#3) IT'S JUST SUCH A JOYOUS LAUGH............

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 10.2k (oops) warnings: cursing? hot wonwoo, obsessed wonwoo, a lot of tears (this entire thing is more of an angst than anything); y/n acts kind of annoyingly but its all for the plot i promise ᴀ/ɴ: i'm flying back and forth to and from korean rn bc i'm done w midterms rn!! sorry for the delay!! ALSO IM SO PROUD OF SEVENTEEN FOR WINNING 2 DAESANGS OMG; im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

No, of course not. Why would he be when he could have everything he wanted in the palm of his hands? When he was the Archduke? 

But the sight of her in the winter market roads, dressed too-thinly for the cold biting air of the evening pushes into his chest a stabbing sort of pain he cannot really place. And the sudden tension he feels from her presence, does nothing to ease the tsunami of emotions crashing into his chest. 

The festive winter market of the Capital. The common festive winter market of the Capital. Never had he ever thought of bumping into y/n in the streets of the Capital – without a guard, no less. Although, he thinks, Mingyu serves more than enough of a guard for tonight. He knows that his thoughts are too bitter – too bitter, considering everything she has said, everything she has gone through because of him. Yet, he cannot stop the bile rising in his throat and his fists clenching by his sides as he only watches from the side. 

The familiar, homey scents of warm cider and baked pies mingle with the cold evening air and sprinkles of snow fall around him, yet he can’t seem to pay attention to the stand owners who call for his attention.

He swallows as Y/n moves from the winter flower stall to a jewelry stall. He tries to ignore the way Mingyu laughs at her side, shoulder bumping hers and hand going up to pull her cloak over her head. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flame of what seems to be anger, regret, or something in between, stoke the fires of his heart, as Y/n simply laughs. And it hurts. It hurts so much because she never laughed like that around him. At least, not since his return. 

He cannot even begin to put into words how gorgeous she looks under the yellow lantern lights and the blinkings of the market stalls. He has just barely enough capacity to recognize how the deep greens and golds of her dress blend in rather unassumingly with the commoners also walking the snowy road. How different she looks when she is far from the palace walls that seem to have always guarded her independent spirit. How joyous she looks when she stares at a piece of jewelry in her hands, fingers running over the blue sapphire in the middle. The gem hangs from the thin gold chain delicately and he can’t help but think how pretty she would look in it. 

He can’t hear the conversation, but he can see Mingyu lean down (curse him for his height), and also inspect the necklace that she is now holding up to his face. 

When Y/n tilts her head, a soft smile gracing her features, Wonwoo’s heart clenches. Almost painfully. Painfully because he recognizes that smile – the smile that used to be locked away only for him when they shared late night tea in his parlor, when he gifted you a diamond-encrusted bangle for your eighteenth birthday, when he danced with you for your debutante, when he went boating with you on a random Thursday afternoon.

Painful because now you are staring up at Mingyu with the same look, some kind of unspoken familiarity in your eyes that he seems to have missed because it sure as fuck wasn’t there when he had left.

At your head tilt, Mingyu leans forward and says something too quiet to catch. But it makes you laugh – loud, brilliant, clear-cut like the most expensive of diamonds. It catches the attention of the people around you and they smile too. And he would if not for the twisting feeling of a knife in his gut because your carefree laugh he only ever heard in the privacy of the night, days ago, flows so naturally when you are with Mingyu. 

What the fuck did he even say? 

It’s a bitter sort of rage. More directed towards himself than anything. But he pins the blame on the prince, opting for an easier way to divulge it fully. It’s easier that way – anger to yourself is easier to let out when directed another way. 

The knife’s presence exponentially sharpens and his throat feels weirdly scratchy when Mingyu gently touches your hand, taking the necklace out of your palm and placing into it a more extravagant piece. Your fingers brush. He can see it from where he is. And he can also see you look up at Mingyu in surprise at his sudden touch – no gloves, too. Were you worried about scandals with Mingyu? He wants to scoff at himself at being this ridiculous, but some shallow part of him wants to yell out your name and whisk you away. Away from Mingyu, away from the market, away from the Capital. To somewhere he can take a deep breath and just let you know. Let you know how much he-

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh. 

Wonwoo is surprised at how close his feet had led him to you. If he takes a couple more steps, he can reach out and brush your hair from your shoulders. 

Mingyu just smiles, canines biting down into his bottom lip. “What do you mean? It’s gorgeous. Matches your eyes ‘n everything, duchess.” He gives you a small little wink. It’s teasing, Wonwoo knows. It’s done in passing, which he also knows. But it stirs the pot of bubbling frustration (and jealousy) in his stomach like nothing had ever before. 

And it doesn’t simmer, especially when you just laugh at Mingyu’s words, leaning into his presence to roam your eyes around on other jewels. 

The only thing good to come out of that was your hand slowly letting the bracelet you were holding slip back onto the table. 

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways. 

You need something less flashy. More elegant and timeless. You are breathtaking enough.

He only watches, under the pretense of his hood and perusing through an antique stall, as Mingyu hands you another piece, fingers brushing. Again. 

Wonwoo grits his teeth. 

It’s something small – something that would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. But to him? To him, it feels mocking, almost patronizing and belittling. 

You could have been in his place, it almost says. You could have been the one brushing fingers, tossing an arm around her shoulders, teasing her, laughing with her, buying her jewelry in the Capital night market. Buying her anything she wished for.

Mingyu’s ease with you, the natural way you just take up the space next to him, grates on Wonwoo’s nerves to the last degree. 

Do you two even realize how you look to others? To him? 

Do you realize how his heart clenches at the scene of Mingyu repeatedly suggesting jewelry Wonwoo knows you don’t like, only for you to laugh off his sulking comments about how you and he just don’t have the same taste in exquisite things? 

Have you realized the meaning behind his flowers? His three words he had finally finalized in writing after countless sleepless nights’ worth of letters and love-essays? 

The urge to step forward claws at him – to insert himself, force himself, into the situation – to reclaim some part of your attention he is vying for. But he can’t. He can’t bring his feet to move from their place nor his eyes to move from how you just glance back at your original necklace you chose, studying its gem and masterful metal work. He can’t. Not here. And definitely not now. Still, the thought of walking away feels equally impossible, as if leaving would signify some sort of defeat. 

Wonwoo’s breath clouds the cold air, but he doesn’t notice. He has to force himself to take a step back – back and back and back until he has some reasonable amount of distance between you and Mingyu’s merry little party of two. His gloved hand raises to his chest and pressed hard, as if doing so would stop the chaotic, frantic beating of the muscle. His fingers curl into his coat and he desperately wants to hand you his jacket – wants to place the thick fur over your slightly shivering shoulders (something he tells himself Mingyu would not do, except he knows Mingyu would) – wants to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close until your cheeks flush in embarrassment at the proximity. He wants to embrace you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder as you ramble on about the kind of jewelry you like, without knowing that he already knows. He wants to kiss you dizzyingly under the soft snow and cut off your pure sort of laughter. He wants to make you smile and laugh and then smile again just because you were with him. He wants to buy you bouquets of flowers just because he thought of you and send them to your royal advisory meetings. He wants to do those things and more, yet he wills himself to keep composure. 

Not the time, he repeats to himself. Not the time.

She deserves her laughter, he tells himself, though the thought is bitter. Even if it’s not mine to share yet.

And although he wishes it would, the pain does not fade. It lingers in his chest cavity, raw and all-consuming, all-knowing, as he stands there, watching your joy seep into someone else’s laughter. And as Mingyu leans in even closer (terribly ungentleman-like, Wonwoo convinces himself), offering you yet another comment that coaxes yet another bubbly laugh, Wonwoo finally forces himself to turn away. 

