home.

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about.

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line.

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always.

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.”

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily.

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out.

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again. “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap.

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly.

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent.

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.”

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around.

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully.

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit.

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly.

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.”

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is.

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan.

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text.

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files.

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage.

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack.

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door.

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number.

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently.

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan.

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with.

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest.

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful.

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding?

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom.

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger.

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way.

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long.

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.”

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out.

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine.

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute. And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away.

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger.

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips.

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms.

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes.

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it.

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–”

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking? “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along as you drag him with you. I am so fucked.

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless.

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before.

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down.

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone.

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend. “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing.

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number.

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all.

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true.

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library.

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror.

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder.

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop.

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him.

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it.

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you.

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him.

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare.

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving.

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace.

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right.

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall.

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks.

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace.

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake.

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser.

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment.

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company.

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house.

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university.

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system.

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst.

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be.

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob.

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all.

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically.

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom.

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too.

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants.

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library.

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence.

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax.

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice.

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.”

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute.

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides.

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one.

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now.

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes.

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer.

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line.

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it.

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom.

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight.

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer.

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim.

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be.

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one.

An overwhelming sense of self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else.

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment.

As you get closer, their words become more audible.

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it.

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him.

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire.

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this.

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease.

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is.

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good.

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over.

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable.

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.”

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it.

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier.

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine.

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face.

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant.

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window.

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace.

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being.

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey.

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough.

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault.

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production.

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for.

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation.

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices.

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you.

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there.

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do.

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath.

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely.

James Sim.

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him.

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker.

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name.

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed.

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments.

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs.

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card.

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced.

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him.

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well.

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable.

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles.

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother.

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read.

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious.

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles.

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.”

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes.

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers.

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother.

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter.

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you.

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations.

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it.

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions.

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there.

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout?

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus.

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance.

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.”

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.”

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have.

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being.

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom.

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else.

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening.

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut.

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless.

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror.

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :)

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CONTINUED IN PART 2

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note: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. part two still needs some love, and I'm hoping to have it out around this same time next week. I'll announce for sure when I have a release date & time. as always, I love hearing any thoughts/comments/screaming you may have. happy reading!

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake sim x you #jake sim scenarios #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you

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luveline · 4 months

Note

hi, i’m not sure if your requests are open, forgive me if not, but i’ve been thinking about bombshell!reader and spence lately. not sure if you’ve written this already or something similar, but how about them sharing a room on a case? similar to alaska.

fem, 1k

Spencer predicted the outcome of the roommate situation fairly quickly. Ignoring whatever data he might have in his head about the team, Spencer was always going to end up sharing with you tonight, because the universe hates him, and because you quite like him.

It's nice to be someone first choice, if nothing else. “Me and Spencer will share, obviously,” you say, holding out your hand for a keycard.

Hotch passes it over without complaint. He doesn't have to say keep it professional, you will (ish), and he doesn't have to ask Spencer if he's okay with this arrangement. Despite endless exhausting teasing, everyone knows that you and Spencer are actually friends. Or, he thinks you are.

You certainly feel quite friendly as you hike your bag higher up your arm and sew the other arm through his. “Let's go. I'm so tired I might fall asleep on the way there.”

You don't look tired. Spencer struggles to understand how every emotion you wear suits you. How every time he looks at you, you're prettier. He read a book recently on human attraction, and less factual but perhaps his most strongly believed takeaway from the book was that a person grows more attracted to the person they're attracted to, like a loop, or an ouroboros snake eating its own tail, forced over and over to make the same stupid mistake. What is he doing? Does he really think this is a good idea? Is he in love with you? How couldn't he be? You walk arm in arm to a room you're going to share and you don't care that he smells sickly of arnica and deodorant mixed together. You ignore the dark circles under his eyes, dark circles you never seem to have, always so perfect, always so you.

“This one?” you ask, coming to a stop. “Room… 108?” He takes your bag and you smile gratefully, inserting the key, and legging open the door. “Tada. Home sweet home, Dr. Reid.”

The hotel room is small and stale. Clean, sure, but questionably, with yellowing furnishings and sparse furniture. There's a double bed, two nightstands, a cubby bathroom close to the door, and a single chair near a small free standing countertop opposite of the bed, hosting a microwave and cups with hot chocolate sachets.

“Wow,” you say, beaming, immediately breaking for the bed.

“Wait, wait! We have to check for bed bugs.”

You hold your hands up in surrender.

Spencer peels the sheets back and uses the little torch on his keychain to investigate the mattress while you sit on the floor, one leg crossed beneath you and the other stretched in front of you as you sort through your clothes. You hum as you fold a shirt cleanly and make a pleased sound that may prove to give him indigestion as you unearth your pyjamas.

“Spencer, can I shower first? Do you mind?”

“I don't mind.” He turns off the torch, satisfied. “Thank you. For letting me check without being annoyed.”He says the second bit quieter than he means to.

“Why would I be annoyed?” you ask, standing up in a whirlwind of pistachio perfume. Low notes of something sweet and caramelised haunt him as you drop your hand on his shoulder. “I'm gonna shower really fast, I swear. Should we get dinner? I bet we could order something to the front desk.”

“I'll see if they have any menus.”

Sitting in bed with you, later, showered and fed and drinking microwaved hot chocolate from paper cups together, Spencer has a strange flash of pleasure. Talking to you, seeing you with your hair in its protective style for the night, your skin shining with lotions and serums, and to have the revelation that you really do have dark circles under your makeup, it all feels private and special. Because you're still undeniably beautiful, and you act like he's worth sharing that with.

He feels overwhelmed, in all honesty.

You can sense it. You do your best to calm him down.

“Finish your drink, babe,” you say, knocking him on the thigh with your knuckles. “It was a really long day.”

“I'm fine.”

“Yes, you are.” You giggle at yourself. “Sorry, I'm being serious tonight, I decided.”

“Why?” he asks, puzzled.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don't.”

You put your hot chocolate on the nightstand and sink back into the pillows, looking every bit a movie star as usual despite your fresh face. It's your expression, the confidence behind them, that makes you so beautiful.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

He looks down into his hot chocolate, swirling the drink around and around. “You're beautiful.”

It catches you off guard. You're quiet for too long, panic festering in his chest.

“You are too.” You put your hand on his thigh. When he brings his haze to your face, you've closed your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No.” You both laugh. “Sorry if that was out of the blue, before.”

“I say worse to you,” you say. “Lay down with me. We can snuggle.”

Spencer lays down. You don't snuggle, but your hand stays pressed to the side of his thigh, and the smell of your perfume lingers despite your shower. It must've been caught in your hair.

“It's weird,” you say, facing the ceiling, “I'm not tired anymore.”

“It's called learned arousal.”

Your laugh is a shock. “Oh, is it now?”

“Not like that. Are you thinking about work? If you think about certain things while you're in bed, it starts to make it so you think about those things on instinct. You've conditioned yourself.”

“I don't think so,” you say. “Well, maybe. Mostly I just think about you, Spence. And not like that.” You laugh again, so much laughter Spencer could conjure the sound from memory alone. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'm not trying to harass you.”

He stares at the side of your face. “I know what you mean. I think about you too.”

“Well, good to know I'm not in this torture alone,” you say softly.

It is the worst night's sleep of Spencer's life, but he thinks he might want to do it again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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togenabi · 7 months

Text

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

Text

The meeting is supposed to begin in four minutes, and you’re late again. With a box full of papers in your arms, you sprint towards the elevator, but its doors are slowly closing.

There’s someone inside, though. He is dressed in camo and wears a mask, which doesn’t surprise you since such apparel is a common sight in this building.

He tilts his head to the side, peeking to see the maniac shouting at him to “hold the door.” He jams his foot between the doors to keep them from closing, and steps to the side as you burst in.

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, but you thank him. He nods.

The doors close, and the elevator starts its ascent.

He asks which floor you’re going so he can push the button since your hands are full. You swallow and tell him you’re going to the “seventeenth, please.”

You both turn to look at the panel; your floor is already selected.

He points at the box in your hands. He says that it looks heavy and offers to hold it for you. You politely decline, explaining that the files are confidential and you shouldn’t let anybody else touch them.

He side-eyes the files and states that he can clearly see what’s written at the top. Maybe he’s trying to diminish your credibility. Perhaps it’s just his dry sense of humour and a way of making small talk.

You joke back, telling him you’d have to kill him now that he’s read what’s on the file. He looks down, huffs, and turns his attention to the numbers panel.

The elevator stops, and the doors open.

You prepare to step out first, but he puts his hand in front of the box and stops you. He leans in between the doors and takes a look at the corridor. He turns his head to the left, then to the right. He looks back at you and motions with his head that it’s okay for you to go out. You look at him, confused, and explain that nobody will attempt to harm you inside the CIA premises. He chuckles, reminding you that you just threatened to do that to him a few seconds ago, and assumed that “It was a thing in here”.

You roll your eyes and exit, walking towards your meeting room. He’s following you.

You tell him that you “don’t need his services anymore,” and he explains that that’s not why he’s behind you; he, too, is looking for a room.

You both stop in front of a door. A sign with the words “meeting in progress” is hanged on it.

You look at him. He returns your gaze.

“Y-you must be...”

He stops you and points to the file at the top of your box that bears a name: Simon “Ghost” Riley.

“Your file didn’t have a picture of you,” you explain, “so I didn’t recognise you.”

He places his hand on the door’s handle and rotates it.

“Well,” he says, swinging the door open, “how about we get to know each other now?”

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honeydjarin · 5 months

Text

MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN

OPLA SANJI X SHORT!READER

Luffy isn’t the only one with a penchant for sneaking into the kitchen.

request: Hiii, if you want to I'd like to request a Sanji x short reader, where they try and help him out in the kitchen but can't reach anything. No pressure, just wondering

genre: fluff

word count: 2,000

a/n: normally I avoid any sort of specific physical features in my fics in order to make them as inclusive as possible, but as someone who must climb the shelves at the grocery store in order to reach anything, this request spoke to me. This one is a little silly and nothing but fluff. I hope you enjoy!

It’s late. The sun sank below the horizon long ago, leaving no trace of the adventures and games that took place during the daylight hours. Everyone else on the Going Merry is asleep. You really should be sleeping too, and you had been, not too long ago.

You don’t know what it is that stirred you from your slumber. Perhaps some noise as the ship rocks on lazy waves, or a crew mate talking just a bit too loud in their sleep. It doesn’t matter, really. What does matter is the thoughts that worm their way into your mind the longer you lie awake. Thoughts of something light, something sweet, something to satiate a craving, your body convinced it’s time for breakfast despite your mind knowing dawn is hours away. It doesn’t take long for the hollow ache in your stomach to drive you from the comfort of your hammock and up towards the galley.

You know the kitchen on the ship well. You know which floorboards creak and which are safe to step on, where the chef hides traps for Luffy and how to circumvent them, where all of the ingredients to satiate your sweet tooth are hiding.

Just thinking about the reason for your intimate knowledge of the ship’s kitchen is enough to send heat racing up your neck and settling beneath your cheeks. You press your fingers to the skin where your burning blood pools beneath the surface, taking a moment to relish in the sugar sweet feeling of a simple crush—a single name swirling through your brain is all it takes to leave you giggling quietly in the night.

Sanji, the newest member of the Straw Hat Crew. Sanji, the one who will never let another go hungry, not even a stranger. Sanji, the man with sun soaked hair and a honey dipped tongue.

Sanji.

When the chef first joined the crew, you admired him. He was caring and steady, he knew what he believed in. With his handsome looks, quick wit, and open flirtations, it didn’t take long for that admiration to slip into something that felt sweetly like affection. You couldn’t help but want to spend more time with the cook, hoping to join him in the activities that bring him the most joy so that you might better understand him. It didn’t take long for you to become nearly as familiar with the galley as he is.

You step into the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind you. You leave the lights off, not wanting to risk anyone else catching you in the galley (or getting the idea to grab a snack themselves). Instead, you stand in the dark, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Moonlight spills through the windows of the room, bright enough to see by, if you’re patient.

It isn’t long before you’re able to move again, walking along a familiar path towards where Sanji stores all things sugary.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that you’re doing something you shouldn’t. Like if you have to sneak around then you’re in a place you don’t belong. This is Sanji’s space, cataloged and organized to best suit his needs and ensure the crew has enough supplies to last between islands. It feels strange to be in the kitchen without the sound of his laughter or the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove top.

Sanji’s presence is the piece that makes this space feel so comfortable. Without him, it feels too large, hollow. The galley has no life without its chef. You never really thought about how the kitchen would feel without him in it, and can’t help but hope it isn’t a feeling you become used to.

You know if you wake up the cook he will make something for you. He would rub the sleep from his eyes, only half succeeding, before asking what he could make to help satiate your craving with a smile. You would feel guilty the whole time.

It’s better to sneak through the galley for something you can find on your own than to disturb Sanji’s sleep.

The first thing you search for is chocolate. You crawl onto the countertop, balancing on your knees as your feet dangle over the edge, before opening the cabinet in front of you. You eye the chocolate chips, the miniature sweets sitting at a level seemingly so easy for the rest of the crew to grab. You doubt any of the others would have to climb to reach them.

Unfortunately, the only chocolate on the shelf is unsweetened. The lack of added sugar may be perfect for baking, but they won’t be sweet enough for your taste on their own.

You begin to drop down from the countertop, fully intending to continue your search for the perfect treat. Your feet drop to the ground quietly, and you land in an almost crouch. Perfect, the ship is silent, as it should be. You straighten up, intending to continue your search, but your knees, still tight from your recent slumber, crack as you stand. The sound rings out in the otherwise silent kitchen like a gunshot.

Maybe your creaking joints wouldn’t be a problem in a normal kitchen, but Sanji, who has ears attuned to any slight sound coming from the Galley (thanks to Luffy’s many attempts to raid the space at odd hours for food), surely heard the pop in his sleep. You may as well have knocked down all of the pots and shattered all of the dishes.

It isn’t long before the sound of hurried footsteps and frustrated grumbling reaches your ears. The door to the galley slams open, lights flickering on just a moment after, leaving you squinting as your eyes adjust to the room once more.

“Luffy, I swear if you touched any of the food I’ll—oh.” Sanji’s voice carries through the kitchen, his accent thicker than normal, sleep still clinging to his words. Your name rolls off his tongue, and you think it sounds sweeter in his sleep-addled voice than any chocolate could taste.

“Sorry, Sanji. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just a little hungry,” you confess.

“You could have woken me up,” he says, just like you knew he would. “I’d have been happy to cook something for you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You deserve to rest. Especially when you already wake up so early each morning to make breakfast.”

Sanji hums, stepping farther into the kitchen. He looks more awake now than he did when he first arrived. His eyes don’t stray from your own as he speaks, no longer concerned about the state of the galley.

“For you, love, it’s never a bother.” The smile he offers you sends your heart fluttering in your chest. “Anyway, I’m awake now. What would you like to eat?”

He’s too good to you, too gentle. How could your heart ever stand a chance?

“I was just planning on eating a little chocolate, but it seems like there's only the unsweetened kind right now.”

“Ah, of course. Only something sweet would be fitting for my sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your throat. His. He called you his.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, trying to hide the growing grin that spreads on your lips as you nearly melt from his words. The warmth blossoming in your chest will surely turn you into a puddle on the floor, and then Sanji will know just how much his words affect you (if he doesn’t know already).

“Can we make something with chocolate in it?” you ask.

“We?” Sanji repeats, as if he didn’t expect you to help him in this task. His gaze softens, eyes gleaming with something like affection, before adding. “Of course we can. How do strawberry and chocolate hand pies sound? I picked up some fresh jam at the last port.”

“It sounds perfect,” you say. It’s far more than you hoped to find during your late night search. When you got out of bed, you never would have guessed what kind of sweet you would find in the kitchen. You definitely didn’t expect to spend time baking with Sanji.

The two of you work comfortably together, only speaking when Sanji provides specific instructions or when you need clarification. The hazy fog of sleep still hovers over the both of you, even if you’re both awake enough now to function.

“Could you grab the chocolate chips for me?” Sanji asks.

It’s a simple request, one you can easily complete. You know where he keeps the chocolate chips, the unsweetened treat seeming much more appealing now that they’re going to be baked into something.

You make your way back over to the counter, situating yourself below the cabinet where the chocolate is stored. Then, you place your hands on the cool surface, preparing to make the climb. You’re certain Sanji knew this was the path necessary for you to take to reach the ingredient too. There’s no way for you to reach the chocolate chips without being higher up.

As you jump, using the force of your arms to help pull yourself up towards the counter just like you’ve done in other kitchens many times before, an unexpected force settles on your shoulders, pushing your feet back towards the ground.

“None of that, sweetheart. There will be no climbing on the countertops in my kitchen,” Sanji reprimands. He’s gentle in his scolding, the uptick of his lips and gleam in his eye letting you know he’s not really mad. “Sorry, I thought they were a bit lower.”

He doesn’t seem sorry.

You open your mouth to protest against what could only be meant as a jab about your height, but only a squeak comes out. Sanji’s warmth seeps into your back as he presses close, the shape of his hand burning into your hip as it settles there. You can feel the way his body stretches as he reaches up, leaning further into you, before easily grabbing the bag that seemed so far out of your reach. Any words you might have had to tell off the man for doing something for you when you could easily do the task yourself (as long as you could climb on the counter) fizzle out.

Sanji doesn’t look at you as he reaches for the chocolate, but the easy smile on his lips morphs into a lazy smirk. His thumb rubs slow, intentional circles where his hand remains steady on your hip, as if he was soothing a startled animal, coaxing you to stay close instead of running away, something you just might have done if he wasn’t purposefully grounding you while your thoughts soared.

Oh no, you think. He knows.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Sanji was already aware of your feelings for him—you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve—but you had tried not to make your feelings for the chef too obvious.

Sanji pulls the chocolate chips down, but he doesn’t step away. He still holds you close as he bends, his face lowering until it’s right beside yours. Then, without warning, his lips are pressed to the curve of your cheek.

The kiss is quick, feather-light, but you’re certain he can feel the way your blood burns just beneath the surface of your skin, his quiet mumble of so warm the only confirmation you need, even if you weren’t meant to hear.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I just couldn’t help myself.” Before you can react, Sanji steps away from you, taking you in for only a moment longer before turning back to the task at hand. With how smoothly he acted, there’s no way he hadn’t planned that little stunt he pulled.

He definitely knows.

Sanji is already placing the hand pies in the oven by the time you’re finally able to move again, and you can’t help but feel almost frustrated that the chef didn’t give you a chance to return his affection.

You’re left waiting impatiently as he sets the timer, the miniature pies now the last thing on your mind. Sanji doesn’t seem to understand—you’re craving something sweet, and as far as you’re concerned, the sweetest thing on this ship is him.

a/n: thank you for reading〜♡

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla x reader #sanji x you #opla sanji x you #opla x you #opla #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece live action

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bi-writes · 3 days

Text

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

963 notes · View notes

selineram3421 · 29 days

Text

*sleepy*

Courting Pursuit

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ gender neutral (gn) reader, mule deer reader, assuming Alastor is a marsh deer, Spanish translated, stalking-Vox, cussing, implied/suggestive, italics=thoughts, ha..watch out for the end ⚠

You continued to act affectionate towards him.

Even the others noticed and most of them would often ask you to do their work if it was related to him.

Niffty doesn't care and does her work as usual.

The thing is, you don't mind one bit and take up the work.

"Hola Alastor.", you'd greet him every time.

Today you were helping someone else, Husk to be exact, putting away some bottles in storage.

And then he heard that obnoxious voice of the sad excuse of an entertainment performer through his radio next to the television shop, Vox.

"Top of the hour! Today I have a special little treat for you, though the image is sadly glitched out, you can still see what is going on in the photo.", he says. "It's the Radio Demon, receiving an affectionate peck on the forehead from another deer!"

What a creeper. Alastor rolled his eyes and waited for the perfect moment to jump in and make the flat headed piece of tech look like a complete fool.