He feels a tightness in his chest and a strange thudding in his heart as he stands there, fists clenching as he tries to forget. 

Forget the pain, forget the tears building up, forget what your absence turns him into. 

The crisp night air bites at Wonwoo’s cheeks as he and Soonyoung approach the royal mansion. He would have much rather preferred if Seungcheol had held the Charity Ball in the actual royal palace, but the king had decided to move the venue to a “less extravagant” area, which was only a street down from the palace. So Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what Seungcheol was trying to accomplish except to freeze his palace guests to death as they walked over to the mansion. 

As the tips of the open arched gates could be seen through the winter night’s haze, a warm glow upon the two of them, the mansion’s many windows spillions beacons of golden onto the welcoming courtyard, frozen over with snow. Already, there were many footprints that lined the fallen white carpet, melting the small ice flowers into water again. 

The manor’s golden warmth made the cold knot in his stomach twist further. Beside him, Soonyoung walks with an easy stride – seemingly unaffected by the wintry air or the tension Wonwoo knows he is radiating. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight” Soonyoung suddenly says, tone half-teasing, words hanging in the air for Wonwoo to jump and catch in his mouth. “Trying to strategize your grand entrance?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, focus already blurring at the edges. His fingers toy with the edges of his scarf.  

Soonyoung casts a sidelong glance at him. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles as he simply flashes his royal knight badge at the soldiers guarding the gate, strolling along. The white of the falling snow blends in nicely with his blonde head of hair. 

“Are you not looking forward to another night of forced smiles and silent judging on your part?” Soonyoung cracks a teasing grin, bumping Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

However, when Wonwoo stays silent, face shadowed as his gaze locks on the mansion, Soonyoung’s grin falters. 

“You okay?” A slant of worry in his voice does not escape Wonwoo and he feels almost guilty for worrying his closest friend. 

Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head as if that would wake him from his trance. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Why would I not be?” He forces a laugh from the confines of his tight throat. It sounds almost hysteric to his ears – as if he was on his last straw. Soonyoung knows, too.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he places a firm hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, stopping him in his place. He turns Wonwoo to face him. “Why? Is it because of her?” 

Wonwoo falters in his forced grin. Just barely. But it’s enough for Soonyoung to notice. 

“Ah,” Soonyoung sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I’m right.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes lighting up in interest but it drops when he realizes the tightness on Wonwoo’s face. “Why the-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Wait, please don’t tell me you did something stupid.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, lightly shoving Soonyoung away. “Shut up, man,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’m going inside.” Wonwoo resumes his walk down the snow-ridden aisle, down the middle of the courtyard. 

Soonyoung groans. “Wonwoo!” His footsteps are light against the snow as he jogs to catch up with Wonwoo’s wide strides. “You did something, right? What did you do? Huh? What was it? You were literally with me for the entirety of last week!” Soonyoung whines, almost hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm, earning another eye roll from Wonwoo. “Was it bad? How did she react, huh? Why, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?” 

Soonyoung jabs his finger at Wonwoo’s ribs, repeating the same phrases over and over until they reach the entrance of the mansion, huge golden doors guarded by two valets. 

Wonwoo sighs, massaging his temple. “Will you shut up, please? It’s nothing, okay?” To the valet, he hands two pieces of papers, written on them the required name and title announcements of the night. 

Soonyoung stubbornly shakes his head. “You did something. What was it?” he presses as the valets swing open the doors. 

Wonwoo is quiet as his name, along with Soonyoung’s is read out loud for the entire mansion to hear. From his position at the front door, he can see how Seungcheol had turned the entire first parlor of the mansion into a ballroom of sorts. Near the end of the welcoming hall are the charity auction items – the blue sapphire jewelry set and the gold-set ruby diadem. At the call of his name, everyone stops, briefly, before staring up at the entrance balcony where he and Soonyoung are. 

“What was it?” Soonyoung hisses, jabbing an elbow at Wonwoo’s ribs. Wonwoo grits his teeth at the sharp pain, throwing a side-ways look at Soonyoung. 

“Jewelry,” Wonwoo grits out, pushing Soonyoung to start walking down the stairs into the chamber. 

Soonyoung gasps, as if Wonwoo had just said something more scandalous like lingerie or an estate. “When?”

“Last Friday.” 

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He clutches his chest in faux astonishment, eyes blown wider than necessary. “The great Archduke Jeon gifting jewelry – and flowers, I imagine – to a woman he claims doesn’t even-”

“-I don’t need your commentary, thank you very much,” Wonwoo interrupts, voice hard as he and Soonyoung reach, almost, the bottom of the staircase. His eyes scan the open chamber for a familiar face that almost taunts him like a dream. He can’t even control it. It’s natural, instinctive, almost. He needs to see her. He needs for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, just in case this time, she leaves him. Like he left her. 

From next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung lets out a rather loud sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters under his breath. “You send her gifts in secret, pine after her like a lost puppy, and then show up to events like this – which you don’t even like – expecting… What? That she’ll somehow tap into her telepathic reserves and read your desperate mind?” Soonyoung tuts, shaking his head, starting to part with Wonwoo. “Man up, Wonwoo, come on. If you want her that bad, do something.” 

Wonwoo says nothing, his jaw tightening painfully as his teeth grit against each other and his fingers fist at his sides. 

If Wonwoo had to see another fucking interaction between you and Mingyu that ended in laughter from your side, he was going to bust a vein. Most likely the one that was likely protruding from his neck. If he had to sit in the stupid fucking ballroom watching your gorgeous face scrunch up in delight at what someone else says to you, he was going to lose his shit. Here and now, no regrets.

Well, maybe a little regret. But mostly no regrets. 

His eyes trace your figure as you return back to your table, draped in a rich crimson cloth, occupied by a small group (that deep-down, he felt hurt not being invited into): Joshua’s wife, laughing and fan fluttering in animated conversation with Seungcheol, Joshua, who simply leans back in his chair, arm draped over the back of his wife’s chair, you, with your dazzling twinkle in your eyes and the way the light reflected – refracted – off of almost every part of you, and Mingyu. 

Mingyu makes him freeze. The prince leans in ever-so-slightly, a teasing smile dancing on the corners of his lips as he whispers something in your ear that makes you blush like a virgin, lightly slapping his upper arm in protest at his words. Wonwoo tries his best to not walk up and intervene because who was he to decide what you do with your life? He didn’t see you as a duty, thus he doesn’t need to intervene whenever someone is-

Mingyu leans back in his gold-draped chair, a casual arm thrown over the back of your. It’s not the act in itself that bothers Wonwoo (although it does), it’s the way Mingyu’s fingertips drum against your upper arm. Your bare upper arm. Your bare upper arm that should be clean of anyone’s touch (except for his). The prince reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing something akin to a box – neatly wrapped, twinkling under the low light. 

Wonwoo can’t really see your face from where he is – on the other side of the shorter hall, arms crossed, and leaning against a wall – but he can see that you tilt your head, a scrunch of your brows as you probably ask Mingyu what he was giving you. 

Mingyu shrugs, an easy grin on his face, and places the box in your hands, opening the top. Wonwoo sees your eyes widen in surprise, which makes Joshua, his wife, and even Seungcheol lean forward to see what it is that Mingyu had the audacity to give you. 

When you bring it out of the box, Wonwoo has to admit the quality of the gift. It’s a handkerchief, embroidered with amazing detail and an intricate floral pattern. He can make out your initials on the corner and the studded pearls that line the other corner in small mother-of-pearl flowers. 

For a while, you’re silent and Wonwoo thinks you’re going to shove it back in the box and place it back in Mingyu’s pocket. Because that’s what you would do – at least with him. 

But then your lips slowly curve up into a soft, genuine smile – the whites of your teeth poking out – and you launch out of your seat, arms suddenly thrown around Mingyu. And Wonwoo can see all of this unfold in absolute slow motion. It’s all in slow motion — from the way you jump up with a small clap to the way you bring Mingyu in a hug that’s so unlike you that even Joshua’s wife blinks in surprise at your sudden movement. 

Wonwoo can hear your delighted laughter and “Thank you!” even from where he is. Mingyu looks rather flustered at your sudden embrace but seems to brush it off with a quick laugh and a sheepish grin, mumbling something like “if I knew you would like handkerchiefs so much, I would’ve bought more, duchess.” 

God. Wonwoo’s nails presses painfully into his palms when Mingyu leans in again and steals another bout of laughter from your precious mouth. Wonwoo’s chest tightens at the sight. The sight of your joy, so free and unguarded, so genuine, should have been more beautiful. And it is. He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to ever walk this planet and any other – your warm eyes, your pouting lips, your blushed cheeks, your gorgeous peals of laughter, the way you blush under any of his heavy stares. But this time, looking on at you and Mingyu, it filled him with such a shredding visceral sense of loss. A sense of loss at the time he willingly gave up – what you could have been – what you are to him now – what he is to you – what he wants to desperately shout out for the entire world to hear. 

The undulations of the orchestra notes slowly faded out gradually as Mingyu stole more laughter from you. And Wonwoo barely even recognized Soonyoung standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying something. But his voice sounds muted, almost like he’s underwater and she’s the only source of pure oxygen that he needs to inhale to live. All he can see is you. You, you, you, you, you. Just like always. Except this time, Mingyu’s next to you, elbowing you, bumping shoulders, brushing fingers, twirling your hair, gifting you handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake.

And he suddenly finds himself pushing off the wall (and consequently Soonyoung’s arm and his concerned words of “Where the fuck are you going?”), and slowly walking over to the crimson table. He doesn’t notice the curious glances of the other guests as his growing presence becomes the source of whisperings between tables. All he can he is you. You, leaning towards Mingyu, the faintest of blushes barely visibly but fucking unmistakeable. You and red. Dark red as some carnal part of him – a desperate part of him drowning in jealousy – takes over, flashing warning signs across his brain. 

With every step he took closer to the two, the room seemed to shift around him – air growing heavier and thicker with tension. Before he could stop himself, Wonwoo was two steps away, jaw clenched, head slightly tilted down, arms crossed. The table instantly falls silent when Joshua looks up and blinks, almost surprised at Wonwoo’s intrusion. Seungcheol straightens in his chair, throwing a questioning mouthing of words at Wonwoo (that he completely misses), and Joshua’s wife darting a glance between himself and Mingyu. 

“Is this really necessary?” Wonwoo’s voice is low but it carries. Each word, though he means to not make it so, is clipped and sharp, precise knife points nicking parts of your plush skin. His stormy gaze flickers briefly to Mingyu before fixing on you. It’s easier like this. It feels like he can still reach out and know you’re there. He knows what he might look like – a man without a warrant. And technically, he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have an extravagant excuse as to why he is suddenly intervening except for the fact that he felt jealous. 

The only thing that falters his confidence is the way your face almost immediately drops at his words. Instead, your expression is replaced with something he can’t quite place – surprise, deliberate coldness, and maybe something sharper. Slowly, you rise, your silk gown flowing down your form. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look tonight – how the sage green suits you exceedingly well, how the pearl-drop earrings blend in perfectly with your braided hair tonight – but he notices the necklace that sits in between your collarbones – it’s small, but it’s there. The necklace with the crafted jade and pearl flowers. The one you had periodically gone back to at the Night Market. The one he had, after not-so-deliberate thought, gone up and bought before the end of the night and slipped under your door along with a single tulip. 

“I am confused as to why any of this is your concern,” you say evenly, voice quiet but steady. 

Those words threaten to crack Wonwoo’s composure. He can feel his jaw tighten because he doesn’t know why it is his concern. “This-” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He tries his best to swallow down the tightness of his throat. “This act, this pretense with him-”

Your laugh cuts him off. It’s nothing like the one you give Mingyu. It’s sharper, more combined with a set of unshed tears. Wonwoo wants to punch himself. “Pretense?” You whisper, voice cutting through his words like they were made of the thinest grass. It is sharper than the cold air outside, more biting with unsaid disbelief. Your eyes narrow and he can so clearly see the anger simmering inside of them that it takes him off-guard. You take a step closer. His breath catches. 

“You are no one who should be talking about pretense, your grace,” you hiss. And Wonwoo tries desperately to keep his tormented eyes to rest on your eyes, but they flicker hesitantly to your lips, down to your necklace, and then back up to your eyes. “Is this-” you gesture vaguely to the entire group, “part of your duty too? Are you afraid of someone snatching up your convenient little wife before you can call it official?” Your voice slowly rises in pitch the more Wonwoo’s eyes wander. And he swears, it’s not on purpose, but he can’t bear to look at your glassy, tear-covered orbs because he knows then that he will break. He’ll break and bring you into a hug and start murmuring apologies for everything he’s ever done. 

“What is your-” you stop yourself and he knows immediately that you’ve seen his eyes flicker to your lips. You scoff. It’s loud, haunting, taunting. “Fucking look at me,” you snap, hands balling into small fists by your side. Wonwoo looks up into your eyes and it feels like a part of his heart shatters at the sight of your faint dark circles and redness of your eyes. “Your grace, I’ve said this once and I’ll say it only one more time,” you whisper, stepping just one more half-step closer to him. He can feel your dress flutter against his skin and your expensive Capital perfumery perfume waft towards him. “If duty is all you care about,” you choke out, and he can see the way your bottom lip trembles as you continue, “get the fuck out of my life.”

The words hit him squarely in his chest. He can feel his constructed walls tremble under the weight and restrained emotion of your words. 

He swallows down his own set of tears. It’s infuriating, really, having the one person you care about the most strike you down before you can even say anything. It’s frustrating when even he can’t decide to let you be or if he needs you – needs you the breathe, to sleep, to help the blood flow in his veins. 

Around you, the ballroom almost holds its breath. Of course, the dancers still twirled, the string ensemble still played on, but in the one meter radius of you, every table feels frozen, watching a scene unfold that no one dares to interrupt. 

“You still think you’re part of my-” Wonwoo starts, but the way you stare at him almost chokes him out of the rest of his words. He couldn’t even argue against the truth of what you said. On the probability that you had figured out the flowers and necklace were from him, it would have only worked against him in ways he had not properly thought out or even intended. He wishes he could just scream out the words. 

You take a shaky breath, expression almost forcefully hardening as you lift your chin. “Don’t question me, your grace, when you’ve made it crystal clear that your reputation and your title mean more to you than anything else.” He can hear the wavering undulations of your voice, but your resolve, whether forced or not, held firm. It held the entirety of your sentences together. “So yes. I’m going to keep up with whatever it is you think is pretense and you…” you trail off as your eyes rake up and down his body, finally landing on the crest of his duchy by his shoulder. You scoff, “should stick to what you think is best for your Archduchy.” 