"From the looks of things, Alastor has a fuck buddy.", the TV demon grinned. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was taking it from behind.", he laughed and continued to rant on about innuendos like an idiot.

Turning a few knobs and flipping some switches, the Radio Demon was live.

"Salutations!", he greeted his listeners. "What an interesting start to the day! An overly cocky man acting like a news anchor when he doesn't have all the facts!", his smile widens. "For a demon asking his viewers to trust him, it's quite bold that he so blatantly lies to their faces."

"That's bullshit! I only provide the best-"

"Vox is so insecure and craving for attention from a powerful Overlord like myself, it's obvious that he's jealous.", Alastor laughed.

"Am fucking not you old timey prick-!"

"Why would he make such an announcement if not for that? Its clear to me that he wants someone to focus on him all the time.", he chuckles. "No wonder he always something new on his screens. But they lack so much that he has to resort to childish news broadcasts to seem important."

"Childish!?"

"As for the demon in the photo, that is a hotel guest and they do not understand English that much. There was a misunderstanding in translation and well..I'm not allowed to kill hotel guests.", then his voice switches. "This does not mean that I will let such an action pass, I will do something mμc# ￦θrs€ than death."

"You lying piece of shit! Tell me them the truth!"

"I should announce that the Hazbin Hotel has its doors open for all sinners who want a shot at redemption! Try to climb your way out of this fiery inferno, some might try to drag you back down, or you'll have trouble all on your own trying to redeem yourself! Anything is possible!", he put in his two bits for advertising the hotel. "And with that my wonderful listeners, I shall bid you all adieu~"

He switched on some jazz, not wanting to hear anymore of Vox's whining.

Something still irked him however..

Perhaps I should pay Rosie another visit. He thought. This time without them knowing.

As soon as he walked through the door of the emporium, his friend waved him over and pointed to her office, letting him know that she'd be there soon.

Once entering the office, he sighed and sat on the couch, already tired of what else would happen later in the day. He didn't want any other unnecessary conversations.

Rosie entered the office not too long after, setting her hat aside as she closed the door.

"You won't believe the gossip I've stumbled across today. Betty, the one with the pooch, not the one with the scar. She-", the woman started but then took notice of his mood. "What's wrong? You look worn out already."

"I don't know what to do with them. Vox, that piece of shit tech, has already made comments but I already put him in his place.", he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"I heard.", Rosie let out a short laugh.

"The deer is still doing things, not as bold as the first time but I don't want them near me. It's-", he growled and made a choking motion with his hands.

"If it's bothering you that much, you know you can tell them to stop.", she says.

He looks up at her with a wide eyed stare.

She dead pans.

"Alastor. You know you can tell them to stop. Right?"

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind.", he simply says.

"Oh for crying out loud-!", she tosses a pillow at him. "You are unbelievable! Go and speak your mind! You've never had a problem with it before!"

She was right. Why had he been so bothered about something like this?

He should have spoken up about it from the start.

It was late when he returned to the hotel. The lobby was empty and he could only assume that everyone had long been asleep. Walking to the dining room, he spots the kitchen light on.

Angel is probably making an abomination of a hangover cure- He thought and opened the door, only to find the mule deer leaning against the counter half asleep.

You perk up when noticing him.

"Bienvenido. Hice la cena y te guardé un plato.", you wave and smile. (Welcome back. I made dinner and saved you a plate.)

"What are you doing up at this hour? Granted, it is Hell and there are barely any rules around here, sleep is still important.", he says as you pick up a plate covered with tin foil.

Taking off the foil, you give him a plate of food.

Your fingers brush against his, making him flinch back and drop the plate, causing it to shatter on the floor with a loud crash.

Instead of focusing on the mess, you looked at him with worry.

"¿Estás bien? No estás herido, ¿verdad-?", you reach out to him but he smacks your hand away. (Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you-?)

"Don't touch me.", he hisses out. "I am not comfortable with your advances, so I advise you to stop NOW before I tear you apart and make you into tomorrow's dinner."

With that you took a step back.

"No quería incomodarte. Me detendré. Perdóname por no tener en cuenta tus sentimientos.", you muttered and looked away. (I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I will stop. Forgive me for not taking your feelings into account.)

Alastor didn't bother trying to translate your response in his head, just walking around you and to the door.

"Lo siento.." (I'm sorry..)

He heard you whisper as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

With a sigh, you kneeled down and began to clean the mess.

Sad times means cookies.

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @sleep-7372 @wat4r @lustylita @xdolls-crownx @lonelysimp18 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @dap11 @al1fers-haven @futureittomainn @random-3455 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

599 notes · View notes

acidsoju · 24 days

Text

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

genre: fantasy au, royalty au, multidimentional au, romance, angst, fiction, action, slow burn. pairing: lost prince!soobin x femreader warnings: a lot of plot?, some cursing, alcohol drinking, getting drunk, reader is mentioned to have long hair, ft. yeonjun and beomgyu, violent actions mentioned, mentions of death, a little 'forced proximity' trope, plot's literally reader finding soobin on the streets and adopting him !, reader's implied to be a year or two younger than soobin, reader's parents are mentioned to have passed away, maybe some steamy make out session but nothing else (sorry girlies no smut), tentacles (??? lmao dont ask), kinda rushed in the end if you ask me. word count: 21.1k summary: you were just out for a midnight snack so how did you end up caught with a prince from another world?

BEING QUITE HONEST, SOOBIN DOES NOT KNOW WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED. His mind is still quite fuzzy when he opens his eyes, rushed and dispersed memories flashing inside his head as a low whine of pain escapes from his mouth. He remembers being in his carriage, enjoying the relaxing image of the road through his window, the sun was setting. He remembers the carriage coming to a stop that neither he did ask for or was informed, his eyes narrowing at the coachman’s sudden action as he knocked on the carriage’s wall.

He remembers the way the door was thrown open and how what came into sight was not the coachman but three men. He remembers trying to escape, not allowing himself to mourn over the dead body of the coachman lying on the ground, and remembers perfectly well the pain he felt when his fist crashed against one of the man’s faces.

He doesn’t remember what happened after he was knocked out though.

He remembers voices, some lose words and sentences and then waking up at the vertigo he felt down in his guts while falling down a cliff, endless pitching dark ahead of him and then he faints before he reaches the ground.

Now, lying on the cold and damp floor, Soobin wondered if death was supposed to smell this awful? Pushing himself up with his hands, he looks around and squints his eyes. Was he in some kind of dungeon? The distant sound of waterdrops constantly falling was the only sound reaching his ears, besides the ones he made by standing up. Soobin lifted his chin, head looking upwards to the ceiling where the only mere light that stopped him from being completely in the dark came from.

There was a staircase just under that little hole in the ceiling irradiating light… Could that be the stairway to heaven? Soobin did not lose time before going up the steps, carefully, placing his hand against the hole and pushing up when he reached the last of the stairs. He breathes in deeply as fresh air hit his face, peeking through the hole, the scenery in front of his eyes changing completely one he was out.

Stepping out completely out the hole on was he thought was the ceiling, his eyes look around; it was certainly less dark that in the dungeon below, yet there seemed to be no one around. And, if he had to be honest as he always was, it looked nothing like he had picture heaven to be.

His eyes flicked a little further, sensing some movements just a few feet away from him. There, someone! His feet moved on its own towards the small silhouette of what it seemed a young girl; your attention too set on the thing in your hands. Soobin did falter his pace a little when he saw the way you took a bite from that thing; he wasn’t involving himself with some kind of carnivore, right? Your eyes finally seemed to notice the man moving in your direction, him clearing his throat as he stopped in his tracks in front of you.

“Young peasant, could you perhaps enlighten me about if this is heaven?” Soobin did not ignore the way your eyebrows slightly jumped at his words and how you showed clear distrust in your eyes, your mouth never stopping its movements as you chewed.

“Sorry man” you said once you swallowed the little midnight snack on your mouth, your eyes trailing down at the man’s clothes -was he a cosplayer?- and then up at his eyes again. “I’ve got no money.” This time it was your turn to watch how the man’s face twisted in surprise at your speech, eyes blinking uncountable times and mouth opening and closing a few more, lost at words. He was a prince- the crown prince and you dared being so disrespectful.

Soobin did understand he was, in fact, not dead when his stomach roared; a delicious yet unknown smell filling his senses, his eyes immediately following the invisible trail til reaching that thing you held in your hands. If you could eat that, then it meant he could too, right? And if he felt hunger, that meant he wasn’t dead, right?

His eyes lingered on the hotdog a little too much and you noticed it before you could even take another bite, stopping just a few inches before your snack with your mouth hanging open. You could almost see the drool in his mouth as his eyes shone at the sight of your snack and, after hesitating a little, you sigh and offer him the rest of your hot dog.

“Here, you can have it” you say grabbing the man’s wrist after no sign of him moving and placing the hotdog in his hands, pulling your hand away immediately. “It’s really late, mister, you should go back home now" You muttered before turning around on your heels and walking in the direction of your own place.

Soobin stood in his place absolutely froze, his eyes on your figure walking away, his hand warm where the hotdog was placed. Okay, maybe you have been a little rude to him a second ago, but as Soobin takes a shy bite at the hotdog, he is fast to forgive your behavior humming in delight at the fantastic taste. You had been so kind to him as to give him this little piece of meat that melted in his mouth? Giving up your own pleassure for him?

You looked over your shoulder when you heard the sound of hurried steps in your way only to spot the same man rushing in your direction, hotdog still in hand and a little of mustard on the corner of his lips. The man stopped as you turned around to face him, his chest going up and down as he panted and watched you cross your arms over your chest.

“You’re not following me home, aren’t you, mister?” You questioned him, a brow arching inquisitively. He pressed his lips in a thin line, passing a hand over his clothes to make the wrinkles go away; giving away he was, in fact, following you as he adverted your gaze.

“I am certainly not following you, miss, I’m just bestowing over you the honor of my companionship,” you snorted at the way the man in front of you puffed his chest out in your direction, chin tilting up and eyes looking at yours with a power you didn’t really understand; why was this strange man acting as if he was some kind high-up?

“Well, I don’t want your companionship, my lord,” you said, the words leaving your mouth with a notorious sarcastic tint but Soobin’s mouth opened in surprise at them.

“I must let you know I am no baron, miss, but a prince.” your eyes widened at his words. You got it now, everything- man had some loose wires in his head. You had to clear your throat and look away from him, feeling the cringe creeping in your body at his weird way of standing; God, he actually believed he was a prince.

“Look mister- mister prince, just stop following me or I’ll have to report you to the police.”

“Police?” The man tilted his head tasting the familiar word in his mouth. “You mean the guards? Are you, perhaps, a princess yourse-

Soobin stopped talking mid-sentence when your loud laugh erupted, holding onto your stomach and bending as you found the crazy man’s assumptions hilarious. There was no way you were a princess, he thought as he watched you laugh out loud, almost falling to your knees and wiping a few threatening tears on the corners of your eyes until, slowly, your laugh died down.

“Man, you’re so funny!” you beamed, lifting up a thump up in his direction and then clearing your throat, suppressing your amused smile. “I’m sorry to break it to you but I’m no princess,” shrugging, you started turning on your heels again to resume on your way back home, lifting an accusatory finger in the man’s direction. “Seriously, mister, don’t follow me anymore or I’ll report you to the police.”

“Who is this police you talk about, miss?” he inquired, taking a step in your direction as he feared you were going to leave. “Maybe they rule here?” You hummed for a second, thinking about it before nodding your head to the man and mumbling a simply yup, his eyes shining in relief at your answer. “Take me to them.”

“Wha-

“I must talk with the ruler of your kingdom, young peasant.” He stated, the solidity in his words and eyes softening a little after a few seconds of silence on your part. “If you may be so generous, once more, to show me the way?” he talked again, his tone a little more delicate as his big eyes stared intently into yours.

A tired sigh escaped from your lips, what time was it already? Your eyes trailed the man’s silhouette for the second time in the strange night you were having, taking in the way his clothes were stained, stinky and even torn on the ends; his face didn’t look that good either as his hair was ruffled and stiff, probably from the same thing that had drenched his clothes, and if you squinted your eyes, even in the middle of the night, you could tell he had some tired and bewildered eyes, yet still they shined with a little tint of hope.

“Fine, I’ll take you to the police.” You gave in massaging the back of your neck with your hand as he smiled grateful at you, taking a few steps closer until he stood next to you. You started walking with him following your steps into the police station’s direction, both of you in silence and you failing to notice the way the man long legs took shorter steps to walk in synch with you. The main building came in sight not so long after as it wasn’t even that far away from where you were, stopping in front of the entrance you turned your head to look at him. “Here it is.”

“Let us go in.” He said, before he was going up the entrance stairs and turning back to look at you remaining on the same spot, eyebrows furrowing a little at your unmoving self. “Come on now, peasant, don’t be modest. I’m sure the kind police would grant you a hearing as well.”

You blinked a few times while processing his words. You didn’t move from your place because you had all the intentions of dropping the prince at the police station and returning home. You did not agree going in with him so why were you actually following him inside the building? Soobin let you go in first, even holding the door open for you and followed closely behind you, eyes looking everywhere in curiosity, especially noticing the pattern in some people’s clothes.

You walked the boy closer to where some police officer sat down behind his desk, his unfaced eyes scanning you then the boy on your back that was still too caught up looking around to notice the unwelcoming stare of the adult in front of you. “Hello, officer.” You mumbled addressing the man who nodded yet remained silent. “See this guy over here? He’d really like to speak with you.”

At your words, Soobin peeked effortlessly over your shoulder to look at the man. “Are you the one in charge here, good sir?” He inquired, politely making a small bow with his head at the man whose eyebrows raised a little.

“You could say that, kid, what happened to you?” asked the police officer, eyes looking at the state of his clothes, nose scrunching at the horrendous smell reaching his nostrils.

“Oh, sir! I am finding relief finally knowing someone who can help me!” Exclaimed the prince allowing himself to seat on the chair at the other side of the desk; you barely nod your head for yourself as you thought that your job here was done and that it was finally time for you to go get some rest. “I seem to find myself far away from my home? Do you perhaps know the Fifth Great Kingdom of the Choi Dynasty? Is it too far away from this mundane village we are now?”

You were already turning towards the door when you heard the man sigh heavily. Peeking at his reaction, the police officer brushed a hand through his tired face, eyes perking up at the man in front of him and then to you, making you flinch in your spot at the annoyance in his eyes. “Listen up, kids, we’re busy people and do not have time for any kind of silly joke you’re playing right now. Why don’t you go back home? It’s really late for you both to be roaming around, understood?”

“That is exactly what I need help with, sir, to return home!” Soobin exclaimed, a little bit of exasperation in his voice. The police officer shook his head and got up, his hand making a visible move to the handcuffs hanging from his belt. Soon, your hand found the prince’s wrist and pulled him up, rushing towards the door.

“We’ll go now, sir, sorry for taking your time!” You squealed, ignoring the way the rest of the people inside the building gave you looks that went from ‘it’s two in the morning, why are you two still out?’ to ‘I will not hesitate to put you behind bars if you’re causing any disturbance in my neighborhood, kid.’

Your hand let go of Soobin’s wrist as soon as the both of you stepped back outside, the warmth of the police station quickly fading from your bodies and instead being hugged by the chilly air of the morning early hours. Over the adrenaline ringing and the bangs from your heartbeat in your ears, you heard the prince next to you muttered something like:

“Oh, I am signing for war when I get back.”

You turned your head to look at him only to feel a little guilty even thought nothing of all the things happening were your fault. Still, it was sad to see a person looking so lost; his eyes were still glued to the building in front of you but you could tell that they were actually somewhere else, somewhere far away. You watched the way the tip of his ears had turned bright pink as well as his cheeks and tip of the nose probably because of the cold, the torn clothes not providing him of any warm and comfort.

You would be probably crazy to let him crash at your place, right? This strange man that you had barely got to know for a just an hour, who was probably crazy, his mind far away trapped in a little fantasy word he created and that he assured was from, who could possibly be a serial killer? What even was his name?

You couldn’t, right?

And somehow you still found yourself turning your whole body to him, a long and defeated sigh coming out of your lips, stretching your hand, an open palm, in his direction and clearing your throat to get his attention back from wherever his mind was. His head turned in your direction, revealing the pitiful look on his face, knitted eyebrows and a small pout on his lips, an anxious look on his eyes that shifted to confusion as they moved down at your hand.

“Your… name,” you said clumsily, swallowing the awkwardness you felt under his confused eyes. “What is it?” Soobin’s eyes went up again to meet yours, just realizing he had yet to introduce himself to you, the only generous person he had crossed paths in the new world he found himself.

His hand swiftly grabbed yours but instead of shaking it, he rotated it with his own and lifted it up to his face. At the same time, the tip of his left foot touched the ground behind his right foot, kneeling in front of you until his face was at the same height of yours, dark yet shiny eyes staring into yours over your hand hanging closer to the bottom of his face. It tingles, you thought, there where his breath falls over my hand. His plump and cold lips pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles, eyes never looking away from yours.

“I am Choi Soobin from the Choi Dynasty, rulers of the Fifth Great Kingdom and crown prince of it as well.” He said once his lips left your hand standing normally again and softly letting go of your hand. “I am very sorry for the late introduction, miss, I must have been pretty out of my mind.”

“O-oh, no,” you mumbled trying to appease the creeping rush in your cheeks as the warm in your hand lingered longer than you had expected. “it’s fine, don’t sweat it.” Soobin nodded slowly at you, his eyes looking into yours expectantly and then you realized he did not know your name either. “Oh! Sorry,” you proceeded to tell him your name, smiling softly after it; yours was simpler.

“Y/n…” he said, savoring your name in his mouth, eyes looking into the sky getting lost again before he nodded his head slowly, more to himself than to you. “I will remember it as you have shown a great amount of generosity to me.”

“... Sure. Look, it’s really late and it will get even colder, would you like to spend the night at my place?” You asked noticing the way his mood lifted immediately. “I bet it’s not as big as your castle but it’s better than sleeping on the streets…” you stammered, feeling embarrassed at yourself, why were you talking about castles now?

“I shall take you up on your offer, miss y/n.” he said feeling grateful towards you once again, a tiny smile spreading on his face while you turned your back to him and started walking, stopping when you noticed him not following.

“Come on then, prince, we should get some rest for today.” Soobin rushed towards you and adjusted the pace of his steps to yours once more. “I think it’d be good if you wash up when we get there… you kinda, well, stink.” Soobin felt his cheekbones heating up at your words; he had never ever been told that he stunk. All that he ever received were praises from his parents, from his friends, from the teachers, from the people of the kingdom, so the reaction you obtained was a shy laugh and him mumbling sorry softly under his breath.

Neither of you spoke again until you both were going up the staircases of the complex you lived in. After what felt like infinite stairs up, you stopped in front of a door with the oxidating numbers 405 in it, your head turning to look at him with a tired and apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, we’re almost there, I just really need to get something from the guy that lives here, would you wait for me over there, please?” Soobin couldn’t say no, after all you were letting him, a complete stranger, sleep at your home, so the boy walked away a little and waited patiently as you knocked on the door once, twice, thrice, a couple of times increasing even more each time.

The door swung open revealing on the other side a sleepy boy rubbing his eyes that he barely could open to look at your figure standing in front of him. Yeonjun’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes closing again at the intensity of the yawn escaping his lips. “Babe? What’s wrong? It’s three in the fucking morning.” He mumbled, voice deep and raspy from being just woken up, leaning against the frame of his door and reaching a hand to rest on the top of your head. The sleepy guy finally seemed to notice the presence of the other boy standing behind you, his eyes looking with curiosity. “Oh? Is he with you? Or is he bothering you?”

“He’s with me, Junie.” You answered, smiling softly at your friend and snuzzling at his hand trailing down from the top of your head to your cheek. “Sorry I woke you up but I need help with something…” Yeonjun hummed for you to continue talking, his warm fingers trying to make the coldness of your face disappear. “Could you lend my friend some clothes?” The boys’ gazes met, both of them looking down at each other’s attires; Yeonjun getting immediately why you were asking him that, Soobin wondering if such clothes could even fit him. “And some underwear too, please? I can buy them if you need."