Wonwoo feels almost wronged at your words. Is that really what you see him as? Did you really only see him as someone who would do something if it meant for a greater reward for his duchy? His heart thuds in his chest, except this time, it’s in dread. The sting of your words root him in place and the crowd blurs into a scene of motion and moving colors. 

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, but you hear him. 

Your hand flies to finger at your necklace, smoothening over the jade pieces. You look down. “A mistake on my part,” you whisper, voice shaking now. Your finger suddenly undo the clasp at the back and the necklace falls into your palm. The jade flowers sit there, like a dejected piece of artwork. Without any more words, you drop the necklace into his palm. The stones feel much heavier than when he bought them – as if they had absorbed some of the weight of your words. He looks up at you – mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. He can’t even believe it. This feels as if you were finally ending everything. Because you knew the flowers, the jade, were from him. 

“Wait-” he hurries, fingers clenching over the jade. But before he can say anything else, you turn around and Mingyu stands. Wonwoo can only watch as you turn away from him, back straight and head held high, as you walk towards Mingyu, who rests a firm hand on your shoulder. 

“Perhaps, Archduke,” Mingyu says softly, though Wonwoo can hear – loud and clear – the unmistakable warning, “it would be best to just let her be.” 

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides. He has to be trembling from the pure forceful restraint he held all night now fraying exponentially at the edges. His gaze lingers on Mingyu’s hand, on the easy familiarity between you and him, on the jealousy that gnaws at his insides. 

Wonwoo can’t bear to speak. The faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, almost like a cruel reminder of your presence even as you move further away from him. The orchestra swells with the tsunami of his emotion. The triumphant notes almost feel like mockery to the hollowness of his chest. The ballroom returns back to life but Wonwoo can’t seem to remove himself from his position, until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung. “Wonwoo, come on. You’re making a scene,” Soonyoung whispers, pulling his arm. 

Wonwoo stumbles after Soonyoung, feet not leading him in any way. He wants to scoff – to go back up to his room and cry. He had told himself that he could handle this – seeing you, being near you without tapping into any of the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress. But now, at your words, faced with the stunning reality of the depth of your scar, the realistic distance, of you being able to continue life without him, a tsunami of loss threatens to drown him. Because he can’t. He can’t live without you. Because he had underestimated, severely, the pain of it. 

And for the first time, being pulled out of the ballroom by Soonyoung, he wonders if he has lost you for good. If he has no chance anymore of pulling you close to him and kissing you under the starlight again. If he has no chance anymore of you returning his deep-rooted affections. 

y/n

It was kind of sad to see the royal gardens cloaked under both night and the snow. Your hands brush against the winter rose bushes as you walk along the path to the atrium, outfitted with a dying fire in a hearth and hot tea that steams under the wintry temperature. You smile softly at the memories flooding your mind of running through these very gardens when you were younger, laughing and tumbling with all your friends. Smiling during a time that seemed so carefree. 

You wish you could go back. You wish you could go back and experience the carefree again. You miss it. You miss being able to fall asleep at night without trouble, being able to wake up in the morning without cold sweat in a nightmare, being able to go about your day without the constant plaguing thought of him wandering the confines of your mind. 

A soft crunch of a branch startles you. You turn. 

The sight in front of you makes you stumble back in surprise. 

Wonwoo steps up to you hesitantly. It’s more so the expression – the emotions – clouded with something so raw it seems almost not humane in his eyes that stutter your breath in your lungs. Under the moonlight, way past the time both of you should be outside, he looks vulnerable. Much more vulnerable since the last time you saw him at that stupid charity ball two nights ago. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It’s quiet but it rings through the empty garden. You want to laugh at how much your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. You fidget with your fingers as Wonwoo stares at you with an unfamiliar intensity. The rosiness of his cheeks make you wonder if he’s slightly tipsy. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he rasps, voice a low murmur that carries to your ears, stabbing a long knife in your lung. 

You want to scoff but the deep tenor of his voice stops you from actually doing so. Your arms instead cross over your chest. “Why?” 

You’re not quite sure if you want to hear the reason, lest all of your walls come crumbling down, but you ask anyway. 

Wonwoo steps closer, movements slow as if to not spook you. “Because there are things I need to say – things I should have said years ago.” 

You swallow, head tilted up to look into his eyes. Behind his glasses, tears swim unidentified in his eyes. Rather late of you, you want to say. Instead, you opt on “Say them,” you whisper. “What is it?” 

His jaw tightens. You want to reach up and kiss his worries away. You do, really. For a second, it seems as though he is regretting ever bumping into you, but then he speaks, voice trembling with the weight of all of his emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, hands reaching for yours. You give them up without hesitation – as if your body was acting on its own habitual wants. “I made a mistake. I left because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I thought I could protect you by staying away – by returning to you with some sort of success.” He falters. “But I was wrong, y/n. I’ve been wrong about so many things.” 

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking. 

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n. 

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. But you don’t pull your hands out of his caress. “You’ve said enough. I want to be with someone who doesn’t disappear the moment duty calls.” 

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath. You can almost feel the unspoken accusations swirl between you. 

“Is that really what you think of me?” Wonwoo's words sound almost bitter. “That I left without caring? That I would risk everything just to avoid you for the time being?” 

“What else am I supposed to think, Wonwoo?” You snap back, your voice rising. You wish desperately for him to leave. If you talk about this any longer, you were going to break. “You left without a word, without confidence in me, and then waltzed back into my life expecting everything to be as it was! But people don’t just fucking stand around waiting-” 

“-You have no idea what you’re saying, y/n.” Wonwoo’s voice is dangerously low now. He steps even closer and you finally register something in his hand. “Do you think I do all of this because it’s convenient? Because it’s an obligation?” he asks. It hurts to hear your words used against you. It hurts even more to hear the pure anger in his voice. 

“Isn’t it, though?” you whisper, stepping back defensively, hands slipping out of his hold. “Wonwoo,” you murmur looking down at your feet briefly, “ the only reason we’re even speaking is because of a scandal. We are simply solutions to each other’s inconvenient situations! What part of that do you not get?” You slam a hand on your own chest. Your breaths come out as puffs of white in the air. You can feel your tears welling up in your eyes. 

Wonwoo stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe he’s hearing you right. His hands curl into fists. 

The next words he utters are low and full of just pure fury (at you or himself, you’re not too sure). His next words almost punch all the breath out of you.

“If you think I’d waste my fucking time, my life, on anyone I didn’t want – on anyone who didn’t mean everything to me – then you never even knew me at all.” 

His words hit you square in the face. It’s so vulnerable, the most emotional you’ve seen him, that it incites another spark in your chest. “But you’ve never been here, Wonwoo. You always leave! You’ve left once and you’ll keep on leaving.” Your own words are a desperate attempt to keep your walls up. You can feel your tears poke and prod and threaten to fall. You can hear your voice shake and your bottom lip tremble at your words. Actually, more of his words. You want to keep arguing. You want him to leave – leave you, leave the Capital, leave your life, but you desperately need him to stay – stay with you, stay in the Capital, stay in your life until you die. 

Wonwoo shakes his head as if he doesn’t agree with you. “You can call it duty all you want, y/n. But it doesn’t change my heart. It doesn't change what I feel towards you. You think I really wouldn’t have stayed if I could help it? You think I’d willingly let someone else have what I’ve always needed more than my next breath?” Wonwoo’s hand comes up to caress your cold cheek, thumb rubbing your cheekbone. 

“Don’t say that shit to me,” you whisper, glassy eyes gazing up at his. You can see the tears that are welling up near the corners of his eyes and if you didn’t have the last remaining thread of resolve left in you, you wouldn’t have kissed his tears away. 

Your shattered heart jackhammers in your chest as Wonwoo stares into what feels like your soul. It makes you feel bare – naked, almost. “Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I came back for you.” 

You don’t make a move to leave his warmth, but you look up at him with your own air of defiance. There’s a confusing sort of wreath of emotions that circle your bruised heart, and the words escape you before you can stop them. “You’ve left before. And I would be a fool to not believe you’ll leave again.” 

Wonwoo’s hand stills on your face and he looks so pained for a moment that you wonder if continuing your facade is really a good idea. If it’s better to just give in. “I left to protect what matters, y/n, you have to understand,” he almost begs, desperate for you to just know, “To protect you.” 

You bite your cheek, a single tear falling from your eyes. It’s immediately rubbed away by Wonwoo’s thumb. “And what do you want me to do, Wonwoo?” you whisper, voice bordering on hysterics. “Wait around until you leave me? Again? Do you know the pain of your heart shattering when someone like that just up and leaves?” 

A few more tears fall from your eyes. You can’t even help it anymore. You feel the tightness of your lungs come back again. You can feel yourself start to choke up on your own tears. You can feel yourself start to break down – unwind completely under the softly falling snow. 

“No, no, no,” Wonwoo murmurs, cupping your face, brushing away all your tears. “Y/n please, I left because I had to. But now I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t leave,” he whispers, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I’m convenient, Wonwoo,” you suddenly cry, tears streaming down your face. “You need a partner, not me!” You want to look away, run away, but Wonwoo’s caress on your jaw holds you still. 

Wonwoo’s face contorts painfully with hurt. And you wonder if you have finally pushed him out. But then his jaw sets, like every time he is ready to argue in the royal court. Like every time he is ready to prove his point. “If I had wanted convenience, I’d have chosen anyone but you. This,” he gestured between you two, “is the furtherest thing from fucking easy.” 

You open your mouth, but you can’t find the words to express anything you’re feeling. The pain, the hurt, the resolve you are trying desperately to keep up. Wonwoo watches you with such sharp eyes it sends you into another spiral of being flustered. 

“I’m giving you my heart, y/n,” he murmurs. One look into his eyes tells you everything you need to know. “It’s terrifying – more than any battlefield I’ve seen,” he admits, “but for you? For you, I’d face any danger, any fear over and over again, even if it means standing in front of the love of my life, knowing you don’t believe me. Even if it means standing in front of the one person I would give up my life for, knowing she doesn’t want me like I want her.” 

Your eyes blow wide and a stuttered gasp of a breath feels punched out of your stomach. For a moment, it seems deathly quiet – even the winds seem to soften around you two. And then memories of the nights of your sobs, of your broken heart, scattered into the smallest of shards on the floor, taunt you like a haunted nightmare, circling over and over again.

“Maybe you should have given it to someone who wouldn’t have questioned it,” you whisper, placing a hand over his. “Do you think your proclaimed love is enough, Wonwoo, to erase my pain? My memories? That you can come here and confess and it’ll fix just about everything?” 

You know. You’re being overly critical. You’re being annoying, you’re being frustrating. You know he means every word he utters because he’s Jeon Wonwoo. If he didn’t mean it, he would have not even said it. But even you can’t help the words that flow out of you, fueled with bitterness and pettiness. 

“No,” he says softly, interlocking your hands together. You almost pull away. “I don’t even expect forgiveness, Y/n. Hell, I don’t even deserve it. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t fucking love you. Like I don’t want you by my side for every passing hour. That I don’t want-” his voice breaks and you flinch in surprise when a single tear rolls down his cheek. “That I don’t love you ‘till my last breath.” 

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. 

You shake your head, pulling away from his reach, frantically brushing through your hair. “This is unfair, Wonwoo. You can’t just- just come back and say that you love me.” You sound desperate even to your own ears. You will for Wonwoo to stop there. Please. 

“It’s all I have, y/n,” he admits, voice cracking at your name. The way he utters your name, it carries such unrestrained emotion that it makes you shudder. “It’s all I’ve ever had.” 

Your knees give out, and you sink into your skirts, arms caging your body close to your legs. You rock yourself back and forth gently, eyes trained on the white snow beneath your feet. “What am I supposed to do with that?” You whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it catches Wonwoo’s ears. 

He kneels in the cold snow, brushing hair out of your face. “I’m willing to wait, y/n, you have to know. There is no one else. There never was and there never will be. And when you are ready to believe that – believe me – I’ll be here. Always. I’ll wait. Even if it takes fifty years. I’ll wait.” He tucks the strands of curled hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your temple. Another hand rubs your shoulder. “And I’m sorry, y/n,” he continues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself for all those years. I really am.”

You can’t bear to look up because you can already feel two warm teardrops on the back of your hand that Wonwoo holds close to his face. Because you know that if you look up and see his desperate, dejected eyes, it’ll haunt you forever. Because if you look up and then match his expression to his vulnerable words, laced with such truth, you’ll break. 

“I don’t know if I can, Wonwoo,” you finally murmur. 

“That’s okay. I’ll wait,” he responds. His words are full of such conviction they almost reassure you. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Y/n,” he laughs, tears falling down his face. “I’m not giving up on us.” 

“You should!” you sob, burying your face into your palms. “Wonwoo, just give up on us! Please!” You don’t mean it. Not even one bit. But you say it because you can’t live through him leaving again. Because if, in the chance that he does, leave again, you don’t think you can bear it. You know your heart won’t be able to bear the brunt force of it. 

Wonwoo shakes his head. You know he knows. Or at least can tell. “I can’t, y/n. Not when you mean so much to me. Not when it doesn’t feel like living when you’re not close to me – when you’re not next to me,” he replies. His voice is much calmer than yours and holds to it a sense of firmness in his decision, like nothing could convince him out of it. He pulls you up by your arms, holding you at arms-length, almost inspecting your face for something. Some emotion he may be losing in the heat of everything. 

“Wonwoo, please. Let me just forget,” you murmur, nails biting into your palms. 

Wonwoo shakes his head again, tilting your face up. He swallows. Your red eyes, swollen from tears, close briefly at his warm hand. “You know I can’t, y/n. You mean everything to me.” 

“You’re being selfish.” 

“Maybe. But you should be too.” 

“Wonwoo…” 

“Y/n, I’m not demanding an answer right now. I know the pain I’ve caused you. I know the-” Wonwoo stops suddenly when he sees you biting your lips, teeth clenching down hard on the flesh until you can feel a thin sheen of iron against your tongue. His brows furrow and his thumb gently pries your lip from your teeth, letting out a small sigh. “You don’t ever have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I need you to know how much I love you.” 

Wonwoo ends with a certain sort of flourish you remember from when he would conclude a debate in the National Academy, or when he would argue with his father. It was with a conviction that he knew the other person could not argue against. And you couldn’t. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. Your heart clenched and you could feel the cold start to seep in. 

Wonwoo’s eyes softened at your tears. You stare down at your feet as his hands work to unbuckle the fur cloak from his shoulders. In the next second, your body is engulfed in a familiar sort of warmth and the scent of a more familiar cologne. He adjusts the cloak around your shivering frame. Warm fingers brush your tears off your skin and your hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.” 

Your breath hitches at the nickname. The nickname that took you three years to get over – to forget and partially forgive. The nickname that felt so wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth. You look up, warm tears pooling in your eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” you whisper and you know he can hear the pure pain in your voice. “Don’t-” you hit his chest with your fist, though lightly, “fucking call me that,” you choke out. Your forehead rests on his chest, tears falling freely down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. You can feel the gentle pressure of Wonwoo’s chin on your head and the way his hesitant arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his embrace – pulling you closer to his comforting warmth. 