Yeonjun chuckled softly at you and squeezed your cheek in between his fingers, stretching your pretty skin to his heart’s desire. Soobin wondered if that man was your fiancé, he was not, right? Why would you offer him to sleep at your place if you were already taken? But then again, what was your relationship with him to let him touch you so carelessly? Is that how things worked in this little strange and rude world?

“I’ll get that for you, babe, wait here, ‘kay?” Yeonjun leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead, his eyes shifting from the softness he looked at you with to a cold stare looking into the strange man’s eyes, and then walking back inside his complex leaving you alone with the prince.

“Miss, I am sorry to pry but could it be that man is your husband to be?” Asked Soobin breaking the silence the both of you were engulfed at. The look you gave him over your shoulder clearly answered his question and he looked away feeling a bit ashamed for being such a noisy person.

Yeonjun came back soon after with a paper bag in his hand filled with all you had asked for. Mumbling a soft thank you to him, you were ready to continue your way up the stairs with the prince when Yeonjun’s voice made you stop on your tracks.

“He’s crashing at your place tonight?” he questioned scratching the spot under his jawline, receiving a short nod from you. “Mmh, ‘kay babe, call me if you need anything else.”

You heard the door shutting softly while you walked up the stairs, after a while finally reaching your own complex, the door with the number 913. After unlocking it, you pushed it open and trailed a single hand on the wall searching for the light switch, pushing the little lever up with your index finger, warm light immediately making the darkness from your apartment disappear. Soobin followed you in, his eyes as always looking around at everything with curiosity.

“Fuck, it’s so late,” you muttered, your eyes glued to the clock on your wall marking three twenty-five in the morning. “Shoes off, please,” you said, your eyes moving to the prince’s dirty shoes, he rushing to take them off just as you had done. “Let me show you the bathroom so you can wash yourself. Here,” you pushed the paper bag at him, his fingers barely brushing your hand before you let go of it and walked down a tight hall, turning on the lights as you walked.

Soobin followed you close and silently, listening carefully to every instruction you gave him. You were quite bossy, he thought as you told him where to leave his dirty clothes and to call for you when he was done, leaving him alone after a last glance at him.

You heard water crashing against your bathtub floor from your bedroom, quickly changing into some clothes to sleep and grabbing the mat from inside your closet, taking it with you to the small living room and placing it down on the ground after pushing the couch away a little. You walked from the living to your bedroom a few more times, taking with you some bedcovers and pillows for the boy to sleep a bit more comfortable.

Your head turned to the hall when you heard the bathroom door opening, the prince emerging from it with a steam cloud on his back. You had to actually squint and rubbed your eyes at the sight of him; was he the same person? The crazy prince from before was nowhere to be seen in the man in front of you, Yeonjun’s clothes fitting him perfectly, no more stinky smell, no more strained clothes, no more stiff hair. Instead, his hair fell over his eyes still dripping some waterdrops from the shower.

“I’m done, miss y/n,” he said, smiling softly at you and tilting his head a little to meet your eyes; wasn’t he ridiculously tall? “I also left the clothes where you told me to... What is wrong, does this clothing not fit me?” he questioned analyzing the little amused look on your face. You quickly shook your head, looking away from him and putting another step of distance between each other.

“You can sleep here tonight,” you pointed at the spontaneous bed you made on the floor, from the corner of your eyes watching him nod while taking in the sight of it. Soobin quickly got under the bedcovers you had put for him, hair falling softly framing his face as he placed his head on the pillow, eyes looking up at you, fatigue taking over his features. “Is it alright? Maybe sleeping on the floor is a bit…”

“This is perfect, miss,” he mumbled, eyes weighting down, lazy smile fighting to remain on his face. “Thank you so much for everything, really.”

You only hummed as you walked towards the wall, turning off the light and mumbling a soft goodnight, prince before walking to your own bedroom.

Just then, finally having found some warmth and comfort after everything that went down, Soobin’s cheeks got wet from the tears trailing down from his eyes, his teeth chewing at his bottom lip trying to hold the sobs, and himself too exhausted to even cry the way he deserved, falling asleep with no sign from the tears of stopping any time soon.

Five hours is all you got of sleep that night, your body immediately falling into slumber when it touched the comfort of your bed, a hell of a whole ride for only a midnight snack if someone were to ask you.

When you woke up the next morning you actually thought you had had just one of the craziest fucking dreams of your life, but soon you realized it hadn’t been a dream; first, it was walking into the bathroom and instantly gagging at the putrid smell of the clothes placed neatly on a corner; secondly, was the soundly sleeping prince on your living room, soft snores coming from his half-opened heart-shaped lips.

So now you had a complete strange man in your complex who firmly believed he’s some kind of prince- no, crown prince of a kingdom and you still had to go to class? What a hilarious world, you thought, your mind wondering if in his world college students existed for suffering too.

“Please… don’t… rub me… I’m a broke… student…” you wrote down on a single piece of paper, mumbling the words under your breath and smiling as you drew a little smiley face on it, then sticking the note to the arm of the couch next to the sleeping beauty.

When Soobin woke up later in the morning, almost not morning anymore, he knew immediately all that had happened was real; his puffy eyes moving around for any sign of you, spotting instead the little note on the couch that was directed to him:

‘mornin’ prince, sorry I had to leave first got some things to do, feel free to have some fruit from the kitchen but please don’t rub me, I’m a broken student :)’

Soobin chuckled softly at your words and put the note back where you had put it, feeling too lazy to get up yet, his mind wandering over and over again at everything that happened in last than twenty-four hours. Are they worried? Do they think I died? Have they told the people of the kingdom yet? Have they caught the responsibles? Why did they do this to me? Can I go back?

Soobin forced himself to stop thinking when he felt the hard pang in his chest and his throat tightening at the scary thought of never seeing his family again. Maybe he’d have some fruit.

The prince arched an inquisitive eyebrow as his eyes scanned your disaster of a kitchen, then landing on the basket with fruits over a counter, picking up an apple and washing it while completely ignoring the dirty dishes all over the sink. If you weren’t doing your dishes, why would he?

He allowed himself to take a seat on your couch, enjoying the taste of his favorite fruit, his mind flowing with thoughts again. Should he wait for you to come back or just go away now? It would probably be very impolite of him to go away without a proper goodbye, he thought, agreeing with himself. But just what time were you coming back? His fingers brushed again the note on the couch’s arm, picking it up to read it once more; you didn’t say what time you were coming back, so what was he supposed to do?

The image of the boy from last night appeared on his mind as quickly as he got himself from the couch and walked down the stairs, remembering the number of the door and soon reaching it, knocking on it just like you had done last night, once, twice, thrice, again and again, until the door flew opened.

“Uuh?” Yeonjun frowned at the prince, his eyes looking down at his own clothes, damn he had style. “Nice clothes, man.”

“I suppose they are not quite bad,” said Soobin, lifting up his chin at the boy whose eyebrows jumped at his speech, looking at the prince funnily.

“And just from what fairytale did y/n take you from, mh?” Yeonjun crossed his arms over his chest, a lazy grin on his lips. Soobin unknowingly pouted at the mention of your name so carelessly.

“Do you happen to know which time is miss y/n coming back?” he made sure to emphasized the correct way you should be treated. Yeonjun hummed a little too long, his lips pouting while thinking.

“I do.”

“Well? Tell me.”

“Not telling ya’” Yeonjun stuck his tongue out at the man playfully, earning a soft gasp of indignation from Soobin and a taken aback look. “If she didn’t tell you there must be for a reason, no?”

“She might have just forgotten to add it.” Soobin mumbled, eyebrows knitting in frustration; he did not like this boy, not one bit. ”I will wait for her either way, I just wish to know when she will be back.”

Yeonjun sighed, rolling his eyes already tired from hearing the formal speech of the boy, not even his grandmother spoke that way and she was like, ancestral. “She’s back in a few hours, man, so find something else to do while you wait” Yeonjun then realized the boy was just doing that and scoffed in his face dumfounded. “You were bored, huh? Do I look like some nanny to you?”

“You quite do, actually,” answered Soobin knowing that would have the boy in front of him ticking; Yeonjun licked his lips, an amused smile spreading on his face before he took a step away from his door, allowing the young prince to step into his own little world.

“You said you liked the clothes, right?” he asked, closing the door after Soobin got into his complex, the prince looking around pointing in his mind at every difference between yours and his. Your place was way tidier than this one, even thought it had been a little too small for his imagination. Yeonjun’s place seemed even smaller, crampier, the walls were covered by drawn papers and the prince noticed how fabrics were all over the place.

Yeonjun dragged Soobin down the small hall and inside a new room filled with half-dressed and stabbed with needles mannequins. “Since you’re my precious friend’s friend I’ll make something nice for you, whatya’ think? Aren’t I the nicest?” Yeonjun grinned at the prince and approached him, a measuring tape in his hand falling long to the floor. “You look way better than last night, dude… the magic of water and soap.” Soobin scoffed at the words, he is an hygienic man, he just had the terrible luck of magically appearing in the sewers. Still, being kind enough to ignore Yeonjun’s words, the prince let him took his measures, obediently lifting his arms when told to. Even thought Yeonjun was particularly rough, it was a nice feeling, something familiar he had done countless of times back at home.

Yeonjun walked around the room after dropping the measuring tape somewhere on the floor carelessly, moving in between the mannequins with a hand on his chin while his eyes jumped through his pieces. He grabbed and dropped cloth after cloth, muttering to himself, walking to a wardrobe and stirring its inside, until Soobin heard a small ‘ah-a! here you are’ and pulled a strange looking shirt, black leather on a side, brown leather on the other.

“Want you to try some things for me,” he said, pulling his best smile for the prince before letting the clothes fall on his hands. Soobin pursed his lips, he had not received so many orders in his life like this since, well, ever. But Soobin understood common decency perfectly well as he had been taught by the best teachers in the kingdom and was not to refuse the people who had shown him enough generosity the past hours’ requests.

Soobin stripped out of his clothes, not minding Yeonjun was still in the room as he was used to people lingering around and helping him changing his clothes; on the other hand, Yeonjun didn’t mind the man stripping in front of him either, as he had got used to sudden nudity after a while of designing clothes and putting them on people. He hummed, nodding proud at the way his clothes hugged the prince’s body and even walked around his figure, analyzing every inch.

“You could be a model,” Yeonjun stated, proud at his creations. “You already are ridiculously tall, and the rest of your body proportions are good.” He opened some silk curtains revealing a big wall mirror on the corner of the room and motioned for the prince to come close. “Here, take a look, what do you think?” Yeonjun patted the prince’s shoulder before walking away, leaving him alone to look at his own reflect.

The clothes looked more nicely that he had initially thought; they were something new, yes, but they looked good on him. The leather hugging his body perfectly well and allowing him to move enough; his fingers brushed against the material, tracing the unusual division on his chest shaping a triangle. The pair of dark, baggy jeans he had wore also did fit well, he liked them, he looked nice and he seriously began wondering about implementing this ideas on his own personal clothes.

His thoughts abouth the clothes on him quickly disappeared when his eyes caught something strange reflecting behind him… What was that purple spark growing bigger and bigger by second? Soobin looked over his shoulder, there was nothing behind him, Yeonjun long gone from the room. When he turned back, he had to bit down his own tongue at what he saw in the mirror, could it be that he was going insane? Standing next to him stood a way too familiar figure, its shape too foggy to be true, his usual big grin on his face and tired, big and dark bags under his eyes.

“Well, hello there, my good old friend” said the figure, hand pressing on his chest as he bowed his head to the stunned prince on the mirror. Soobin gasped at the clear sound of his voice rumbling inside his head.

“Beomgyu” muttered the prince, trying to touch the image of his friend on the mirror with his own hand, only coming in contact with cold glass. “How-

“What do you mean, how? Why would you be friends with the best mage of the Kingdom if you are not willing to trust in his abilities?” the man snarled, eyes shining in mischief as usual as his dark eyebrow arched, long hair pulled away from his face on a ponytail. The smile on his face faltered a little, eyes closing for a second as he sighed before speaking again, less playfulness and more pain in his voice this time. “Everyone thinks you are dead, Soobin, the Queen’s- the Queen’s falling apart.” Soobin felt his heart banging painfully at his friend’s words. “I knew you were still alive, it made no sense we couldn’t find your body… turns out you are really, really far away.”

“How far away?” questioned Soobin, dreading the answer from the look on his friend’s eyes.

“Dimensionally far away,” Beomgyu sighed, rubbing his temples as if the mere thought of it made his head hurt, which it did. “But do not worry, Your Highness, I am currently working on a way for you to come back, only… it’s taking more time that I had hoped for, actually…” Beomgyu’s corner of his lips trailed down, annoyed at the fact of admitting something was resulting actually difficult for him, Best Mage of the Kingdom, him who was born gifted. “Oh! And one more thing,” the mage remembered the one little important thing he had to tell his friend, hands clasping and big smile spreading in his face. “It may be possible that the ones who did this to you are forbidden mages and they may be on their way to where you are, so be careful! I’ll contact you again with good news, toodles!”

While the image of his friend simply dispelled, Soobin stood in his place looking at his alone reflection with his mouth slightly open after the new information he had just received, especially the last bit; they were still coming after him? They sure didn’t want him just gone but dead. Not only that but he was facing against forbidden mages, the only ones he did not know how to fight against. Soobin, on the contrary of Beomgyu, had not been born with the blessing of magical powers; he had the power of the crown on his shoulders, he had been trained by the best swordsmen in the kingdom, he had been taught by the best teachers of his domain, he had been provided by the best alchemists on items to protect himself against magical powers, but he did possessed them.

“Hey, were you talking to someone?”

Soobin flinched, quickly turning around and grabbing the first thing around; a large piece of wood with fabric around it. Yeonjun looked funnily at the boy and raised a hand, biting down a laugh. “Easy, boy, I come in peace.” Soobin grimaced apologetically at the man, a little ashamed by his reaction but he felt on edge, and then letting the fabrics back on its place. His eyes going at Yeonjun again and particularly at the pair of boots in his hand. “I was getting these babies- now look here, this are my most precious treasure so I’m only borrowing them to you, understood? I want them back and I want them just as clean, but I can’t let you go out ruining my outfit with a pair of shoes that don’t go with it.” Yeonjun clicked his tongue before placing softly the pair of boots in front of Soobin.

Soobin did not look back at the mirror to check his reflection once he put the boots on, trusting Yeonjun’s judgement that they looked good when he started clapping, pleased at his work of art. A big smile was drawing in his face before speaking again. “You ready?” The question making Soobin frown not really getting what the man was talking about.

“Excuse me, ready for what exactly?”

“You wanted to see y/n, right? Let’s go find her then!”

Soobin guessed that it was common in this world to grab at people and pulled them, because not only he had been dragged by you once but know he was being dragged by Yeonjun down the stairs and into the streets. The prince’s eyes wildered at his surrounding; at night everything had seemed so relaxed, barely any people around at two in the morning and no traffic; now he didn’t know where to look, from the strange type of carriages without horses that made some sounds from time to time startling him to the rare vehicle Yeonjun pointed at. “Get on.”

“W-what?” Soobin muttered, not really understanding where was he supposed to get up. Yeonjun arched an eyebrow and pressed a helmet to the prince’s chest.

“On, I’m taking you where y/n is.” Yeonjun climbed onto his motorcycle, quickly adjusting the helmet around his head and hurrying at the boy to the same. Soobin clumsily copied his movements, crossing one leg over the seat and grabbing Yeonjun’s shoulder tightly in his palms when they were off to the street. Yeonjun laughed when he heard the small woah behind his back.

The air hit against Soobin’s face as he peeked over his driver’s shoulder, watching the city passing through his eyes, everything turning into a blur, something roaring under him as they went even faster dodging the cars around you. It kind of reminded him of horse-riding, the way he would ride everywhere in his free time, enjoying the clear air filling his lungs with the good company of his horse.

Yeonjun started slowing down as your university came into sight and stopped in front of the big building, sea of people coming in and out of it. Turning off the engine, his eyes surfed the crowd looking for you and lifted a finger in your direction once you came into his sight. “Just in time, there she is.” He said to the prince who followed the way Yeonjun’s fingers pointed.

Soobin had to admit the way you looked the night before and the way you were looking now were complete opposites; just as you had been wearing last night some old pajama pants and a big hoodie that covered your hands, now wore a fitting pair of blue jeans that fell lose to the ends hiding most of your plain white shoes and a sleeveless maroon blouse that hugged your body nicely, your long hair falling swiftly besides your face, in a framing way and forming a kind of layer over the exposed skin on your shoulders. You were cracking a laugh, eyes closing at the action, throwing your head back and your hand rising up to cover your mouth. You looked incredible as you talked, regaining a relax composure to your friends, smile still reaching your eyes.

Soobin had met many beautiful women in his life as the castle was always point of reunion for most, but there was something in the way you carried yourself- something shouting out loud a thing he had failed to notice in anyone else; freedom. And that was something he sometimes felt he lacked.

He found himself so immersed in the image of you that he failed to notice Yeonjun getting off his motorcycle and removing his helmet, letting it hang on its grabs. “Come on, let’s say hi."

The boys walked towards you, you too engulfed in your conversation with your friends to even notice them approaching yet they didn’t fail to attract everyone else’s attention, even your friends who suddenly stopped their talking and were staring intensely to whatever was behind you. Frowning, you looked over your shoulder, eyes widening at the side of the two men staring back at you.

“So. Hot.” You heard one of your friends mumbling under her breath, making you bit your own tongue and squint your eyes to prevent the cringe on your body from escaping. “Doesn’t it look their coming this way, though?”

“Hey babe,” said Yeonjun grinning at your dumbfounded-self, feeling the burning stares of your friends on your back at his words. Turning on your heels to face the boys, you saw the prince following behind your friend and peeking over his shoulder, a soft smile on his lips as he walked ever so graced. “Happy to see us?”

“Why are you here?” you questioned, trying to make your voice quieter for your prying friends behind you. Your eyebrows knitting when you saw the prince walking away from Yeonjun’s back and stepping to his side, both men in front of you; noticing his new clothes you couldn’t stop your inquiring eyebrow lifting at your friend who only shrugged.

“Man was bored waiting for you, babe, and came to have some fun with me,” Yeonjun licked his lips before resting his arm around Soobin’s shoulders, the prince visibly cringing and tensing on his spot. “I made my job now, got him all dolled up for ya’, so why don’t the two of you go have some fun?” Your frown deepened.

“Wha- Yeonjun I’m still not over my classes-

“Oh, would you look that? Professor Kim notified he’s not feeling well today and postponed the class!” you heard your friends behind you saying, ridiculously loud and obvious for the two men to hear. Yeonjun’s grin only grew bigger and finally let go of the prince as he started backing up to his motorbike.

“Isn’t that destiny?” teased your friend, sending a flying kiss in your direction before he was gone too quickly to even try to catch him.

“Hello again, miss y/n,” Soobin made the attempt to hold your hand and even set himself ready for another bow but you quickly grabbed his shoulders and stopped him, getting near him so suddenly he immediately felt the soft scent of your shampoo reaching his smelling senses; you, on the other hand, were too focused on looking over your shoulder at your friends with a forced smile to realized the way the prince’s heart beat anxiously on his chest as your so sudden and casual proximity.

“I’ll go first, okay?” you mumbled to your friends who just nodded and formed circles with their fingers, telling you that you were fine. You turned your head, looking up at the prince who was already looking at you through his eyelashes, the soft smile on his lips unbeatable. “Are you hungry? Let’s go get some lunch so we can talk, Soobin.”

It wasn’t like Soobin wasn’t ever called by his name, he was by his closest friends and his parents, but he did not except the way his name would sound said by you so forgive him for staring blankly for a second over your head, after what it was a long, extended blink from his part, lips softly parting unconsciously. You, however, missed seeing it as you started walking first to the closest and cheapest food place you knew, Yeonjun’s granny’s ramen place.