Wonwoo presses his lips together, inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am. You don’t have to answer,” he confesses, more desperate this time. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait and wait until you’re ready for me, whenever that is. And if you accept only for one day, that’s okay too.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers fix the cloak around your shoulders and they falter when they brush gently against your empty neck. There is a pang of guilt when you realize it’s because of how you shove the necklace he had gifted you back into his hands on that night. But he doesn’t linger, opting to pull away.

“It’s all okay, y/n. It’s okay. And I’m sorry,” Wonwoo murmured one last time, before he pressed a fleeting kiss – gentle, warm, so him – against your forehead. Before he turns away and steps through the snow-covered walkway, back towards the warmth of the palace, leaving you with your own bubbling thoughts. 

There is a tightening sensation in your heart that travels along the arteries and veins and seeps into your lungs, then the rest of your chest, until you find yourself slumped on a bench, tears soaking your handkerchief and sobs echoing through the otherwise quiet garden. 

Approximately two days later, Joshua comes to visit you in your Capital estate, hands laden with gifts sent up from his wife who had gone down early to their country duchy. 

Your parlor is warm, lit by the steady glow and crackle of the fire that dances within the ornate hearth. Darkened drapes are tied back, letting the minimal winter sun seep into the room. A soft atmosphere of silence wraps itself around the room, broken only by the soft clinks of your cups as you and Joshua both sip on the tea laid out in the tea table in front of you. 

Joshua sits opposite you in a high-backed chair. His usual easy demeanor around you belies the sharpness of his attention. You can see it just from how his brows scrunch and his eyes dart from your face to your wringing hands in your lap. His coat is draped over the arm of his chair, leaving him only in a simple waistcoat. He cradles his own teacup with the same kind of quiet thoughtfulness that seems to define his entire being in times like this. 

The tension only grows as you slowly get more anxious at your senior’s silence and Joshua grows more wary of your wandering eyes – how your gaze flickers to the flames and then to the ceiling and then back to your hands, never truly focusing on anything. 

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Joshua asks, voice gentle but firm, how it’s always been with you. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually saw himself as more of your father than your older brother. 

You hesitate to respond. Should you tell him? No, you want to argue. But technically, if Joshua was already asking you if you had anything to tell him, that meant that he already knew something happened, or he already knew what happened and wanted to hear it from you. Either way, it leaves you with no choice but to answer him. 

“Why?” you choose to respond, setting your teacup down. 

Joshua shrugs, stirring his tea. “Just a hunch,” he hums. 

You’re quiet. And Joshua indulges in your voluntary silence. But only for a minute, as it has always been. Joshua Hong is only patient when he wants to be. 

“Y/n, what happened between you and Wonwoo?” he finally asks, ripping the coarsely-placed bandage off of your wound. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. 

You sigh, slumping down in your chair. Your hand pulls at your hair. “What didn’t happen,” you mutter. 

Joshua sighs, tapping your foot. “Not an answer. Come on, y/n. I need you to tell me so that I can help you or something.” 

You falter at his words. It was curious, really, how Joshua knew exactly the perfect time to come and visit you. How he knew exactly when you needed help. 

You finally give in. 

“He said he loves me,” you whisper. You cringe at your own words. They feel foreign leaving your own mouth, and maybe it’s because you haven’t even given yourself the time to wrap your own head around it. But in any sense, you say it. 

“So he finally confessed,” Joshua muses, as if he already knew your little tidbit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, really. He had a knack of finding things out before you could properly process what was happening. But it does annoy you, just a little bit. It’s the same thing, you guess, as Seungcheol asking you to weekly afternoon teas to see if everything in your life is okay. 

“If you put it that way,” you mutter, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering over to the window. 

There is a thick sheet of silence that lands heavy between you two as Joshua chooses not to respond. Instead, he sets his cup down on the small table between you with deliberate care. He studies you for a long moment and for a second, you think you have biscuit crumbs on your chin or something. 

“I feel like I can guess what you said to him,” Joshua finally says, leaning back on his chair. 

You nod hesitantly. “I just-” you sigh, sinking further into the chair, “-I don’t want to be the convenient choice so that he can fulfil his obligations. What if he doesn’t choose me if he had the option?” you ask quietly. An edge of bitterness and underlying hurt seeps into your tone even though you try to mask it. And you know Joshua picks up on it too. 

“If that’s what you believe,” Joshua says, voice low and deliberate it almost scares you, “then you don’t know him as well as you think.” 

You blink at his words. The certainty in his words – almost like he knows because he’s talked it over with the person in question – throws you off. It’s rather unlike Joshua to frequently give relationship or love advice, seeing as how his own marriage came to fruition. 

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues. 

“Wonwoo’s never taken the easy path,” he says, “Not once. Not in the National Academy, not in society, not in the knight corps, and definitely not when it comes to you. Actually, the man probably takes the hardest route whenever it comes to you.” His words hang in the air, laden with something akin to a heavy truth that makes your chest tighten. No tears though, which is good, considering the considerable amount of tears you’ve accumulated over the past couple of days. 

The glow of the firelight lends a warmth to Joshua’s face that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze. You want to desperately argue, to push back against the certainty of his words, but the sheer conviction in them, as well as Joshua’s rare sure relationship advice, has you basically grasping for words. 

“He’s struggling too, Y/n.” His words are quiet but firm enough to pierce the silence. 

You laugh, tears stuck in your throat. “Oh, I bet,” you mumble. 

“The weight of duty, of everything, it’s heavier on him that anyone else realizes,” Joshua hums, pausing for a bit when he sees your frown, “But you can-” 

Suddenly, the doors to your parlor swung open, followed by hurried half-yells of your estate staff asking the prince to “Please wait outside, your highness!” 

Both your and Joshua’s heads whip towards the sound, the tense atmosphere now conveniently broken. When you turn towards the oak doors of your parlor, Mingyu stands in the doorway, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. He looks rushed, almost distressed – hair sticking out of his fur hat, cloak lopsided on his shoulders. 

Joshua opens his mouth to speak but Mingyu beats him to it. 

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he breathes, ripping his hat off of his head as he bends forward, hands on his knees as he tries to collect himself. 

You turn your wide eyes towards Joshua as if he can give you an answer. Joshua only shrugs, confusion marring the space between his eyes. 

“Your highness, what is this about?” Joshua asks, standing up as Mingyu makes his way over to the long couch, collapsing on top of it. 

Mingyu heaves in another breath. “He left,” he states. 

“What?” your voice is sharp with annoyance. Really, the men in this kingdom need to learn how to talk in full sentences. How is anyone supposed to understand who “he” is when the speaker doesn’t clarify it with any proper noun? “Speak properly, Mingyu.” 

Mingyu looks up from his position on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. “Wonwoo, Y/n,” he sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch. “He was commissioned to the north. Again. He left at dawn yesterday, apparently.” 

Mingyu’s words are like a bath of cold water that is thrown on you. They crash over you like an unwanted gasp of air. It threatens to break you. You can’t breathe and you don’t know why. Your body suddenly feels like it isn’t yours. You feel like your lungs are caving in themselves and you can feel your heart punching at your ribs, threatening to break the bones. You clutch at your chair, gasping in inhales of oxygen like you are a fish out of water. Like you were some sort of broken machine that needed fuel. Like you had just heard a world-ending news. 