“Oh, my! Oh, my! My sweet child!” Even thought the woman was already way past her late 70s, she had the sight of a hawk and the mobility of a thirty-year-old, so she spotted you immediately as you walked into her local. Rushing in wiping her hands on her apron, she walked out of the counter and held her hands up to cup your cheeks, smiling big at you, same eyes as your friend’s looking teary and tenderly into yours. “Look at how much you’ve grown, my god! So? What’s your lame excuse for not visiting your ol’ good granma often, kid? Is it school? Are they overworking your smart pretty brain? Do I need to go teach them a lesson? Just say the word and I’ll be there… I’ll take Junie with me- Oh! And who is this handsome boy with you?” Not even letting you speak, Granny let go of your cheeks and walked closer to the prince, adjusting the frame on her face and squinting her eyes to get a better look at his face even thought she could see him perfectly well. “Not bad, not bad at all! Is this your boyfriend? Yes, very handsome indeed… I like him- Oh! Sit down kids, sit down. I’ll go get some food for you, okay? Okay. be right back.”

Granny walked away after pinching your cheeks one more time. Chuckling softly, ignoring the warm in your cheek where you had been pinched, you sat down on an empty table against the wall of the local, Soobin taking the seat in front of you.

“Your grandmother, I believe?” He questioned and you had to actually contain the amused snort at the perfect posture the man held while sitting, trying to subtly fixing your own.

“She’s Yeonjun’s granny,” you answered, soft smile on your lips at the thought of her, your chin resting on the palm of your hands while you remembered those times from your childhood where you would come into this same place, running around with Yeonjun, eating happily the bowls of ramen Granny would made especially for the both of you; same routine for high school that started wearing off as Yeonjun and you started college, schedules not matching as much anymore. “She’s an angel, really, used to take care of me all my life.” A soft sigh escaped from your lips unconsciously. “You could say she even raised me.” You mumbled, more to yourself than to the boy sit in front of you.

Soobin tilted his head, hair shifting swiftly over his eyes. “What about your parents?” You were dragged out of your cloud of memories with his question, focusing your attention back on him before simply answering.

“They died a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

Well, now it felt kind of awkward. Not for you, though, you had grown up saying that about your parents, it was an inevitable topic and as time flew by the words lost their weight. Soobin, on the other hand, mentally cursed at himself for being so nosy, his mind selfishly remining him of his own, heartbroken parents that believed their only son was dead. “I am so sorry…” he whispered, eyebrows knitting and mouth slightly pouting. You shook your head, smiling at him reassuringly.

“Don’t be, at least in my case is not as awful as it sounds, I still was able to grow with so much love thanks to the people around me,” just as if summoned, Granny placed two big and full, steaming bowls of ramen on the table. Smiling at the familiar sight of the noodles, your eyes flicked up to look at her. “Thanks Granny, this looks delicious.”

“It better be because I made it with my love, child.” The woman placed a tender kiss on your head before her eyes went back to the prince, eyeing curiously the place in front of him. A loud laugh erupted from her. “My boy if I had to take a guess, I’d said you had never seen ramen in your life!”

At least Soobin was smart enough to hold himself from answering to the woman he had, in fact, never even heard the world; smile widening at the sight of the expecting lady whose big eyes were waiting for him to taste her food, he made sure to quicky copy your movements grabbing the chopsticks in his hand and, very slowly trying to get a hold of them, picking up some noodles in them, his lips closing around the sticks.

“Mh!” Granny laughed even louder as the boy widened his eyes, stars sparkling in them as he looked up at her in awe, noodle hanging from his mouth. “This is magnificent, miss! I must know the ingredients you use.”

“Oh, my! What miss?” You rolled your eyes as Granny fanned herself, clearly adoring being referred as a term she so long stopped hearing. “Eat more kids, I’ll bring seconds when you finish these.” Soobin nodded enthusiastically at her words, slurping eager and filling his mouth with the delicious meat. “As for the recipe, I already told you, love.”

“I guess you were hungry,” you said once Granny walked away from your table, leaving the two of you to talk alone. Soobin felt his cheeks heating up, ashamed at himself for losing his composure and in front of a lady; he wiped his mouth with a tissue, apologetically eyes looking at you.

“I’m sorry miss, this is just fantastic,” he said, mouth still covered with the tissue. Your eyebrows knitted and you couldn’t help but to wonder seriously about his state of mind as he continues speaking. “We have the best chefs and ingredients of the Kingdom yet never have I had something as fascinating as this,” Soobin put down the tissue and flash a big grin in your direction, putting on display a pair of dimples on each side of his face that got you too caught on them far too quickly. “This is yet another great thing you’ve showed me about your world, I thank you very much.”

“You’re… welcome,” you honestly didn’t know how to address the whole prince thing yet; could it be better if you just went along with it? “So, when are you planning on going back to your Kingdom, prince?”

Maybe going along with it wasn’t the best option, you thought as you watched his features somber. Maybe all you had to do was drop the man to a psychiatric hospital and end all of this. “That’s something I still do not know yet, miss but do not worry, I received a message from the Head of the Magic Tower, a good massage as he informed they are working on getting me back, the thing is…” Soobin licked his lips, anxiously putting some order to the thoughts in his mind. “I would like to ask for a favor of you, miss.”

You hummed encouraging him to continue talking, already sensing just what he was going to ask as you put two and two together.

“I would like to ask you for shelter, if that is possible.”

You inhaled sharply even though you knew exactly that was what he was going to ask for in the first place; putting down your chopsticks, your mind razed with possibilities. Just why in the world would you let a man you barely knew stay with you for how many days, adding the fact that the man firmly believed was some prince from a kingdom far away. Besides, what would you even gain from it? If all, you’d lose; more spendings meant less money in your pocket and you already had none.

Yet when you opened your mouth to say the simple two-letter word of no, it got caught in your throat as you saw nothing else in front of you but a lost puppy; nibbling at his lip, Soobin anxiously clasped his hands and looked pleadingly at you.

“I beg for you to expend your generosity just one more time, miss” he spoke again as you failed to answer. “I shall reward and return everything you had done for me in so little time once I return home, I’ll make sure to tell the mage to send at least ten chests of gold for you.”

That sentence and the exasperation in his voice made you sigh a chuckle. “You better learn my address to send those chests of gold, prince.” Soobin nodded eagerly, still waiting for you to give him an answer. “Fine, you can stay… only under the condition of you finding a job."

“A job?” repeating the world in his mouth, Soobin tilted his head and narrowing his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have enough money to feed you and me forever and you can't keep taking Yeonjun’s clothes for free either,” you stated, reassuming your own little job of finishing the ramen. “You did have a job before, right?”

“Well, not exactly,” he answered. “I guess my job is being a prince until I take the crown.”

“So nepo baby,”, you sighed in jealously, ignoring the flustered look the boy gave you by your words.

“Did you call me baby?” he whispered but it didn’t reach your ears as it was so low.

The both of you quickly finished the rest of your food just in time for Granny to bring seconds; conversation between you and the prince flowed naturally, him telling you all about the Fifth Great Kingdom from the vast meadows full of flowers where he’d take strolls from time to time to the big castle he lived in, big enough to host beautiful parties all night long.

Neither of you noticed the way you were being watched.

Soobin was lucky indeed for having stumbled upon you. Not only you had taken pity in him and decided to help him in a state he knew not everyone would, but you started teaching him about the magic in your own world. He first realized about it, about the way he was learning things in a way he never thought he could, when one day -after a few days of living toghteter- you got back home with the news of having found a perfect job for him, big smile spreading in your face as you rushed in taking off your shoes and dropping off your things in the couch.

“The public library?” he questioned as he carefully cut down the vegetables on the kitchen counter the way you had taught him to. He heard the water running as you washed your hands quickly beside him.

“Yeah, turns out the old librarian is a little too old and can’t move like she used to, so they need someone to take her place and mostly just put the books back in their place, maybe some watching out of people making out in a hall and nothing else.” You said as you grabbed another knife and stood next to him, picking up a few still perfectly shaped vegetables and starting cutting them at a speed Soobin had yet to reach. “It’s not a too much demanding job and you’ll get to earn some money, what do you say?”

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, stopping his hand with the knife and looking over at you. Feeling his eyes in your face, you refused to look up and continued giving the vegies all of your attention.

“I think you should try it out,” you muttered, eyebrows frowning as some strands of hair fell annoyingly over your face and you tried blowing them away.

“If you think I should do it, I’ll do it.” Soobin’s fingers brushed against the skin on your temple as he carefully pulled them behind your ear, not ignoring the way the tip of your ears were a soft shade of pink, a small grin on his lips.

You flinched a little startled at the sudden touch and hissed in pain when the knife in your hand clumsily brushed against the open palm of your hand, a diagonal cut in the middle of it where blood started pooling.

“Ah, fuck-“ You dropped the knife onto the counter, the loud clank making Soobin flinch himself a little. He watched how you bit down harshly on your lip as you rushed to the sink, whining softly as you put your hand under the running water. “Soobin, pass me some tissues, please, I need to put some pressure here."

He didn’t need to be told twice as he quickly pulled a fist of tissues and rushed to you; you grabbed a few and quickly pressed them against your palm, after thanking him for stop the running water.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot? Should I go get a physician?” he questioned, worry noticeable in his voice as his eyes followed you walking towards the bathroom. You chuckled softly; after a few days living with the man, you had learnt a few antics of him like worrying too much about things that weren’t so serious.

“It’s alright, no physician needed, I need you though, I mean-“you laughed awkwardly, cringing at your own mumbling. “I can use some help with bandaging my hand.” The both of you walked into the too small for two people bathroom and you nodded with your head towards the cabinet in front of you. “There, it should be a first aid box, could you get it?”

“Of course,” you didn’t have time to move away before you felt the faint brushing of his chest on your back as he towered over you, arms extended and long fingers pulling out the box. “Turn around, please.” He muttered as he opened the box and pulled what he thought was needed; you actually felt a little surprised to see him moving with such certainty, already used to the man who knew too little of the world or, at least, your world.

Of course, Soobin knew how to treat wounds; he used to have to tend to some of his after long, heavy hours of swordsmanship training.

So, you just stood there as he didn’t hesitate to hold your hand in his while he used his other hand to clean the cut, too focused on finishing quickly to even notice the way his big hand stood out under yours or the way your pretty fingers trembled a little at the burning feeling in your hand. The man swiftly wrapped your hand in a bandage, smiling softly after his work was finished and finally shifting his eyes to look at you, just realizing the close proximity between the two of you as you almost had your back pressed against the wall behind you; him towering over you.

“… Done,” he whispered, his fingers lingering on your hand as he gently cupped it trying to avoid brushing against the covered cut. “How is it?”

“Good” you mumbled under your breath, too caught on the way his dark eyes seemed to spark as they looked into yours, perfectly shaped eyebrows knitting in worry as you gulped and blinked a few times, trying to collect your thoughts. “… It’s good, it hurts- but it’s not good that it hurts, I meant it’s good it’s healed- I mean, cured, god at least it’s not bleeding anymore.”

Soobin chuckled softly, amused in the way your eyes furiously tried to avoid meeting his and how flustered you became by the second. It had probably been a kind of romantic moment if you hadn’t panicked at the suffocating feeling in between two walls and pushed past him, finally breathing properly once you stepped into the hall.

“We should go,” you told him quickly walking to the living room, grabbing your bag, avoiding his stare. “Let’s get you that job on the library, okay?” Soobin stopped in his tracs in the middle of the living room instead of following you, making you frown a little. “What is it?”

“I think I should finish cooking lunch first,” he said, eyes trailing back to the kitchen where the vegetables still were.

You took Soobin to the public library after the two of you quickly finished making lunch. The place was just as old as they came but still in a perfect state as their owners had always took care of it. Big, tall labyrinth of shelving filled with books of any kind you could ever imagine was what welcomed the prince as he followed you in, silence reigning, quiet whispers being heard far away.

“Hello ma’am, I brought the friend I told you about earlier” you said, lowering your voice to a whisper as you stepped in front of a desk where an old lady sat down, a book in her lap. She moved, indeed, very slowly as she looked up and raised her shaky hand to fix the glasses over her eyes, smiling softly as her sight focused on the both of you. Soobin greeted the old lady properly, whispering just like you had.

“Thank you so much, you both dears, shall we get to know each other while I give you a small tour around, my child?” she asked to Soobin who nodded and waited patiently as the woman moved little by little to get off her chair and walk to him. The prince, as charming as ever, quickly offered his arm for the woman to support herself and she gladly grab onto him, walking very slowly to the first stop.

“I’ll be over there, have fun” you said as you watched him look over your shoulder for you, wondering if you were going to tag along as well; Soobin nodded and walked away with the old librarian.

You took a seat down on an empty round table, just in front of the beautiful stained glass that reached the ceiling, tinting the inside of the library of beautiful colors as the sunshine shone through it. Pulling out your own books from your bag and settling everything else you needed, you used the time to study, already a little behind on some of your classes.

Time flew by and before you knew it, it was already dark outside. As the day went by you had seen Soobin walking over there, learning the trades of a librarian, carrying books back to their shelves, moving the tall ladder when he’d have to place the book on the top of it, pushing the little cart when the books were too much to move by himself. He seemed to have caught on quickly on his tasks, stopping from time to time to ask the old lady behind the desk a few things.

“Hey, isn’t that guy so cute?” you heard the quiet conversation of a few people sitting on the table next to yours, you quickly tried to log your ears off the conversation. “Do you think I should ask him for his number?”

“I know, right? I’ve been staring at him all day, he’s so dreamy” another one said, sighing in love after. “But be honest, a guy like that must be taken, right?”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask him.”

“You should do it.”

You closed your book harshly, the sound rumbling on the quietness of the library, some heads turning in your direction, Soobin’s included. The boy smiled at the sight of you, awkwardly shifting in your seat and mumbling a quietly sorry to the people whose silence had been disturbed by you. He put down a few books on a random shelf and moved towards you, oblivious to the flustered group of people who had just been walking about him.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his hands resting against the wood of your table as he leaned in, his eyes looking down at your texts. You looked up quickly, too immersed in your own thoughts to have realized he had gotten close. “The lady told me I could leave already a while ago, should we go back home?”

Something in the way he muttered the last few words made you flinch inside, closing your hand over your thigh under the table, invisible to the boy’s eyes as you try to sound relaxed answering. “Let’s go,”

“I will let her know then” He said, smiling at you before almost jogging back to the librarian’s desk while you exhaled the air that was retained in you, quickly picking up your things.

“See? Told you a guy like him would be taken already” “Agh, I’m so jealous.”

“Miss y/n, close your eyes” was the first thing Soobin told you when the both of you walked out the library; arching an eyebrow at him, you eyed him suspiciously.

“Why should I?” you questioned, noticing the way he hid his hands behind his back, excited smile on his heart-shaped, pink lips that quickly shifted into a soft pout at your words, thinking over what to say.

“Mmh… please?” he tried again, the smile coming back to his face even more beautifully than before. You rolled your eyes but still closed them afterwards, mumbling a soft okay. A few seconds passes before you heard him speak again. “Okay, open up now, please.”

The first thing you saw were his shiny eyes waiting for your reaction; the second thing you saw was the envelope he held in his hands. His first pay. You laughed, smile growing on your face finding excitement his too cute for his own good.

“Congrats!” you said acting too fast to actually think about what were you doing when you closed your arms around his frame, patting his back softly a few times before your body stiffened and your hand froze in midair. “Oh- sorry, I didn’t rea- hmp!” Before you could pull away from him, his large arms caught you in between him, pushing you back into him, feeling the heat of his body irradiating towards you. Your chin was barely hanging from his shoulder, tip of your toes touching the ground and Soobin shrinking a little. You pat him subtly on his back when the hug got too long for the sake of your sanity, clearing your throat once. “Mh.” Then twice, a little louder as you bumped your fist against your closed lips. “Mh mh!” Following the increase of your pats on his back.

Soobin’s hold around you loosened up and you put a step of space in between you, pretending as it your tinted cheeks weren’t visible to the eye at all. “What do you say about hanging out to celebrate your step into full adulthood?” you said, grin spreading in your face as the idea came into your mind.

“That’s sounds about right, miss y/n” the prince answered, adoring the way your small bLush spread through your face and ears to his display. “Where shall we go?” he questioned as he started walking next to you, following whatever you were headed.

Neon lights were the first thing that caught Soobin’s attention as the both of you stepped into the arcade. Fortunately for you, as it was still a day of the week there weren’t many people around so most of the games were free. You smiled excited as you looked around, reminding how many times you used to come with Yeonjun after a long day of classes in high school. Soobin was starstrucked as he looked just everywhere, from the colorful platform some kids were jumping while facing the big screen grabbing themselves onto a railing behind them to the people holding false guns and shooting at the zombies displaying on the screen.

“Come on! We need to get some coins to use the games,” you said, excitement in your voice as you pulled Soobin from the sleeve. He eyed curiously at the little machine you two stopped at, noticing how you were pulling out some bills from your wallet.

“Wait, let me” he said pulling the first bill from his own payment, softly putting your money down.

“You sure? I mean, it’s literally your first own money,” you mumbled, trying to put your own bill inside the machine’s mouth but again being stopped by the man stepping in between you and the machine and peeking over his shoulder while inserted the bill.

“I owe you so much, miss y/n.”

You crossed your arms in your chest, tilting your head as you peeked beside him to look at the coins falling in exchange of the bill. “You should stop that, you know?”

Soobin and you started grabbing all of your coins, putting most of them in your pockets. His eyebrows furrowed, not really getting what you meant. “Stop what?”

“Calling me miss,” you stated watching from the corner of your eye his own eyes widening subtly at your words. “I think we’re close enough if you paying the arcade, Soobin” you said purposely accentuating and pronouncing every letter in his name. “Call me by name.”

“Now?” he questioned trying to remain looking calm which he did not very well. You nodded. “… Y/n, what do we do now?” Oh, the way he said your name was so sweet.

You took the prince to the basics first; killing some 3dimentional zombies was easy and, surprisingly, you learnt that the boy next to you had an incredibly aim, his points instantly going over yours in seconds. And, of course, when the both of you moved to shooting basketballs to the hoop, he was obviously advantaged thanks to his tall heigh, so Soobin just watched amused at you jumping in your spot throwing balls mindlessly at the hoop, uncontrollably laugh escaping from you as you watched the balls bouncing out of it.

You panted when the game ended, a small pout on your lips as you looked at the scores; Soobin missed the scores that indicated he had won again as his eyes were glued on the way your hair was ruffled and your cheeks were tinted red due to the effort you had put. Smile naturally growing in his face when you turned to look at him and stick out your tongue in his direction. He couldn’t help but laugh, oh, weren’t you so cute?

“I want to try this one,” he said after a short walking in search for the next game, stopping in front of the machine that caught his attention by the big colorful hammers it had. You quickly inserted a coin and grabbed one of the hammers, Soobin copying your action. “Wait, how does this one wor-

He was rudely cut off when you hit the machine with your hammer, a chuckle coming from your lips as your eyes waited carefully to the next prying head for you to smash. Soobin quickly caught on what the game was about but he found himself getting distracted by the not-so-subtly way you crashed the hammer against the machine.

“Uh? Hey!” you protested when Soobin gave you a small push with his hip, making you lose your focus. He chuckled and continued hitting his hammer against the strange gnomes’ heads that peeked out from it. You huffed annoyed at him and returned the push with your hip a little harsher. “Stupid” you mumbled under your breath.

Soobin scoffed and didn’t hesitate to lift his hand and spread it around your shoulders, his fingers finding the skin on your cheek, pinching and pulling from it making you look away from the gnomes and squeal as you try to get him off you. Your hand quickly pressed against his chin, pushing his face up to look away as well; you heard him groan annoyed as he too try to fight your hold back.

The game quickly came to an end and the two of you ended with the lowest possible scores ever. You turned to look at him retracting your hand from his face and pointing your finger at him. “You’re a cheater, prince!” You exclaimed; your cheek still caught in between his fingers. He laughed at the way your skin stretched and finally let go you, his hand softly brushing against your back, little marks around his eyes appearing as he held the most beautiful smile ever.

“Cute” he said, caughting you by surprise.

“W-what?”

“Don’t get mad at me, you cute thing” He said clearer this time, his finger now brushing a strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. Your mouth opened a little bit as you searched for words in your mind; Soobin chuckled before taking a step back. “It makes me want to beat you at every game.”

The two of you went on and on until your coins started weighting less and less in your pockets. You smiled as you pointed at the photobooth on a corner, quickly walking toward the machine and moving the curtain to get into it. When Soobin didn’t walk behind you, you peeked your head through the cloth and furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“What’s wrong? Come here,” you demanded, your hand quickly finding his wrist and pulling him inside.

“What is this thing?” he asked as he clumsily took a seat beside you inside the cramped photobooth. He watched how you inserted one coin and soon after the image of the two of you, hairs ruffled after so much playing and sparkly eyes, appeared in the screen in front of you.

“Let’s take some pictures,” you said pressing the bottom to start the countdown. You pointed and the camera over the screen, telling him he was supposed to look at the little black dot. “Should we smile?”

“Okay.”

3, 2, 1. The first picture was the two of you, grinning at the camera quite awkward and stiff.

“Oh, look” You exclaimed, noticing the things under your feet. A malicious smile creeped in your face as you grabbed a pair of bunny ears and put them over Soobin’s head. “They suited you.”

“How does this suit me?” he mumbled looking at himself on the screen. His hand moved to the things and pulled the first thing he grabbed: a crown. He chuckled. “Here, you put this one on.”

You let him place the crown over your head. “Does the crown suit me, prince?” you asked him, teasingly while turning your head to look into his eyes. He swallowed before nodding slowly.

“It does.”

3, 2, 1. 3, 2, 1. 3, 2, 1. You took the rest of your pictures quickly, changing position and faces, then switching the bunny ears and the crown for each other’s. You had to look twice at the boy after the crown was placed over his head; it actually suits him too well.

The printed pictures came out after a few minutes; you kneeled to pick them up and smiled fondly while looking at them as you stand back up, they came out cute. You handed them to Soobin for him to look, but he was already getting his face closer to yours to peek over your shoulder. Freezing as you felt his breath hitting the skin on your neck. “Cute.” He repeated, knowing perfectly well how he was too close to you now; his big hand rested over your shoulder and softly pulled from you, making you turn to face him, face too close to face. The hand on your shoulder slowly moved down on your arm, his fingers burning up the skin he touched until his fingers found yours.

Soobin lifted your bandaged hand with his up until it reached his face, softly pushing away your fingers with his chin and moving his face down to placed a deadly slow kiss against your palm with enough force for you to feel any pain. Oh, pain was the last thing you were feeling. His soft plump lips brushed against the cloth of the bandage, moving up to your fingers, kissing softly against your fingertips; his eyes never left yours.

The kisses trailed from your fingertips to the back of your knuckles and then to the back of your hand. Soobin put your hand back down and then tenderly cupped your face while his own face leaned closer, his breath hitting against your face. Your eyes flicked for a moment when his tongue swirled over his lips. “Y/n…” he whispered, his eyes savoring the way your own lingered on his lips. “Can I?”

You simply could nod and lean your face closer to his, your eyes closing before any contact could ever be made. His nose brushed yours as he placed his forehead against yours, taking a small moment before-

“Your Highness!”

Uh?

You opened your eyes only to find Soobin’s eyes as confused as yours. He pulled his face away a little, leaving his hands on your face as he frowned.

“Did also heard that or was I-

“Soobin, over here!” Soobin was caught off by the same voice, both of you looking more confused than before. Just when he took a step back and his hands left your face, both your gazes went down to the photobooth screen.

“What the f-

“Beomgyu?” muttered Soobin, frowning at the sight of his friend right there and taking the seat back in front of him. “What is wrong? Why are you contacting me now?”

“What do you mean now? I told you I was going to contact you again when we made some progress.” The mage answered, eyes looking tired as ever and lose hair framing his face. “I have good news for you, my dear friend, we are getting your golden spooned ass here on Sunday.”

“Sunday? But that is-

“In three days.” You said, finally getting over the shock of a man appearing at the screen out of nothing. Have you been drugged? Were you hallucinating? Why was Soobin actually being called ‘his highness’ by someone? You had had to blink at least five times after the man made his appearance.

“Who is that?” wondered the mage, squeezing his eyes even thought he could see nothing from his side. “Did I appear at a bad moment? Haha!”

You took the empty seat next to Soobin before speaking to the man on the screen; God, this felt like doing a videocall. “Who even are you?” Yes, if you had to be honest, you were a little annoyed at the bad timing of the mage and it was evident in your voice.

“You don’t know who I am?” inquired Beomgyu, horror visible in his face. “I am the most brilliant child of this Kingdom, the One Blessed at Birth, the Head of the Magic Tower and His Highness crown prince Soobin’s best friend.”

Oh, you didn’t his cocky ass one bit.

“Chill, dude, I didn’t ask for your resume or anything.” You scoffed grimacing at his disbelief image. “Besides, magic here doesn’t exist so you actually are, mhm… how do I put it nicely? A farce.”

Beomgyu gasped, a hand clenching in his chest as he was about to explode back at you before getting interrupted by Soobin’s voice. “Stop, the both of you.” If Soobin hadn’t been so caught off guard, he would have found the way you and Beomgyu huffed at the same time funny. “Back to the main point, Beomgyu.”

“… Right, we can get you back on Sunday,” Repeated the mage after fixing the frames on his face. “Sunday before midnight, I will be able to create a portal into our world in… here.” The image of the screen changed from the mage to a place Soobin didn’t know, but you did.

“That’s the Han River.” You told him, feeling the way his confused eyes flicked to look at you. You scoffed. “What? Is he supposed to jump from the bridge?” The sly smile in your face started fading away when the guy on the screen stayed silent. “He’s not, right?”

“Well, he does need to sink deep to reach the portal-

“Weren’t you supposed to be a level max mage?” You snarled finding the whole idea of Soobin actually jumping from the bridge ridiculous. But then again, this whole situation was ridiculous in the first place.

“Beomgyu, is there no other way? Can’t you just open a portal in a mirror?” Questioned Soobin after analyzing the worried expression in your face.

“You know I am an elemental mage, I chose the Han River exactly because of that so as long as you have me you will be safe, my friend.” Something strange, something big roared behind the mage that had him flinching in his place, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he frowned looking at something behind him. “I better go now, I have work to do here. Remember, Sunday before midnight. Oh, and you better be careful about that I told you about last time… I my predictions are correct they should be in that world already.”

You watched in silence how the image in front of you started disappearing until it was completely gone. The silence surrounding you felt heavy, even thought the fait noises from the arcade still reached you, but you weren’t sure about what you were supposed to say now, maybe something like: ‘Hey, good joke! This is a hidden camera prank, right?’ or something like ‘I guess you weren’t an insane person after all, congrats!’. Or maybe you should get on your knees and beg for forgiveness for everytime you made the boy clean your dirty dishes or maybe for calling him stupid or hugging him out of nowhere or-

“Y/n?” You snapped out of your trail of thought when Soobin started waving his hand in front of your face. “Do you feel alright?”

You knitted your eyebrows, face turning to him caughting on the most important fact of all the situation, he was leaving. It’s strange how quickly you had get used to him in your life, just as if he had always been a part of it which, of course, wasn’t the case. You gulped, forcing a little smile on your face as you nodded.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just… a lot.” You answered, eyes flicking for a second to the screen in case that rude boy would come back. “It’s a lot to process, you know?”

“Well, I’m sure I told you before I was crown prince,” he said, eyebrow arching as his eyes looked amused into yours. “You did not actually think I was some lunatic all this time, right?” The silence and the look on your face was enough for him to get an answer; he laughed, both impressed and worried. “You did not! You are something else indeed, but please in the future do not let any other strange man sleep in your home, y/n.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave you alone, dumbass.” You muttered getting a little flustered, of course you wouldn’t have let any other strange dude get into your place at midnight, him was a special case.

“I am glad it was me who you found.” He said, his knuckles softly bumping against your forehead. You muttered a quiet hey before rubbing the spot, shooting him a glare. “Sunday before midnight, would you like to come with me to the Han River?”

You scoffed. “Of course, Soobin, how else are you supposed to get your ass there if I don’t go?” You rolled your eyes playfully, soft smile appearing in your face as he chuckled. “So, prince, what do you say about getting out of here and getting something nice to eat?”

Soobin smiled, teeth pressing down a little on his bottom lip as he nodded. “I would love that.” He would miss so much the way your pretty eyes looked into his.

“What happened?” Was the first thing Yeonjun asked when the door of your place was opened by a half-awake Soobin scratching the back of his head, small frown on his features as he tried opening his eyes to look at the boy.

“About what?”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes and pushed past open, letting a sleepy Soobin to close the door. “Y/n?” “Sleeping.” Yeonjun nodded at his words, before taking a seat down on the couch and pulling out his phone, a unique artifact Soobin had gotten to know thanks to you. “She texted me last night, told me she wanted to get drunk.”

Soobin covered his mouth for a yawn before taking the seat next to the boy, grabbing a small cushion and hugging it against his chest. He didn't knew you were the drinking type, so Yeonjun's words didn't have that much of an effect on him. “So what about it?"

“So,” Yeonjun scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “She can’t hold her alcohol, never could, she’s so baby but that’s why it doesn’t make sense so I’m guessing something upset her…” The older male arched an eyebrow at the sleepy prince. “Do you know anything?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Cause she’s sleeping.” This was Soobin’s turn to roll his eyes. “There’s this party tonight, we can go if she wants to but I’m worried if she isn’t feeling okay.”

“I don’t know,” Soobin hummed, thinking about what could have upset you so much as Yeonjun said. “Maybe… I do not think this is a reason, but maybe because I am leaving tomorrow?”

“You’re leaving?!” Yeonjun exclaimed a little too loud for ten in the morning, making Soobin wince. “Leaving where? Thought you just moved in here permanently.”

“Our deal was always temporary.”

“Why are you two dumbasses making so much noise at this hour?” you growled walking down the hall still in your pajamas, still with bed hair, still with some dry drool on the corner of your lips. Yeonjun grimaced, you were the same as always. Your friend quickly got up and jumped over the couch in your direction, trapping yourself in his arms and squishing you against his chest. “Hey?? Good morning I guess.” You mumbled, sound muffling as your face was hidden.

“Morning babe,” Yeonjun pressed down a kiss on top of your head and rubbed your back tenderly. Soobin forced himself to look away when he started getting an uncomfortable feeling down in his gut; yet he still watches from the corner of his eyes how Yeonjun pulls your face up, holding you in between his hands, squeezing your cheeks forcing a small pout in your lips while your eyebrows knit together in confusion. The prince was nibbling down on his lip as Yeonjun leaned in closer to your face, worried eyes trailing every inch of your features. “What is it? What’s troubling you, baby? Can I hit it? Tell me if I have to take care of someone, okay? I’ll make sure to tell Granny too.”

You rolled your eyes at his words and tried to speak, but your words were muffled by the hold in your face. “You’ll just let Granny do all the dirty work.” You said once he let go of your face. “I’m fine, why are you more stupid than usual?”

Yeonjun turned to look over at Soobin, mouth forming a small open pout as he pointed his index finger at you with an incredulous look on his face. “Do you see this? This is what I get for being a good older br- ouch!”

Soobin had to hold back a little laugh when you stepped in Yeonjun’s feet, making the boy dramatically fall to the floor; rolling your eyes and snapping back to him as he rolled over a few times. This was something he was going to miss, just being able to fool around like he had heard Yeonjun say a few times before he’d start bothering you, always ending up in small quarrel. Always stopping the both of you to look back at Soobin, who always stared in amusement your interactions, before rushing to him and ganging up two against one.

“Can’t believe our little baby brother’s going away from home!” cried Yeonjun as he hugged Soobin, towering over his body and making the boy squirming under his touch. “We must go hard at tonight’s party then!”

Apparently, by going hard Yeonjun meant he was dressing you up or dolling you up as he would like to state. And boy was he over the moon as he now had not one but two dolls to play with, besides that it had been a while since the last time he had the chance to actually pull some nice clothes for you to wear on a night out.

“Am not wearing that one,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest as Yeonjun quickly rushed into the mannequin room at his place holding the ugliest dress you had ever seen in your life, rolling your eyes as Yeonjun protested at your immediate negative. “For starters, it’s almost winter and I probably would freeze to death if I go out with that,” you said, pointing with your index finger at the extremetly short and thin cloth. “Besides, you know what my style is, stop trying to get me to try your clothes out.”

“Sometimes I think you know me just too well,” your friend grumbled before throwing away the little dress somewhere in the room.

Dinner time came just in time when the three of you were already dressed up party-like enough; you not in the mini dress you friend firstly wanted but in a cute lace black top, long sleeves covering you from the cold of the night, tummy a little exposed till the belly button, a pair of baggy classic blue jeans and some military boots that gifted you a few centimeters more. You were in Yeonjun’s bathroom finishing up your makeup and hair when you heard the knocking on the door. Once, twice, thrice.

Peeking through the hall, you didn’t see any of the boys near so you walked down the hall, stopping in front of the door while the knocks continued. “Who is it?” you questioned, grabbing the door knob.

“Pizza delivery!” You assumed Yeonjun must have ordered some pizza to eat before the party while you were busy in the bathroom so just you opened the door and smiled at the tall delivery man, whose face you couldn’t see very well as it was mostly hidden behind a cap but you were able to see the thin smile on his lips stretching. “Hello there, you ordered a big peperone one?”

You hummed, that was Yeonjun’s favorite. “Yeah, that’s me…” You grabbed the pizza box he offered for you and squinted your eyes, trying to get a better look on his extremely pale face, was his hair blue? “… Do I have to pay or-

“It’s already been paid, miss” he answered, faint yet still there mocking tint in his voice. You almost flinched when he looked up and cold blue eyes, just like the color of his hair you confirmed, stared into you, grin widening. “Have a good night, princess.”

A shiver trailed down your spine, skin getting goosebumps as the man quickly walked away, the light of the hall flicking strangely. You almost pissed yourself when you heard a voice from behind you. “What are you looking at?”

Soobin snickered as you gasped and turned around, hitting him instinctively on the arm, the fear on your face shifting into annoyance. “What is wrong with you?” You snarled, closing the door behind you with a swift kick with your feet and waking past him to the kitchen, hearing his instant footsteps behind you.

Placing down the hot pizza box over the counter, you walked over to the fridge and smiled as you leaned in to grab a few bottles of soju and beer. Soobin rested his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he followed your every move from grabbing a few glasses to pouring down the alcohol on them. Feeling his stare, you peeked over at him and actually paid attention to the pretty clothes he was wearing, especially to the oversized white shirt that suited him really well and the way his black, dark hair had been pushed back, pretty eyebrows and eyes on full display.

You didn’t have much more time to appreciate his pretty self until your friend walked into the door as well, dressed up nicely too, grinning at the smell of the pizza and rushing in grabbing a piece for himself. He practically hissed when you offered him one of the glasses with the mix you had made. “I’m the designated driver tonight, babe, so you better down that yourself.”

“I can drink it if you don’t want to,” spoke Soobin, gently taking the filled plus one drink in your hands before downing it all almost at once, your eyes mesmerized at the way his neck moved while he gulped down. He let out a refreshed sigh after putting down the glass, looking at you curiously as your mouth hanged open, Yeonjun chuckling on the background. “This is really nice, what is this drink?”

“My man is one of us!” Cheered Yeonjun, patting the prince’s shoulder and smiling at him. You grumbling under your breath one of you before sipping your own drink, trying to control your expression while the liquor burned down your throat.

The three of you hurried in finishing the pizza before you walked down the stairs of the complex, the cold breeze of the night hugging you as soon as you stepped out of the building. Yeonjun had convinced Granny to let him borrow her car, which -he said- she never did but this time she gave in right away after mentioning your name and the prince’s. Granny’s car was a little old fashioned but it carried out the main goal of taking you where you needed to go.

“Jungkook’s party” was what Yeonjun said when you asked him earlier where were you going. So, it did not surprise you when the car stopped in front of the big-ass house in one of those private neighborhoods you never stepped foot into, music rumbling under your feet as soon as you stepped out of the car.

As soon as you crossed the main entrance, you were met by a sea of people dancing everywhere to the loud music booming in your ears. Walking in between the two boys, you held onto Yeonjun’s shirt with a hand, while the other was being caught by Soobin’s palm interwinding his fingers with yours.

It the prince had to be honest, this wasn’t what he had in mind when he heard the word ‘party’. This was the complete opposite to the parties he was so used to; no classical music nor orchestra playing live, no knowledge of the word ‘personal space’ as he watched the way people swung their bodies against each other’s, hands caressing, grabbing, squeezing for the bare eyes; lips meeting skin as if they were the only people in the room.

He himself was no saint, but at least he knew the common decency of privacy. His mind landed in the thought of you; this was your world, so if the people here just did that meant it was something you probably would do too, right? Oh, Soobin found the mere thought of you dancing with a stranger so infuriating, even more when he noticed the way some people looked at you with notorious lust in their eyes.

For a moment, you panicked when Soobin’s hand let go of yours and you thought he had gotten lost in between the people; when an arm snaked around your waist and you felt a warm, hard chest meeting your back, you panicked even more. “Uh, where’s Yeonjun?” Soobin had to press his lips near your ear for you to hear him clearly over the loud music, his hot breath with a tint of the alcohol he had drink earlier hitting against your ear and cheek. You blinked for a second, realizing you had let go of your hold onto Yeonjun while getting distracted with Soobin. “Ah, fuck-“ you muttered as you couldn’t see him around anymore, only people dancing and drinking around you.

The fact that the warm body of the prince was clinging to your back didn’t let you think properly, or maybe it was that glass of soju and beer you had down before leaving the complex that it was already clouding your mind, yet you managed to move your own feet in the kitchen’s way, a sigh of relief as it wasn’t so filled with people as the entrance. You waited for Soobin to let go of you as you weren’t going to get lost now but the boy’s large arm just rested there, his fingers pressing on the side of your waist.

“Wanna drink?” You asked to the boy behind you as you reached out your arm to the counter, grabbing two of those classic red plastic cups and then looking at the different kinds of alcohol in display; God, Jeon Jungkook was filthy rich if he let one of the most expensive Whiskeys of the industry to people’s reach.

Soobin hummed as his head peeked over your shoulder at your actions; grabbing a bottle and pouring down its content into the two cups, yours visibly more filled than his. Soobin’s free hand sneaked over you and pulled away that cup from your hands, hearing your whines in protest and chuckling softly as you squirmed against him.

“Yeonjun said you can’t hold your alcohol, y/n, you should be careful.” Said the boy before sipping the strange drink and almost gagging at his awful taste, throat almost giving up. “God, what is this?”

“Vodka” you simple answered, before throwing your head behind bumping the top of it against Soobin’s chest, and downing the cup even thought your throat was burning like hell, some drops sliding from the corner of your lips. Soobin clicked his tongue and try to pull away the cup from you but you had already emptied it. “Soobin you’re clingy tonight, what is it?” you mumbled, putting away the cup and turning around in your heels; the hand that had stayed around your waist now hugged your back as you looked up at the prince.

Your eyes were already weighting on your face as you blinked a few times to focus on his worried features looking back at you, hand moving on its own as you caressed his cheek with your fingers, heart felt like melting when Soobin leaned in even more in your touch. A lazy grin drew in your face.

“Cute.”

Soobin placed his own hand over yours against his and swiftly moved his head, lips pressing down against the palm of your hand in a warm kiss. Then he said those four words that had the spell on you breaking. “I will miss you” “Oh”

Oh indeed. You remembered why you had wanted to come to the party in the first place: to get drunk and, if possible, knocked out and, if possible, to get all of your memories with the prince wiped away from your mind because you knew, one hundred percent sure, that once he was gone for good, you’ll be left alone again. Of course, there were Yeonjun and Granny and your friends and, fuck it, even Jungkook’s Whiskey looking really good right now, but the way you had gotten used in so little time to the boy’s presence in your place and in your life was something that, once taken away, was going to left you devastated.