He was gone. 

“Left?” you croak out and a gasp of air follows, which clearly worries both Joshua and Mingyu because both men either stand up or sit up, heads whipping towards your weak voice. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Mingyu’s eyes blow wide and he’s hurrying over, dabbing your tears off with his handkerchief. You want to push him away – let yourself mingle in with another set of tears – but the only thing that you can think is that his cologne is too strong compared to Wonwoo’s. The only thing that you can think of, while your eyes drift towards the open-curtained windows and watch the thick snow fall down from the dark skies, is that Wonwoo left. Again. Wonwoo left you again. And he’ll have to ride through the thick snow of the Capital and then ride again through the thicker snow of the countryside, and then fight in the thickest snow of the north. That he’ll face another battlefield – a battlefield you knew, from Soonyoung’s letters – that he hated with all his being. That he’ll most likely get injured while fighting for the king, for the kingdom, for you, apparently. That he might-

“Oh my god,” you breathe, shooting up and out of your seat with a speed that scares both Mingyu and Joshua, who are staring at you like you’re going through a life-changing crisis. “Oh my god!” you choke out, steadying yourself with your chair. The three words just fall from your lips like a mantra as you pace back and forth through your parlor, pulling at the ends of your hair and biting your lips. And through everything – Mingyu glancing over at Joshua and Joshua trying to get Nai to bring you some chamomile tea – the only thought in your head is the singular worry that gnaws and teeths at your entire soul: what if he dies? 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[cementcornfield]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS2sSyqSr/

“you’d think theyd be a little better celebrating at those big touchdown catches if they’ve had that many”

😭😭😭 joemarr fight back they’re saying you’re too fucking emotional to have a cool celly together 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

😭😭😭

[whoslaurapalmer]

mannnnn nobody has a laugh like sydney greenstreet. I love his laugh so so much

[moonstruckme]

Love love love the roommate james series! Thank you <3

Me too lovely! Thank YOU <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Lightning strikes outside the window just before your laughter reaches James. He perks up, an electric current skittering down into his fingertips. He’s glad no one’s around to witness the way he swivels around on the couch to look out the window, searching for the source of the sound. 

Your key is in the lock a moment later. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run up and grab my umbrella?” you ask someone outside as you walk in. 

“No, thanks,” a male voice, sounding just as jovial as you do, responds. Without thinking, James stands up. “What’d be the point? I’m already soaked through.” 

“Seems like it’s really coming down out there,” James says, stepping into the doorway. You look over as though you hadn’t realized he was there. You’re sopping wet, hair dripping onto the floor and work clothes clinging to your body in ways James takes care not to notice. The man outside is similarly drenched, looking cold but remarkably happy as he takes shelter under the small awning outside your door. “You alright, mate?” 

“Good,” he replies, looking at James like he’s not sure if this is someone he’s supposed to be able to place. “And yourself?” 

“This is James,” you say, “my roommate. And this is Art, we work together.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” Art sticks out a hand, shaking James’ firmly before retracting back out onto your doorstep. “I’d better get home,” he says to you. “See you Friday?” 

“Yeah.” You nod briskly, giving him a small smile as he turns around and goes. James shuts the door after him with a definitive thud. 

“Christ, love, aren’t you cold?” He fights the urge to set his hands on your arms and rub warmth into them. His friends are so touchy, it’s a bit difficult to adjust for someone who isn’t. 

“Yeah,” you admit with another little smile (James likes this one better, though he’s unsure why). Now that you’re standing still, you’re beginning to shiver. “Could you maybe grab me a towel from upstairs? Sorry to ask, I just don’t want to track water in.” 

James is already moving. “Don’t be sorry,” he chides as he climbs the stairs. 

As he looks for where you keep your towels, he can’t stop thinking about the thrilled way you and Art had looked at each other. Your ringing laughter outside the door. He’s happy you feel comfortable enough at your job to laugh and have fun with your coworkers, but he’s a bit hurt that you don’t seem to feel the same sort of ease around him. James has managed to coax a few smiles from you since he moved in, and a decent amount of laughter, too, but more often than not it comes with some resistance. He’ll catch you trying to conceal a grin, cutting your laugh off before it’s really begun. Then you’ll look at him like you’re embarrassed for being caught in a joyous moment. As if they’re something to be bashful about, and not something that lightens James’ heart until it threatens to float off and take him with it. 

He ends up grabbing both the towel and that giant sweatshirt you like, tossing the latter in the dryer on his way back to you. 

“Thanks.” You reach for the towel, but James wraps it around your shoulders himself. 

“Don’t mention it.” He breaks, giving the tops of your arms a couple of good rubs before stepping back and letting you take over. “Do you want something warm to drink?” 

Your eyes light up, but then you purse your lips. “I’m fine, thanks.” 

James gives you a look. 

You must really be in a good mood, because you crack easily. “Fine, a hot cocoa would be night-making,” you admit, grinning at him again. He wouldn’t be surprised if his chest was actually, visibly glowing. “Thanks, James.” 

“So,” he asks, hating himself just a little bit, “why did Art walk you back if neither of you had an umbrella?” He flicks on the kettle. 

“He lives nearby,” you reply. “We actually walk home together fairly often, whenever we’re both working at night.” 

James feels a stab of guilt. Of course, it makes perfect sense that you’d need someone to walk with you when you’re leaving work after dark. He feels stupid and inconsiderate for not thinking of it. 

“That’s nice of him,” he concedes. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of walking you home before. I could always come and get you.” 

A pause. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to. And please don’t be sorry, it’s not your issue to think about.” 

It feels like his issue. He wants to think about it. “Still. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, but for Art it’s on his way home. You’d have to go both ways.” 

James doesn’t care. For reasons he doesn’t understand and refuses to reflect upon, he wants to be the one who makes sure you get home safely. That’s got to be a typical roommate responsibility, right? 

“You forget, I have a car,” he says, pouring the hot water into two mugs. He stirs in the cocoa mix. “I could drive both you and Art, if you’d like. Could have saved you a lot of trouble on a night like tonight.” 

“I actually really love the rain.” Your voice sounds clearer, and James turns around to find that evidently you’ve dubbed yourself dry enough to walk around. You’ve squeezed most of the moisture out of your hair, but your lashes are still clumped damply. Your face shines. “We ran because we were worried about our phones, but it was fun.” 

“Well, glad your impending hypothermia was worth it.” He starts to push your mug towards you, then pauses. “Oh, wait just a second.” 

He quickly goes back to the dryer, getting out your warmed sweatshirt and bringing it to you. Your face when you see it makes James wish he had a camera, your eyebrows hooking upward and lips actually parting like he’s brought you a kitten rather than a sweatshirt. You’re truly in rare form tonight. 

“Oh my god, thank you.” You start to position the hole over your head, then hesitate. “Actually, would you—” Your bottom lip goes briefly between your teeth, a flash of that shy girl he’s been seeing less and less of lately. You wrap your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I should probably take my wet clothes off. Would you mind turning around for a minute?” 

“Oh—yeah, of course.” James does. He covers his eyes for good measure, smiling to himself when he hears your amused little huff from behind him. Then there’s the wet sound of some item of clothing hitting the floor, and his smile fades. He can hear your skin shushing against fabric, your quiet breaths, the tiny sound you make when your clothes stick obstinately to your skin just for a moment before you peel them off. James feels somewhat warmer than he did a minute ago. 

“Okay, you’re good.” 