The mere thought of it, even though it hadn’t happened yet, made your heart clench in your chest. And so, you couldn’t find yourself to say the same to the prince, whose eyes stared intensely at you while you forced a little smile on your face, biting down at your lip to avoid looking like an abandoned puppy.

Just like him when you first met him.

Well, fuck. “Let’s go dance” you said squirming away from his touch and walking to the sea of people dancing along to the music, ignoring wheter Soobin followed you or not and just trying to forget about what was in your mind as you started moving yourself.

The prince just walked out of the kitchen and over to a corner in the room, eyes fixated on yourself as he watched carefully the way you danced, hips moving to the rhythm, hair swinging in a way that had the eye captured, eyes closed, soft smile on your lips. You were eye-catching and from his point of view he spotted some others who seemed to have caught the sight of you too. The prince was about to go on your rescue when he saw a guy making his way to where you were, but Yeonjun beat him to it; an arm hugging you over your shoulders as he leaned in closer to your ear to mumble something was what Soobin saw, clenching his hands in fists as he was too late and as he saw the way you burst out laughing at whatever Yeonjun had said.

But Yeonjun didn’t spare you too much of his time before he was gone again after being pulled away by some random girl and before anyone could come close to you, Soobin was already by your side; he was not going to repeat that little mistake from a minute ago. You, of course, didn’t notice the tall boy standing awkwardly by your side, other bodies bumping against him, his eyes just on you. You only realized Soobin had walked to where you where when a big, warm hand fell over your shoulder, turning around to look at the prince.

You smiled, he was so handsome and you were so drunk already. You didn’t even hesitate before pressing your body to his and stepping in your tip toes, your hands grabbing each side of his shoulders for support as you got near his ear, your nose playfully brushing the side of his cheek before saying to him: “Hello my prince.”

Soobin didn’t fail to notice the way your words came out lazier than usual, almost stepping into each other and he realized the alcohol must have reached your head by now when you started giggling like a small child and rested your forehead against his shoulder. His hands trailed instinctively around your small body, pressing you even closer if it was possible; your own hands moved on their own over his shoulder and around the back of his neck.

“Fuck-“ you mumbled, voice cracking at the word as you felt your heart aching. One of your hands went up and caressed his soft hair, closing your eyes when he started caressing your back on the same way.

“Come here.” He mumbled in your ear, walking away from the sea of dancing people and to a quieter hall where just a few people were, some already knocked out and some just stepping away for a second before going back to the party; the light was dim above your head so when you looked up to see Soobin you had to squint your eyes to focus his face. As soon as your gaze lifted up to his face, his hands cupped your cheeks, wiping away some of the tears that had been falling from your eyes before you could stop them. “Tell me what has got you like this, y/n.”

“… You.” You mumbled, looking away from his worried eyes, eyebrows knitting as your eyes watered even more and you bit down the pout on your lip. “I’m so mad, why do you have to leave? Why did you have to come in the first place? Why- ah, fuck.” You sobbed a little, clenching his shirt in your hands as you spoke. “It’s so sad, Soobin, I really like you in my life.”

One look at the prince’s eyes and you already got a clear answer: he can’t. He’s a prince, for God’s sake and from another fucking world. If you didn’t the worst luck of all, then you felt really sorry for whoever was a level up to yours.

“I…” Soobin chew down on his own lift, his heart beating painfully as the look in your face hurt him even more. “I like you in my life too.”

You chuckled the irony out of your body and try wiping the tears away with your own hand, but it was soon caught in Soobin’s hand and pulled away from your face.

“Y/n, I don’t think I will ever be able to forget you” he mumbled, his hand leading you to rest over his shoulder again before finding the spot on your back with his big palm and pushing you closer to him. “You have left me impregnated in you by the rest of my days so, please, rest assure that I will think and dream about you every single day until my final breath.”

Your breath hitched and before you knew it you were brushing your own lips against his, space almost inexistent in between the two.

“Don’t let me forget, Soobin.”

Truth was, you were sure you weren’t ever going to forget the way Soobin’s soft, fleshy lips felt against yours, or the way his swift movements paced your sloppy ones, or the way you drank in every single gasp of his when you would brush your tongue against his bottom lip, which you quickly became addictive to. Or the way his tongue moved in your mouth more roughly after you had bit down his pretty lip, both of his hands now holding you by your waist, fingers pressing against your exposed skin.

You don’t know just how much time passed in between kisses, but you didn’t care either. A small whine came out of your lips when Soobin softly pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, both of your swollen lips inches apart as you panted heavily, his half-lidded eyes staring into yours.

“I feel like I could do this forever” he whispered, breath fanning over your mouth. You hummed in agreement, leaning in to place a tender kiss in his lips, short but still filled with passion; then moved to the corner of his lips and then up making an invisible path of kisses to his jaw and down his long neck, a soft smile appearing as the prince hummed in delight at the feeling of your warm lips on him. His lips fell open as a gasp escaped from his mouth when you started nibbling down on his skin, alternating in soft bites and then small licks to soothe the spot. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You snickered quietly, moving up again to his ear and placing a soft kiss against it before saying: “Let’s go home, please? Wanna get some sleep.”

Soobin smiled softly, turning his head to kiss your forehead while nodding. “Of course, beautiful, should we go find Yeonjun?”

Shit, Yeonjun.

You had completely forgotten about tonight’s designater driver and, after sending him a few massages and getting no answer from him, Soobin and you started searching for your friend in the insides of Jungkook’s house, of course, making subtle stops for some kisses when you started missing the feeling of his lips or him when he’d capture you in between his arms and trapped your lips surprisingly with his. After a while, you walked into Yeonjun as he stepped out of some random room on the second floor of the house, hair disheveled, lips as swollen as yours, clothes a little messy.

He looked the two of you up and down, analyzing every detail of your state and the way Soobin’s hand still rested against the skin on your waist, his eyes peeking over your head as he stood behind you. Scoffing, Yeonjun was about to say something when a girl in the same state of him walked out the same room, looking at the trio standing outside in slight panick before rushing away down the hall.

“Isn’t that Jungkook’s-

“I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

You nodded; a silent pact made with your friend. Yeonjun didn’t need to hear twice your plea to leave before walking down the stairs and out of the house, Soobin and you quickly following his steps towards Granny’s car.

The way home was quiet, just the low music of the radio setting a chill mood as you leaned against the seat, a tired sigh leaving your mouth as you watched the narrow path outside. Yeonjun hugged you goodbye once you reached his floor and promised to see you again tomorrow.

Soobin closed the door after you walked into your own place, kicking out your boots lazily as you dragged your feet inside, coming to a stop when you didn’t hear Soobin’s steps behind. “What are you doing there?” you asked, turning a little to look at him standing in front of the mat on the floor he slept. Waving your hand at him, a soft smile drew on your face. “Come here, let’s go to sleep.”

Soobin didn’t need to be told twice; he quickly dragged his own feet, following you into your room and closing the door on his back, looking at you moving to grab some makeup wipes, an almost inaudible whine coming out of you as you were too lazy to do it, but still started brushing the wipe over your face. The prince walked closer and took the wipe from your hand, lifting up your face with a finger pushing up your chin.

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning in for a kiss before doing what you had started. You closed your eyes, grateful for his actions, enjoying the often kisses he would give you from time to time, until you heard him say he was done. Soobin walked out of your room for a second to change into a pair of clothes he had borrowed from Yeonjun as you also used the time to change into your pajamas, a sigh of relief outing you as you laid down on your bed.

“Come here Soobin” you mumbled to him, reaching out your hand to the boy once he was back. He smiled and walked over, taking the empty spot in your bed next to you, his arms immediately caughting you in between them and hugging you against his chest, his lips leaving a kiss on the top of your head. Tilting your head up, you were meet by his lips brushing against yours, skin barely touching as his eyes looked down at your mouth.

“I might become obsessed with you at this point” he whispered over your mouth, the words making his lips move against yours. You nodded, that little movement, again, making your lips move against his. “I am forever grateful to have met you, beautiful.”

“Shut up and kiss me already” even if that’s what you said, you were still the one to finally close the tiny gap in between your lips, both of you instantly melting against the other. “I hope this would be a dream” you whispered, hiding your face on the crook of his neck.

“If this is a dream I wish to never wake up.”

You had expected Soobin’s last day on your world to be extremely sad and heartbreaking, yet once again it surprised you how ironical and unpredictable could life be.

You had had a nice sleep in the prince’s arm, waking up around midday when the unstoppable sounds of pictures being taken shook you out of your dream. And not only you had been woken up, but Soobin as well as Yeonjun screamed trying to avoid the murderous, flying pillows you threw at the boy.

“You’ll thank me later, babe!” He cried out, jumping to avoid the pillow on his crotch.

After that, everything became a little bit more chaotic, for example while having breakfast together, when you told Yeonjun that he needed to drive Soobin and you to the Han River where he would have to sink in to teleport back to his world, a world where he, Choi Soobin, the kid he had dressed himself was crown prince, king to be, him, the Choi Soobin.

“You’re both mentally ill, aren’t you?”

Still fully convinced, Yeonjun agreed to drive you to the Han River; after all, he would definitely get scolded if you were to snitch to Granny, so he just complied after a good annoying resistance.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg; what actually came after that was probably the most cinematographic and traumatic-as-fuck incident of your life, because for a second you were cuddling with Soobin in your couch spending what little time left he had, two hours left till midnight, and the other second you were both spread on the floor, caughting, unable to see anything as the room was covered in white dust after the ceiling fell over your heads, almost crashing the both of you if it weren’t for Soobin’s reflexes throwing you away and then jumping from his spot.

“What the fuck!?”

“Y/n? Wait, don’t move!”

“HEHEHEHEHEHEHE”

That laugh radiating some veil, foul, evil didn’t make you get goosebumps but a whole fucking need of a new soul as yours felt like leaving your body. Covering your mouth and nose to shakily breath in, you squinted your eyes trying to find Soobin, walking over to the tall shower you first caught a glimpse, realizing too late your prince didn’t have blue hair.

“Hello there, little princess”

“Y/n? Where are you? Run away, quickly!"

You looked up at the delivery man first with confusion, then with fear as his smile only grew bigger and bigger, his cold blue, mad eyes staring into yours with a glint of amusement.

“Who the fuck-“ you cursed under your breath after your voice cracked out of fear, the man only snickering again in delight of your reaction.

“Be afraid, you should, such a shame I didn’t get to kill you both” the man lamented, clicking his tongue as his finger pointed up at the hole in the ceiling; you expected to see some extremely freaked out upstair neighbors after the lost of their floor, but you only met nothing; pure, pitch black nothing. “Be good, now, little princess, and I might let you live… After all, I just want his life.”

God, what had Soobin done to have the mad-ass pizza delivery man wanting to kill him that badly? Yeez.

“Oh, yeah? Over my dead body.” Of course, there were some times when you weren’t the smartest in the room, for example, right now, but you were just a girl under pressure and one who didn’t backed down without a fight.

The man laughed even louder, making you wince at his high pitch. “HEHEHE! So amusing, you little rats! You have nothing to lose yet you put all of you into saving it, haha! So very thrilling!”

You were about to make some smart comment about how you were not a rat when a loud thump interrupted you; jumping away when the man in front of you collapsed in front of you, Soobin coming into sight with a frying pan held up in his hands and a wild look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stepping over the man’s back to reach you, placing the frying pan under in between his arm and ribs, his hands grabbing your face and inspecting everywhere for any kind of injury.

“Soobin, what the fuck?” you questioned, panicked in your eyes as the man had finally shut up and now you could let your own emotions flow freely, shaky hands hugging yourself as your eyes trailed to the immobile laying on your floor. “A fraying pan? Is he dead? Oh my god, do I have to hide a body now?”

“Hey, look at me,” Soobin squeezed your cheeks in between his palms, leaning in his face closer to yours to block the way of the delivery man on the floor from your eyes. “You’re okay, but we need to go now, quickly.”

“Go where?” you cried out being dragged by him out of your destroyed place and down the stairs.

“Hey! What happened? Heard some crazy sound from upst- woah, what’s going on?”

Yeonjun was just on his way towards your place; he wasn’t usually the one to get cranky at noisy neighbors, but what he had just heard felt like some kind of explosion and he wanted to make sure you were okay. So, all of his worries only grew when he stumbled with the two of you, covered in white dust and with a frying pan being held as if it was some kind of sword. Yeonjun got no answer, but he was just dragged down with you holding onto his arm. If there was a crazy psychopath in your place, there was no way you were leaving Yeonjun behind.

"Do you still have Granny’s car?” asked Soobin as he dragged the two of you out of the building and looked around to spot the red car. Yeonjun nodded, mumbling an of course as he stuck out the car’s keys. “Let’s go, we need to move.”

“Go where?” questioned Yeonjun, still getting into the driver’s seat while you took the seat next to his and Soobin the ones in the back. There was a loud rumbling on the ground that did not belong to the car you had just gotten in.

“Han River” he stated, looking over the window at the flicking lights of the whole building. You had to be honest, the image in front of your eyes before Yeonjun stepped on the gas pedal reminded you of fucking Stranger Things; sky tinting a shade of red yet not due to the sunset. Honks were blown as your friend drove in a hurry and carelessly through the cars, his eyes flicking to the review mirror and looking at the weird ass man standing in the middle of the street you were just a second ago, his cold eyes seemed like staring directly into Yeonjun’s as a sick smile drew on his face.

“Who’s your friend? Seems cool!”

“And really pissed off at you Soobin, what the fuck was the on my ceiling?”

“I-I can explain… And I will definitely pay the expenses of the broken ceiling, I swear!”

Driving to the Han River from your apartment was a ride of almost an hour, and if you were lucky and bad traffic wasn’t on your side, you’d be there without wasting so much time. But of course, things couldn’t go that way and just when you were about to reach the bridge crossing the river, Yeonjun stopped the car, getting stuck in between a large line of cars. You frowned as you wondered why, it wasn't even rush hour, could this be some kind of little trick from the same crazy pizza delivery man?

There's still a full hour till midnight, you thought as you you read the time on your phone. Your hands moved immediately to unbuckled your self and opened the door in the middle of the traffic, some curious eyes looking at you from their cars.

“What do you think your doing?” Roared Yeonjun watching as you quickly pulled open the backseat door and Soobin got out of the car as well. “Y/n, I swear to god, if you don’t stop right there-

“He needs to get out of here, Junnie! you exclaimed, looking pleadingly at your friend. “And I need to make sure he gets there, please, I’ll be back as soon as I can” A strong gust of wind sent your hair flying to a side, and still out in the cold air you didn't felt any cold, adrenaline rush warming up your body.

Yeonjun sighed, a hand brushing his hair anxiously before nodding reluctantly, an index finger pointing out in your direction before you were off. “You better be back safe, babe, I’m ratting you out to Granny if you don’t.”

“Of course,” you smiled at him. “I love you.” Turning to face the prince, whose hands still hold onto the fraying pan, you grabbed his free hand and starting running towards the bridge, a few honks blown in your direction as you rushed through the cars. “C’mon, let’s go!”

For a moment, all you heard was white noise and your distant pants as you approached the bridge, running and running for a very long time as the two of you got on the bridge, reaching a fair place in its middle; you only came to a stop when Soobin slowed down and pulled from your hand. The prince’s face was glowing up due to the bridge’s lights, warm and even cozy on the railings. His hair was disheveled and his chest moved up and down as he caught his breath. The sky was almost as red as blood over your heads, the fast kind increasing in speed.

"I think it will be alright if I go into the portal a little bit before midnight" Soobin said, his hand grabbing yours pulling you in for a tight hug, his nose nuzzling against the crook of your neck. "Everything will be alright once I am gone, okay? Make sure to return quickly to Yeonjun, please, just be safe."

You knitted your eyebrows, blinking away the tears you didn't want to pour right now, and hugged him back tightly, almost crashing your body against his and making him stagger a little; your hands closing in his shirt. "I'm gonna miss you so much, Soobin" you mumbled, voice falttering even if you didn't want it to.

Soobin held your head back before pressing down his lips over yours one more time, a last kiss filled with desperation and hunger and longing and affection, your hands clenching the back of his shirt. You breath in deeply, trying to print his scent into your brain.

“Aw, how disgusting.”

Then it happened all just too quickly for your mind to even process it correctly; one moment you were pulling away from the kiss to look at the standing man in front of the both of you, a few feet away, then you were forgetting how to breath as a pair of black and thick tentacles popped out of his back, moving at a speed even faster than light in your direction.

You never ever in your life thought about a pair of tentacles strangling your waist with enough force to make you feel you were about to go pop, but, of course, there you were, hanging from the bridge as you felt the air leaving your body, ringing in your ears blocking the desperate calls from Soobin who wasn’t even in a better situation from yours; tentacles grabbing him by the legs and hanging him upside down.

“Fuck! Kai, let her go!” Soobin yelled, his eyes never looking away from your pale figure, not even realizing the kind of request he had made, his mind too focused on you to realize. The pizza delivery man- Kai crooked an eyebrow at the prince’s words, a mocking smile appearing in his face.

“Oh? Should I be a merciful person with you, Your Highness? At least once?” he questioned, humming as if faux lost in thought before shrugging nonchalantly. “Okie, here you go- ups!”

Soobin screamed of your name didn't reached your ears.

For a moment, you breath in deeply, desperately gasping for air. The you crashed into something cold, harsh, making you skin burn, first your head then the rest of your body; air left you again, disappearing completly from your system, water getting too much into you, mouth, nose, eyes, everywhere. Then it burned- everywhere in your body burned but you couldn’t scream- you couldn’t move and then, you were out.

a/n: if you make it till here and read all of this i love you so much and if you liked it thank you so much<33 this is suposed to have a part 2 that im already working on!!

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ceesimz · 18 days

Text

Our Sun Is Setting

TW: mentions of homophobia and grief for a parent. It's quite a heavy fic, please keep that in mind.

"I told my Mami about you today."

You didn't think it was possible for a relatively normal, short sentence over the phone to make you feel sick to the pit of your stomach, but it did.

"Oh." That was all you managed.

Your mind was in overdrive as you stood in the middle of the grocery store, buying ingredients for the dinner you were preparing for later that evening when Alexia was going to come over. Any other person would have reacted better, wouldn't have been frozen to the tiles of the shop in the middle of the breakfast aisle, wouldn't have been on the brink of a panic attack from a simple statement.

"She was very happy. And she would like to meet you soon, whenever you like."

Another punch to the gut.

"She also teased me for talking about you so much. I couldn't stop myself." Alexia paired her words with a shy laugh.

The sound of it grounded you slightly as you moved out of the way of an old couple walking in your direction, but your head was still being insistently ruthless as you wandered mindlessly through the rest of the shop. Alexia was still talking over the line, seemingly not noticing your silence, but you couldn't work out what she was saying due to the unbearable ringing in your ears.

You were in shock.

"Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think the signal went a bit weird, I didn't catch much of what you said." You reply in a shaking voice.

On the other side of the phone, Alexia frowns ever so slightly - she can almost sense something is wrong, but she can't quite figure out what or why. She hopes that when she sees you later, you are perhaps feeling better or if not, at least she's there for you.

"Okay cariño, would it be better if I left you to your shop?" She suggests, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel of her car where she was parked outside of the training complex before an afternoon training session.

"Yeah, probably. Sorry, I'll see you later."

And with that, you hung up.

As you went to slide your phone into your pocket with your shaking hands, you missed, causing it to clatter heavily against the tiles. It earned a few stares from the people around you, only intensifying the jittery dread that surged through you. Pins and needles encapsulated your body as you crouched down to pick up your now-smashed phone, but currently that was the last thing on your mind.

Alexia's statements circled relentlessly around your head - to literally anybody else in the world, hearing those words from someone they had were seeing would be enamouring and seen as a key, heart-warming milestone. But to you, it opened up a dark spot in your mind that you had shunned to the side for some amount of time. It seemed now was the right moment for that unidentifiable problem to break free from its shackles and make itself known, and you were terrified of what those repercussions would be.

You carried out the rest of your shop on autopilot, shoving a handful of notes into the cashier's hand before rushing out without a clue of how much you just gave them. For all you know, you could have massively overpaid them or robbed them in broad daylight. You were so out of touch with the world right now.

So much so, that you were unlocking the door to your apartment before you realised. How long did it take you to get home? Did your phone still work? What time is it? Did you walk, get a taxi, catch the bus, how did you get here? What did you even buy at the shop? Why won't this fucking door open-

A neighbour walked past hastily as you barged a shoulder against the door and almost crashed through it as it finally opened. You sent them an apologetic smile, though there was no doubt in your mind it was more of a manic and unnerving look than anything else, before slamming it shut behind you. The icing on the cake to this whole thing was the fact that the bottom of your shopping bag split open, scattering your groceries across the floor of the entryway. At least now you could see what you had bought.

Whether your legs failed you and buckled or you put yourself on the ground, you kneeled on the floor and gathered everything into your arms to transport it to the kitchen. It was a struggle, your trembling arms barely having the strength to hold themselves up, but you managed to dump your belongings on the kitchen side. Once you'd done that, you rested heavily against the counter, desperately trying to replenish the oxygen that had been stolen from your lungs some point along the way to this moment here.

What the fuck do you do now?

You turned to lean back against the counter and slowly slid down to the ground until you were sat on the floor, head back against the cupboard. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions rushing through you that all you could do was sit and stare. Feeling nothing but everything at the same time, thinking nothing but everything all at once.

Seeing Alexia tonight might tip you over the edge. You hope it doesn't end that way. You hope that her presence eases you. You hope she saves you from falling, sinking, spiralling into an irrevocable state of mind, whether she recognises that she's doing it or not. You hope, hope, hope.

Time seems to be a temporary concept for today, because before you've even had the chance to start preparing dinner for tonight, Alexia is at your door. Her voice calls out from behind it, asking if you're in there and if you're okay, because you've zoned out again. You're on the sofa, your cross-body purse still hanging off your shoulder, your jacket still zipped up to your chin, your shoes still on. Your groceries are still strewn on the kitchen counter, and the torn bag is still in the entry way.

"Amor, are you in there? Let me in." Alexia calls out, her voice tainted with concern.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm coming!" You jump up, kick your shoes off, throw your bag onto the small dining table, and open the door. She visibly deflates at the sight of you, her tense shoulders dropping, but her face contorts at your attire.

"Why do you have your chaqueta on?" She asks, and you're beyond grateful to hear it's said in an amused tone.

"Bit cold s'all. Come in." You're not cold. You live in Barcelona, and it's the middle of the spring.

You step to the side and she walks in with a tiny smile on her face. She's glad to be here, you realise. She seems to be in a light and happy mood, carrying no extra stress or other burdens, and, rather selfishly, you're glad.

"How was training?"

You plaster a smile on your face as she takes her shoes off and drops her bag beside them, turning to you and opening her arms. You walk into them with no hesitation, but the feeling isn't as relieving as you desired it to be.

"It was good. I did a amazing free-kick, I will show you the video." Alexia beams, and that does warm your heart somewhat. Her passion for her work, her career, her life, was forever an invigorating thing to witness. It's a shame you weren't in the right mood to appreciate it.

"That's great, Ale." You smile genuinely up at her, more than happy to return the soft kiss she offers.

It momentarily calms and heals a small part of you you'd been hoping she would subconsciously fix, but it wasn't enough and you recognised that straight away. You'd get on your knees, beg, and pray to any higher power that would listen to you just so you'd feel okay for one more day. Except, who do you pray to when you don't believe in God?

"What's that?" She points to the white plastic bag from earlier.

"Oh, the bag for the groceries ripped as soon as I walked in. Must have forgotten to pick it up." You shrug it off, wishing for her attention to be elsewhere for the time being. "I haven't started dinner yet, sorry."

"That's okay." She smiles, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly and kissing your cheek. "How was your day?"

Tough question.

"It was alright, haven't done much." You brush it off, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen... where the whole area was still a state.

"Oh, what happened here?" Alexia frowns.

If it was just a few items, she wouldn't be so puzzled, but when a good portion of the food left out was fridge and freezer food? Strange.

"I... I, when the bag ripped before, a jar smashed by the door and, uh... I took a while cleaning it and forgot to put the rest of the stuff away." You ramble unusually quickly. It was a blatant lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Except, Alexia was an incredibly attentive person, and she knew straight away that something was amiss. The first sign was that, in her intelligent mind, she knew that theoretically if a jar filled were to smash by the front door, the white bag from earlier would have been covered in its contents - but that wasn't the case. The second sign: whenever you cleaned your apartment, you used a very strong smelling citrus scented spray - she often complained about it and nagged you to get one that smelt nicer. Your apartment didn't smell uncomfortably citrusy right now. Funny observation, sure, but these two pieces of seemingly inconspicuous evidence gave away the fact you weren't right. Oh, and your strange behaviour showcased on the phone earlier and a few moments ago didn't help your case either.

But, she chose not to pressure you about it yet. She wanted to wait until you perhaps opened up to her some point this evening. However, that didn't entirely stop her from speaking up.

"Ven aquí, amor." Alexia demands calmly, reaching a hand out to you. Suppressing a sigh, you take it, and she looks down at you with a pressing stare. "Answer me honestly. Are you okay?"

No.

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm fine, Ale, I am." You try to reassure her, squeezing her hand and smiling up at her.

"You promise?" Alexia raises her eyebrows and offers her pinky for you to seal your, rather untruthful, truth. "It's okay if something isn't right."

Pinky promises, as childish as they may come across to some, were never to be broken. Since the start of your relationship, they had been a thing that had been utilised by the both of you to ensure you are telling the truth. Alexia had broken one of her promises she had made to you before in the past, so why couldn't you do one in return? It's only fair, right? Relationships were meant to be equal after all.

"Promise." You smile again and raise your other hand to lock fingers with her. She smiles, though you can see she's not convinced, but nevertheless she kisses your knuckle.

"Can I help you cook?"

"I'm meant to be cooking for you. And you are a bit of a control freak in the kitchen." You tease, desperately trying to steer the night away from the morose direction it could go down, and instead towards the light-hearted, content way you so needed.

"I think I am just a control freak in general." She smirks at you before turning to put away the disregarded shopping. You would also happily accept that direction too, you supposed. "Venga, I am so hungry, I skipped lunch at training for a meeting and now I regret it."

To your relief, you both make peaceful conversation once you've told her what you planned on cooking, and it's so peacefully domestic as you do your individual tasks beside each other. Every so often, Alexia will joke and bump her hip into yours as you giggle, and this version of your girlfriend is exactly what you needed. For a moment, you feel the cloud over your head slither away, until the topic you wanted to avoid came up.

"So, what do you think of me telling my Mami about us? You never gave me a response on call earlier."

You freeze momentarily, Alexia thankfully not noticing from the corner of her eye. With a subtle clearing of your throat, you continue cutting up the chilli peppers on the board in front of you, but your now shaking hands pose as a slight kitchen hazard considering the sharp knife you were wielding.

"I, yeah, it's nice. Nice that you, um... did that." You stutter out anxiously, nausea settling cruelly in the pit of your stomach. Alexia takes in your reaction and laughs under her breath, turning briefly to leave a kiss on your forehead.

"No need to be nervous, amor. We have been together for many months now, it was due to happen soon. And M-"

"Ow- fuck!" You gasp sharply, dropping the knife immediately and cradling your hand as blood began dripping from the middle joint of your index finger.

"Woah, amor, what happened?" Alexia winces at the sight, grabbing a few squares of kitchen paper and pressing it against your cut.

"I- my hand slipped and I obviously cut myself." You grimace, eyes tightly shut to rid yourself of the sight. "It burns too, fuck."

Alexia knew you didn't handle blood too well, so she turned you away from the scene and wrapped one arm around your back, rubbing up and down comfortingly whilst she still applied pressure to the cut.

"It's okay, it's okay, it hurts more because of the chilli. Take some breaths, vale?" You nod hastily, not really realising your cheeks had puffed out as you held your breath. Alexia watches your face closely, eyes still closed as you took deep breaths to calm yourself. "You're doing good, bebita. Keep doing that, so good. Let's relax a bit, hm? We should sit down in case you get lightheaded."

The last sentence is her thinking out loud as she started guiding you towards one of the chairs at the dining table. Resting one elbow on the table whilst Alexia continued to hold your wounded hand, you lay your forehead against your uninjured hand as Alexia crouched beside you. Your joined hands lay in your lap as you calmed down, or at least tried to.

To Alexia, it would appear that you were just mentally recovering from the shock of the incident. But actually, you were trying to dispel the unsuspected horror that filled you to the brim at Alexia's earlier reminder.

I told my Mami about you today. She wants to meet you.

That line inevitably meant you had to tell your family too. Except, you couldn't. There was no way you would, no way you could, not without facing realities you had pressed down far into unreachable and forgettable depths of your mind. It was all too much, it was simply not a possibility for you. You knew what it would lead to, and you weren't ready for that.

For the past months you'd been with Alexia and the time you spent getting to know her before that, you had mostly lived in a bubble that dissociated you from the broken, cracked, ruined, utterly destroyed parts of your brain. It had been perfect so far, and you'd be fucking damned to leave that bubble now. But perhaps it was too late and the damage had been done long before Alexia said what she said earlier, maybe that darkness just needed a catalyst before it submerged you in its wake.

"Amor? Hey, come back." One of Alexia's hands lightly patted your cheek to bring you back into the room. "You scared me there. Your breathing got really bad and you were in a... a weird daze. I was talking but you weren't reacting or anything. Are you back now?"

You nodded wordlessly at her, still not entirely taking in what she was saying.

"The blood... freaked me out." You rasp breathlessly, shaking your head a little to rid the glaze over your vision.

"That's okay. Do you feel a little dizzy? I can get you something to help that. Clear your head maybe." You nod again, and she gently lets go of your hand. Cold shivers immediately burst through at the lost contact, but you had to get over yourself and get used to it.

Cautiously, you take the tissue off of your hand and inspect the damage. It doesn't seem deep enough for stitches, which instantly fills you with relief. If you weren't already in a state of intense dismay already, a trip to the hospital would cause a hurricane of emotions that left a lasting imprint on everything and everyone around.

"Here, some apple juice. To get your blood sugar back." Alexia places a mug of apple juice in front of you and notices your now bare hand. "Oof, amor, that looks painful. I'm not sure if that may need a doct-"

"No! No doctors, no hospital. It doesn't need stitches, it's fine." You rush out, eyes wide in what Alexia guesses is fear as you look down at where she's crouched again. "Please, no hospital. It just needs to be cleaned and wrapped up."

"Okay, if you are sure." Alexia replies, nudging the cup closer to you. "Drink that and I will get the first aid kit."

You do as she says, drinking the half-empty cup of apple juice whilst she searches through the kitchen for the green box of medical supplies. Her eyes hardly leave your slumped form at the table, filled with worry for you. Things weren't adding up now, it was obvious, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could ignore it.

A part of her feels afraid to push you; emotionally she wants the best for you and if subtly, or not so subtly, urging you to do that works then she'll do it, but intellectually she senses a deep, internalised issue that could rip through you if handled incorrectly. It's not up to her to cause that. So she asks a question that's so layered it flattens all remaining atmosphere in the room.

"Cariño, how do you feel now?" She pretends to busy herself with organising the already packed box of medical necessities you kept.

"Better." Phyiscally true, but mentally wrong.

"Why don't we order something for dinner instead?"

As if you weren't filled with disconcertion already, that suggestion signs, seals, and stamps the envelope set to be sent to the fucking psyche ward for your admission. Were you so inadequate now that you couldn't even cook a simple meal? Apparently so.

"O-Okay."

Alexia frowns and comes back over with alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream, and a box of plasters, placing her items on the table and gently tapping your chin to get you to look up at her.

"I love you, you know that?"

The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. Alexia maybe wasn't the most emotionally helpful person ever but she sure did try. She thought her saying that would comfort at least a small part of you, but she couldn't be more wrong. It planted the seed of an unforgivable idea in your head.

The realisation of what you had to do poured over you like cold water, washing away every ounce of the little remaining hope and positivity you had. A feeling akin to mourning settled in your heart, accompanied by the debilitating weight of this twisted entity in your mind seeping into your bones. Your body strained under the heaviness of it all, unable to capacitate for the burden of living life like this, only confirming that the thing you must do was your only solution. Your lower lip quivered as the thought consumed you, the devil in your head chanting it over and over and over and o-

"I do know." Your lips tug into a smile but your throat bobs to conceal the sobs bubbling at the surface. "I know that. I love you too."

For the remaining time you had with her, you would make sure she knew that too.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

It's silent between you both as she delicately cleans the wound before applying cream and wrapping it up in bandages. It's silent as she leads you to the sofa, silent as she ordered your meal for you from one of the common takeaways you always got together. It's silent as you wait for it to come. It's less silent when Alexia turns on Netflix and opts for a new TV show for you both to watch together. It's still fairly silent even as you sit beside her, back stiff and straight beside the woman whose heart you were soon to break.

Alexia has never loathed quietness more than she does right now. It was an occurrence she valued at any other point in her life; watching football, reading, studying a game, relaxing in a post-match bath, going on a solitary walk to gain some peace of mind. But here, in this moment beside you, her skin crawls at the unbearable stillness of the room. Sure, she did enjoy silence with you too, but it felt like the unavoidable elephant in the room was stomping on her heart with every beat of her heart. There was a hidden agenda in the belly of the beast attacking her, and for some reason it felt like she was running out of time to put out the fire.

Her spiralling was interrupted when the buzzer of your apartment rang through the room, letting you know there was someone outside of the apartment complex without a fob to enter the building. Alexia reluctantly gets up from the sofa to let them in and hovers by the door to wait for the delivery driver to find your flat. She keeps her eyes on you, subtly watching you attentively, but even if she stood face-to-face with you, noses touching and breaths mingling, you wouldn't have a clue she was there. Your senses were incredibly warped and you were so far detached from reality, it felt like you and Alexia were two worlds apart.

What's at stake right now is something that's much bigger than the both of you. The dynamic around you may as well have a 'fragile: handle with care' sticker slapped on it, except, even that wouldn't have stopped the hands of the puppets controlling the world from acting so cruelly. You'd taken constant blows for quite some time now with no respite. Just as you started to recover from one punch, another would come to hit you square in the face.

"Hey." Alexia lightly knocks on your forehead with her knuckle. Every concerned glance from the woman in front of you felt like a jab at your body, slowly working you down until you gave in. "You are here, but you are not here."

You blink gormlessly up at her, your shoulders lifting in a careless shrug before you took back control of your mind.

"Food's here?" You force a smile, taking the paper bag from her hand and walking on shaking legs to the kitchen. You get plates and cutlery out, dishing up your meals before joining Alexia back on the couch, the taller woman now the one seemingly stuck in her head. "Ale, your meal."

"Ah, thank you." She leans in to quickly kiss your cheek when you sit beside her again.

The blonde woman has one more trick up her sleeve to try and bring you out of your shell, and it's one she hardly ever played.

Immediately, she begins to babble on about her day and her teammates and her family and whatever new antics Mapi and the youngsters had got up to, going abnormally overboard with the amount of anecdotes she was spewing out. Everybody knew Alexia was not a talkative person, and she only ever acted like this when she was in a rare giddy mood. And that really was rare.

The Alexia on display so far tonight was not in a giddy mood. She was happy, of course she was, but factor in the concern she'd shown for you tonight and the giddiness she had not portrayed at all even recently, something was off. It threw you completely off-kilter, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why she was doing this.

"I'll tell my Dad about us tomorrow." You blurted out, interrupting another of her rambles. It's kind of the truth, not all of it, and it's not the biggest decision you've made for yourself tonight, but you owed her something at least for putting up with you.

"Que?" She frowns. Out of all things she'd expected you to say tonight, that wasn't one of them.

"You're talking a lot because you want to know why I'm acting weird. It's because I'm thinking about telling my Dad about us, I'm scared to do it but you told Eli so I'll tell my Dad." You explained, pushing your food around your plate as Alexia processes your words for a moment.

"You don't have to do that if you don't want to. I don't mind, I know things haven't been... haven't been great between you both since your Mu-"

"Okay, but he's still my Dad." You cut her off again. You're not in the mood to discuss what she was about to bring up.

"You don't owe him anything, amor. Sure, he's your Dad, but you said it yourself only a few weeks ago; he's an idiot. No one should treat their child the way he's treated you after they've just lost their Mami."

There. She said it anyway.

"Alexia, I know you're just trying to stick up for me, but please don't go there. This has nothing to do with my Mum." Another partial lie.

The subconscious, realistic part of you knows every issue you've had in the last two years has everything to do with... her. But right now, the impulsive side that has been at the forefront of your mind ever since it happened wants to blame everything on the world around you and not your flaws that you've ignored all this time. Anyone could see that your refusal to sit with your grief and just feel was your Achilles' heel.

"Okay. I'm sorry for mentioning it. But I am absolutely on your side, amor, I'm always on your side. So if you want to tell your Dad, tell him. If you want me there next to you or if you want me out of the country whilst you do it, then I'll do it. I will do whatever you want me to." Alexia tells you, her voice pleading as earnest swirled around the eyes that bore down into you.

Well, you thought, that's good to know.

"Thank you." You smile ever so slightly, dropping your fork and placing a hand on her leg. You squeeze her knee three times, one more chance for her to understand the love you held for her.

"De nada, amor. Now eat up, please."

The pair of you spent the rest of the evening delicately dancing around the untamed elephant from earlier whose patience was wearing thin at the prospect of going entirely avoided for the night. Conversation topics were kept light, finally giving you a brief reprieve from the onslaught of your mind, and Alexia kept her arms tight as they wrapped around you. It was as if with each breath you let out or with each twitch of your body, she held on tighter and tighter, every hint of movement from you a reminder of your presence and how much she ineffably adored you.

Yet, the sun began to set, indicating that it was almost time for Alexia to leave for the night. She had to get up early tomorrow whilst you had the day off, and initially Alexia always agreed that when this was the case, you should sleep separately so that you could rest. However, as she collected her bag and slipped on her shoes, she kept her movements purposely slow to delay her departure. The last thing she wanted to do was leave you alone.

"Are you sure you will be okay tonight?" Alexia sighs, a reluctant hand on the door handle.

"I'll be okay." You answer simply, hesitating for a moment to decide on your goodbye gesture, before settling for a lone kiss on the cheek.

"Call me, immediately, if that changes. If you wake up in the night and need me, I will be straight here. If you call me in the middle of training, I will be straight here. Please. Don't suffer on your own."

Oh Alexia. If only you weren't so late.

"Everything will be okay, Ale." You tell her, desperately trying to disguise the emotion threatening to break through. "Te veo pronto, sí?"

"Sí. I love you." Alexia smiles, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then opening the door.

"I know." Is all you can say now to that declaration. And fuck, if Alexia hadn't felt so uneasy in her life after that.

Somehow, you managed to sleep that night. Maybe it was your body allowing you to build up all the strength you need for the day ahead, because your life was about to be irreversibly changed. And the worst was yet to come.

"Hi Dad." You murmur quietly from your place in the corner of your sofa, legs tucked underneath you as you pitifully hold onto a cushion for comfort.

"Well, it's been a while since I've heard from you." The man on the other side of the phone chuckles spitefully. "Remembered who I was again?"

"Hm. How have you been?" The best way to deal with such a man was to ignore his behaviour, in the hopes he dropped the act when you didn't give a reaction. Perhaps you underestimated him.

"That's a loaded question, you know that. It's all everyone asks nowadays and I'm fucking sick of it." He grumbled, and for the first time in a while it sounded like his anger wasn't directed at you.

"I do know that." You stated.

"So why ask then? Still as dense as ever, I see."

Okay, well, clearly you judged him too soon.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." You mumble insecurely, a frown settling on your face as you try to hold back the emotions you knew would spill out sooner rather than later.

"Don't lie to me." He snapped through gritted teeth. "You couldn't give a shit about me if your life depended on it. Be honest and tell me what you want, I have better things to do than talk to you."

"I... I have a girlfriend, Dad. Here in Barcelona, I've met someone." You reveal with a hint of a smile on your face.

All morning, you'd been in over your head on whether to tell him about Alexia. Part of you thought it was futile since you had already decided on your future with her, or rather, the lack thereof. But the naïve and childish part of you painfully thought he could be happy. That wasn't a concept this man had understood as of late, so it was a wonder why you'd thought he'd be happy for you. Especially given his latest behaviour, and his long-standing opinion on your sexuality. If only your Mother was here.

"Wow. Because I couldn't give you the life you want after your Mum left-" he could never say the true reason for her absence out loud, "-you look for it elsewhere? What did I tell you about doing that? A home can't be a person, kiddo, you need to stop looking for that. Your Mother wasn't home, I'm not home, this new 'girlfriend' isn't home, a person cannot be a fucking home! You're just desperate to fill in the love that's absent in the death of your Mother. Get a fucking grip of yourself and get over it, this 'girlfriend' business. You know your Mum would never have stood for this."

Silence.

Of all the words in the world, across all languages and cultures, over all periods of time, there was only one description to be used of how you felt right now. In your little flat in the heart of Barcelona, cowering in the corner of the couch, you felt suffocated. Any semblance of clarity, peace, hope, love - suffocated, by the words of your father, by the events that had changed you for the worse throughout your life, by the burden of simply just living.

Except, the words 'living' and 'simply' could never be used in the same sentence, because that wasn't a possibility. Every aspect of human nature wasn't simple, that's the beauty in it. The thousands of tiny mechanical functions in your body that allow you to breathe, the hundreds of muscles exerting themselves daily for one small step, the twitches and spasms of nerve endings to feel just a little alive. And despite it only requiring thirteen miniscule muscles to smile compared to forty-seven to frown, the latter felt so much easier. The weight of a smile had never seemed so damning, so suffocating.

The promise of life was a unique one, that's common knowledge and yes, life is beautiful, but any glorification of the struggle of living was inefficacious, nothing could extinguish the flame of the fire inside of your mind that was already uncontrollably burning through your self-preservation. No promise of light one day shining in your world again was worth it; you were merely a shadow of the people you loved.

"Okay Dad." You choke out. Even uttering one word was such a fucking exhausting challenge. "I... I planned on breaking up with her anyway. I think I want to come home."

You expected the feeling of verbalising your plans to be freeing, but the gravity of what you were going to do grounded you so humbly it almost almost stopped your heart entirely.

"Wow, I mean, if I had known that you would listen to my opinion and follow my advice so quick, I would have given it more often." He laughed maliciously, his way of celebrating your fall from grace.

"Can I come home?" You can't stop yourself in time from asking that question in such a begging tone. Another victory for him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart. If you're that desperate, maybe stay with your grandparents. Perhaps they'll want you." He sighed as he said it as if he was in a rush, acting like speaking to his daughter was such a chore. "Listen kiddo, you done now? I've gotta go."

"Yep, I'm done. Can I see you if I come home?" The question was paired with a hasty swipe away of tears as if the man hundreds of miles away could see them.

"Oh honey. You fascinate me. You're at danger of almost being interesting now, you know that?" He laughed once more at his own words before hanging up.

Silence again. Such a plaguing thing.

The weight of the conversation you just had collapsed down on you, a whirlwind of emotions surging through you as a result of it. Each beat of your heart served as a reminder of every word spat at you from the man you once thought held all the love you had to give, the thump against your chest echoing his disappointment and distaste for you. A daughter's love for their father was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous things to themselves, proving that point yourself as you mentally scrambled to find a way to mend the fractured bond, yet each time coming up empty, feeling powerless and minute in the face of your father's disappointment. Every response from that man carved deep wounds of guilt and regret into every crevice of your mind.

Behind a facade of stoicism, a torrent of emotions fulminated throughout your body - a spiteful mix of every insecurity, every doubt, every shattered dream, it all coming together to form the final piece of the puzzle that was needed to make the decision to break out of your life. There was no other choice.

Outwardly, there wasn't a hint of such breakage shown anywhere on your body. And that's how it had to be, that's how you had to be. Completely numb to it all until you had escaped this turmoil.

By 2pm, everything was different.

Flight booked. Every suitcase you owned bursting at the seams, waiting by the door. Apartment tenancy ripped up. Your resignation handed in to your work. Every bit of furniture, every little trinket, all of it ready to be left behind. Despite it all, the most heartbreaking symbol of your new start, was the cardboard box of Alexia's belongings sat in the passenger seat of your car as you drove, waiting to be dropped off discreetly outside her door.

Your life was the perfect image to sum up how quick things can change. Twenty-four hours ago, you were walking to the local supermarket to pick up the stuff to make a perfect meal for you and your girlfriend to eat and have a quiet, relaxed evening together. Now? You were driving to said girlfriend's apartment, equipped with the words to tear your lives apart.

Oh, how things change.

In the blink of an eye, you were parked up outside her apartment building. You had the key to her apartment in your hand and the code to enter the complex memorised for one more use. You failed to notice her car parked in her usual space as you walked through the car park. The heaviness of the box was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest of what you were about to do.

Ears ringing, eyes blurred with unshed tears, throat burning and constricted, your bones aching under the weight of purely just existing, all of it immensely overwhelming. But you were numb still. Numb and out of tune with your feelings, because you had to be. Otherwise, all of this couldn't happen. There was no way any of this would be possible if you just listened to what your heart wanted. No, that devil on your shoulder had gotten its way once again.

"Oh, what are you doing here?"

Fuck.

You had truly done it this time, because here Alexia was, standing in the doorway of her apartment as you froze at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" You ask frantically, desperately praying for her attention to be anywhere but the box of her stuff in your arms.

"Well, this is my apartment, amor. I just got back from training but I left my phone in my car." Alexia answers, an eyebrow raised down at you. Of course she'd catch on that something was wrong. She always did. It was one of the things you loved her for. "What's this? Are you a delivery driver now?"

She laughs to herself as she says it, taking the box from your arms and placing it on the floor. You're still stuck to the spot, eyes wide in fear at what she was about to find, and your heart thumps angrily against your chest in protest, trying to get you to react in some way. But it's too late. Alexia has already opened the box and began to read the letter in there before you could stop her.

The smile on her face immediately dissipates at the first line.

"To Ale, I'm sorry... what do you mean?" She asks, glancing up at you briefly before continuing to read it.

That's when your body finally decides to react. You slowly back away from the woman in front of you, but Alexia grabs your wrist tightly to stop you from running away.

"No, you will not leave my sight right now. Explain this fucking letter, what is going on?" Alexia attempts to sound commanding, but there's a certain glisten to her eyes and a lump in her throat. "What is going on? Tell me, now, please."

"I... I'm sorry, Alexia." You croak out, rushing to wipe the tears already falling with the sleeve of your sweater. "I am sorry, you have to know that."

"Sorry about what!?" Alexia shouts, then takes a deep breath to compose herself momentarily. "Come inside, sit down, and please can we talk?"

"Everything I have to say is in the letter, Alexia, I-"

"No, no it is not. This letter is hardly a whole page. You've come to my apartment with a box of my stuff and a letter that starts with the words 'I'm sorry', I'm not letting you leave." Alexia says, and you have no choice but to listen to her. However, she softens for a moment, and the lost look on her face tugs on every one of your heart strings. She takes one of your hands and squeezes it three times, resulting in another stream of tears from yourself. "Please. Whatever is going on, give us a chance to solve it. I need you to explain what's happened so I can help you, amor. Please."

You relent easily, forever at her mercy, and follow her into her apartment. She leaves the stacked box by the front door, completely unbothered by it - in fact, she doesn't ever want to look inside it if this conversation goes the way she thinks it'll go. She's kicking herself mentally, her mind already skimming over every interaction she's had with you recently, desperately trying to plot a point in time where your attitude had changed. It's easy for her to do so, the moment jumps out almost immediately. If only she hadn't been so scared, so cautious, maybe she could have solved this before it was too late.

"What do you want me to say, Ale?" You sigh exasperatedly as you sit on the edge of her sofa, eyes fixated on your fidgeting hands.

"What do I want you to say? Amor, I want you to be honest and explain why you're sorry, why you've come over with all my stuff, why you've written me this letter. It's all come out of nowhere, I have no idea what's going on and I just want you to clue me in. Yesterday we were laughing together and having a nice evening, and now you're... I don't even want to say it." Alexia laughs nervously as she speaks, her shoulder stuck up in a shrug as her hands gesture eratically.

"It's okay, I'll say it for you." Your false facade takes over, body armoured with a hard exterior. "I'm leaving, Ale. I'm leaving Barcelona, leaving Spain."

To hear you say those words were perhaps the greatest pain Alexia has ever felt in her life.

"Leaving... leaving me?" She whispers quietly, the question punctuated with a gulp as she swallows her emotions.

She sounds eerily similar to a young, innocent child who's just lost all they've ever known. It makes you wonder for a brief second if you're a sick individual for causing such pain, but you shun those thoughts away for a later date, because right now you need all the feigned courage you can muster up.

"Yes." The ease with which you say it sends shivers down her spine. It's the hardest sentence you've ever had to say, and it's just one word - once more an example of how life can never be conformed to simplicity.

"Why are you being so cold? This is not the woman I know." Alexia practically pleads, inching closer to you on the sofa. Her hands land on your knees, but you're too far in to back out now.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Alexia. I need time and space to figure my shit out, that's what is best for me right now and that's why I have to go." She scoffs in your face once you've finished, and that's the moment this conversation goes far more downhill you could have expected.

"What about me? What about what's best for me? You're leaving me behind!"

"Leaving you behind? You're acting like a sad dog that I've just abandoned in the middle of nowhere! You were perfectly fine in your life, your very successful and established life might I add, before I came along and you'll be better off without me!" You snap back. This is not the direction you thought this would go. "Why can't you accept the fact I need to leave?"

"Because I fucking love you! I love you and I don't want to live a life that doesn't have you in it! But maybe I should grow out of that opinion since it seems so easy for you to turn off your feelings for me, so easy for you to be so selfish at the flick of a switch."

"Selfish? I'm being selfish?" You repeat her words back to her with an outraged laughter that sounds all too familiar to you. Is this who you've turned into? "I'm being selfish for choosing what's best for me? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time on my own to figure my life out? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time to grieve my own, dead Mother?"

Alexia's face falls as soon as those words come out of your mouth. Never in her life had a sentence caused such a visceral reaction from her because it feels like someone's just plunged a dagger right into her heart. She'd been too panicked, too focused, on her own feelings to even wonder why you had made this decision. She had been the selfish one for jumping to conclusions and now her lethal arguments had completely tanked the conversation. The possibility that there was no coming back from her vicious assumptions instilled a deeper, darker fear in her than she had ever felt in her life.

"No, no, I didn't-" She begins to dig herself out of the hole she finds herself in, but you're in no mood to entertain her begging.

"Good one. Really funny, that." You stand up and go to walk away, but not without one last attempt from Alexia to stop you.

"I didn't mean that, I swear, I am just so confused and scared and-"

"Do you not think I'm scared too? This will be the second time I've uprooted my life and regretted everything I have ever done. I'm terrified to leave, terrified to find out what's waiting for me at home, terrified to figure maybe this is all I am and that there's no better side of myself to find." Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and fury. "I've realised that throughout our whole relationship, from the moment I stepped into this country, I've been someone that I'm not. Losing my Mum was losing the biggest part of myself, and everything I've done from then 'til now has just been a poor attempt at filling in the hole in my heart-"

"S-so, what, you're saying our relationship was fake?" Alexia splutters out. You pause at her words, completely caught off-guard by her utterly stupid and inept fight back.

"That's what you caught from all that?" You ask, dumbfounded. "Right. Because it's always about you, Alexia, isn't it? This whole conversation has just been you talking about yourself. Have you even properly heard what I've said? Have you read more than the first line of my letter?" The guilty look on her face says it all. "That's what I thought."

"But I... I know what it's like to lose a parent, amor, I can help you!"

"Wow. For the sake of us both, don't go there, Alexia. Don't." You fix her a warning glare, shaking your arm out of the grasp of her hand.

"You can't leave. You can't, I won't let you. It's not right." She speaks sternly again now, a final plea for your relationship.

"Oh, fuck off Alexia. You have the emotional maturity of a teenage boy. I'm done with this now. Good luck at the World Cup this summer."

You walk out and slam her door shut without looking back.

Alexia's life had just taken a nosedive, because a breakup was absolutely not on her agenda for the day. The hand that had grabbed your arm earlier tingled with the stain of your touch and certain areas of the room were tainted by the lingering scent of your perfume. One conversation and you had vanished from her life - an excruciating result caused by her own incompetency to act like a decent human being.

For some time after you had left, she had been stuck rooted to her sofa, her mental temporarily ruined by the events of the day. A traumatic event had occurred, this was a natural reaction, to go into shock. To be so damaged by something that all she could do was sit and be consciously unconscious to the world around her until her body and mind could recover.

There was one phrase that ran circles around her mind. It isn't fair. What that defiance was directed at, she wasn't so sure yet. At first it had been you, but as the clouds cleared a little, it was obvious that it wasn't. Despite her words earlier and how accusing they came out, she didn't blame you. Not one bit. No, her anger was aimed at the so called 'fate' bullshit that everyone championed so often. How can people praise such a phenomenon when it had brought so much evil into people's lives? It felt like everything came at the price of something, and that's not fair.

For Alexia? It felt like her career came with the price of her Father. Everything she had done was because of him, and he couldn't even be here to see it. No, because fate or destiny or whatever other nickname it had, had taken that opportunity away from her. It isn't fair. For you? If anyone asked you, in the future when you're in your rocking chair, a knitted blanket draped over you and the waves of the ocean lapping away in front of your eyes, you'd say that in this period of time you had gained the world for the price of your soul. This dichotomy of good and evil sometimes felt like it wasn't worth the fight because in cases like this, it just wasn't fair.

The realisation of it all left a sour taste in Alexia's mouth. But something seemed to snap in her, some higher power finally giving her a backbone, and she sprung into action. You didn't deserve any of the stuff that had happened to you, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be another name on that list. One of her worst fears, a view shared by all of humanity, was to remember someone she loved in such a gut-wrenchingly awful way that it tarnished her entire memory of them. That's something she couldn't do with you. If you were to end this, it had to be on good terms.

So, she grabbed her keys and headed down to her car, where her phone still was. Alexia was a determined woman; when she put her mind to something, she got it done. This would be no different.

Call after call, after call, after call, came through on your phone from the one woman you probably least expected. There was only so long you could hold her off because, after all, you were once in a relationship with the woman, meaning you got a front row seat to her persistance.

"Hi, uh, Alexia. What do you want?" You say when you answer, finally.

"We have to talk more." Alexia rushes out quickly, for lack of better words and composure.

"I don't know if I want that after what happened earlier." You state in a defensive tone. But secretly, you craved nothing more.

"I know, and I am so so sorry for all that. It was so selfish and awful of me, I regretted every word that came out of my mouth the second I said it. I just... can we talk again? Please?" She begs, her hand fidgeting against the steering wheel of her car as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. "I would hate myself if I didn't at least try for this, amor, let me try."

"The decision is final, Ale, you can't change it. I'm sorry. You said yesterday that you would do whatever I wanted you to do. Well, this is what I need you to do, Alexia. I need you to let me go."

"Okay." Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, tears spilling out the corners, and her clenched fist comes to rest against her forehead. "Can I see you one more time? So I can properly apologise? I have no other intentions than that, I promise. I just... I can't remember you that way. I can't remember us in the way we left it. It doesn't give us as people any respect and it does not do justice to the beauty of our relationship."

That was the tipping point for you. There's the woman you love.

"Okay." You smile and sit up in your bed where you previously lay in a cocoon of your own pity. "How about we meet on neutral grounds this time?"

"Let's do that." Alexia responds, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Some time later, you found yourself walking along the promenade of the beach, looking for where Alexia said she was seated on one of the benches. It was a chilly evening with no help from the sea, so you had your hands tucked into your coat pockets and your chin hidden under the zip of your coat. Alexia had spotted you long ago, a content smile on her face at the all too familiar sight of you and your distaste for the cold. You recognise her soon after, taking a deep breath before approaching her.

"Hi." You mumble, muffled by your jacket and the wind whipping around you. Alexia hears it of course.

"Hi. Sit down, please?" Alexia taps her hand on the wooden slats of the bench beside her, and you quickly follow suit. "I, uh... got you this."

She hands over a takeaway cup of hot chocolate. Your favourite.

"Thank you. Something to keep my hands warm." You say, happy to see her laugh quietly and nod.

"Exactly why I got it."

The pair of you sit in silence for a while, encapsulated by the serenity of the sky and the elegance of the ocean. Strangely, you realise, the two things resemble you and Alexia. Two things of beauty that never quite meet, never quite mend, just a parallel that reflects each other. You can't tell if that's a horrifying allusion or a calming one.

"So, what's this then, a... a post-mortem of our relationship?" You joke, giggling when Alexia scrunches her nose at the suggestion.

"I mean... you could say that." She shudders as she says it, not quite at peace with the new revelation. She's not sure she ever will be.

"I have to go, Alexia. I... it's so hard leaving you behind. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's one I have to make. I hope you know that."

"I do. I do know that. I want you to know I understand. I'll never be... content with it, but... it's a necessary evil." Alexia has her eyes cast down on her coffee cup, fiddling with the lid. You notice and take hold of one of her hands, intertwining your fingers perhaps for one final time.

"It is. I've got no energy to fight anymore. I need to sit with my emotions and all that shit," You pause as you sigh dramatically, making her laugh once more. "So that I can figure out who I am after all this. Doing that whilst in a relationship isn't fair on either of us. It'll only lead to something more soul destroying, no matter how hard this conversation is."

"I know." Alexia purses her lips and nods, finding the strength to look at you. A genuine smile breaks out onto her face. "I had a feeling something was wrong a little while ago. I guess I'm just... angry. That I can't solve it."

"I'm angry that I can't solve it." You repeat, a sad smile on your face. "There's just a lot wrong with me, I think. And I can't burden you with it all. I have a lot of baggage I drag along and there's an awful lot of cracks in my mind-"

"There's cracks in everything, amor, that's how the light shines in."

You had half a mind to berate her for interrupting you again, but you find yourself at a loss for words. Why were you leaving this woman again?

"I'll value you forever, Ale. Nothing could make me change that, even if we left things at what happened before. You're the most astounding person I've ever met, and even when I'm breaking your heart, you still treat me better than anyone else. If we forget what happened at your apartment." You tease, the both of you chuckling lightly.

"It's hard to hate you when you're breaking my heart so gently." Alexia states. "I'll always love you. It's probably not the right thing to say but it's the truth."

"No, I... I'll always love you too." You respond, absolutely certain. Despite the predicament you both find yourselves in, Alexia finds every bit of relief and closure she could ever need in that one simple sentence.

"When do you... when do you leave?" She asks with a sniffle.

"I fly out later tonight." You answer quietly.

"Will you come back one day?" It's the one thing she knows she probably shouldn't say, but she can't resist. She has to know.

"I don't know, to be honest." She turns away and nods slowly. You squeeze her hands three times.

"If you do, will you let me know?"

You can't promise her that, and she knows it.

"I will." You smile softly up at her.

You both fall into silence once more. This one feels a little less suffocating than those of the past. There's still so much more to say, but as your head falls to rest on Alexia's shoulder and you both look out at the view that had been the background of your relationship, neither of you can name a reason to interrupt the peace that's settled. It's perhaps more peace than either of you had felt in a long time.

The thing is, about the ocean and the sky, is that they do meet. They're one and the same in their own essence, and in the distance, they do eventually meet. And the sun will rise again. Two inevitable occurrences that form at the hands of a little thing called fate. Or destiny. Or whatever it is.

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