He turns around, and you’ve already got your hot cocoa in hand. Your sweatshirt hits at mid-thigh, sleeves covering the better parts of your hands that aren’t wrapped covetously around your mug. It takes a great deal of willpower not to look at the clothes piled on the floor and see if your underwear are among them. 

“This is really good,” you say, somewhat awkwardly. You’re looking at James bemusedly, used to him being the one who talks. 

He jumps back into his role. “I don’t know why you sound surprised. It always is, when I make it.” 

James leads the both of you into the living room, plopping down on the couch. You, of course, have the option of going upstairs to your room, but he knows you’ll follow. You sit down carefully, tucking your knees under the hem of your sweatshirt and resting your mug atop them. 

“So,” he says, reaching forward and unsticking a piece of hair from your eyebrow. You fluster but let him, and he smooths it behind your ear, “are you the type of person who likes to stay in and watch films when it’s storming, or do you only enjoy running about in them?” 

You hum into your hot cocoa. “I like a film.” 

“Perfect, then it’s your pick this time.” You start to protest, but James holds firm. “No, you’ve bullied me into picking the last three. It’s time to start pulling your weight around here.” 

It takes you a bit longer to relent, but finally he gets you to admit to a preferred film. As the intro credits are playing, thunder cracks outside, and an excited little shiver has you bringing up your shoulders. A smile, seemingly unconscious, ghosts over your lips. James grins in response. Cute. 

[plzu]

gif by @38across

savor (aka distance makes the cock grow harder) - Adrian Chase/Reader

summary: Moving in together has made Adrian Chase an insatiable man. It’s made him, maybe, greedy. warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, smut smut smut <3, no Y/N wordcount: 2.3k a/n: dirty quickie for my large iced americano series. u don't have to read the (now completed!) fic first, this can be read on its own :]

Moving in together has made Adrian Chase an insatiable man. It’s made him, maybe, greedy.

Now that you live under the same roof, Adrian can have his fill of you whenever. Fold himself into you, mold the curves of your body against the parts of him that ache for you.

(Which are all his parts, respectively.)

Regardless of the time he gets home, he’ll stride through the apartment with all the determination of a heat-seeking missile and immediately glue himself to your body. If he slips in in the middle of the night, he curls himself around your back and grinds against your ass until you wake up and spread open for him. On brisk, early mornings, he pushes his face into your neck and fondles you awake, kneading your breasts in his hands. If he comes home in the middle of the day and you're not home yet, he waits for you like a pouty puppy and ambushes you the second you step through the door. You'd playfully swat at him, laughing breathlessly at his antics, until he'd have you partially undressed on the living room floor.

Being apart from you for more than 48 hours makes him restless. Another day or two, he experiences what can only be described as intense withdrawal symptoms; fidgeting, unbearable whining, inability to shut up about how awesome you are and how badly he misses you.

Tonight, he’s finally returning home from a mission that had him away for a few nights too many. Each day that had passed made missing you worse. The team may have gotten just a teensy bit annoyed with him about it.

(“Just rub one out like the rest of us!” Peacemaker barked.)

And it's like, dude, of course he already does that. But touching himself pales in comparison to having the taste of you on his skin. Something the group groaned at when he said something to that effect out loud.

What can Adrian say? Distance makes the cock grow harder. Or however that saying goes.

He spends the drive back home from base imagining all the things he likes to do to you, all the places he likes to taste you. Barely obeying the speed limit this close to midnight. He didn’t even change out of the suit, with the exception of flinging off his helmet and tossing it back in the bag.  

He gets to the apartment and sees the lights are still on. This is good. Despite how cute you look when you’re asleep, he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle the time needed to try to ease you awake.  

Adrian marches very purposefully into the living room, ripping his gloves off. His hands are already tingling from the anticipation of getting to touch you.

You're curled up on the couch, nose buried in a book, and he notices with absolute delight that you're wearing the itty bitty sleep shorts he likes so much. The one that both confuses him and turns him on, considering it’s made up of just the barest piece of fabric, and how much of your thighs it leaves exposed; you may as well be wearing nothing but underwear.

He's not one to complain about it, though. Especially when he gets a peek of the cheek meat that the shorts barely cover.

Your head had whipped up as soon as he entered the room. There's a flash of joyous surprise on your face. “Adrian!”

He gives you no time to scramble up and off the couch to greet him, however. Adrian drops to his knees in front of you after a few purposeful strides. He has his hands on your hips in no time, roughly dragging your ass to the edge of the cushion and towards his face.

You yelp at the sudden movement.

You squeak when he parts your legs a second after, and sinks his face against your thinly clothed cunt. He inhales, drinking in your scent, and lets out a shaky, relieved groan. Home, sweet home.

“Adrian..!” you squeak again. You tug at his curls, prompting him to meet your eyes. 

“Wha-?” He was already far too pussy-drunk for coherency. 

You grimace, dropping your hand from his hair. “It’s- That’s embarrassing. You putting your face…”

“Huh?” Adrian blinks. “Why? Is someone here?” He glances over your thighs, looking for an unexpected guest that he’d have to ask to leave. Or, fuck it, they could stay and watch as long as they didn’t interrupt. He just really needed to taste you, like, yesterday.

“No, no one's here. It's just... Very sudden. Wasn't ready for you to be all... down there.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, if no one's here, can I please dive back into your pussy? I really missed you and it's been driving me crazy not getting to eat you out.”

You make a funny little sound, an exhale full of indescribable emotion before you nod, shy and excited and full of bubbly anticipation.

Adrian rolls your shorts down your hips, making sure to take your underwear with it as he slides them off your legs. Once they're blindly discarded somewhere behind him, his attention returns once more to your cunt, now bare for him to fully appraise and revel in.

“Wow,” he sighs. “I can never get over how pretty your pussy is.” His voice is full of unalloyed reverence. It makes you shiver, and quietly whimper. The sound goes right to his dick, makes it twitch in his pants, and it's all the push he needs to descend upon you with open-mouthed fervor.

The taste of you fills his tongue, the sharp tang that he missed so much. It coats his taste buds, makes him salivate as he licks a languid stripe up towards the bead of your clit. He moans. Like the generosity of his mouth is more for his pleasure than it is yours.

He can feel the effect it's having on you. The way you squirm in his hold. He's got your legs propped up on the shoulder pads of his suit, hands gripping the soft flesh of your waist to keep your cunt securely pressed against his face. He doesn't want you trying to scoot away like you do sometimes, when it gets too overwhelming.

Because Adrian is trying to feast.

He continues lapping at your heat, tongue being sure to slowly caress against the velvet folds of your pussy. Despite his rush to return home, Adrian takes his time. Now that he's here, cozied up between your legs, he really wants to savor the moment. Especially since you always taste better than he remembers.

He nuzzles closer, deeper into the heat of you. You full on tremble against him, sighing out his name. He missed that, too. The sound of your voice singing his name. No one's ever said his name the way you do — replete with praise and fondness.

Adrian. Typically said by others neutrally, devoid of any emotion. Affection. If there was an emotion, though, it's groaned out in exasperation, or spat out in annoyance, or confusion. Abrasive and lacking warmth.

It's something he got used to, of course. Until he reconnected with you. His name falling from your lips colored positively in amusement. Warm and tender emotions that made some feeling flicker in his chest when he heard it. Adrian. It made him ache. It was nice; it quickly became as addicting as your smiles.  

Adrian's tongue dips further into you, plunges into your hole, and he proceeds to slowly fuck you with it. He's rewarded by the breathy, high pitched moan that peels out of you.

Your quivering thighs finally clamp shut, trapping his head in paradise. Your hands go back to gripping the hair at the base of his skull -- a sting of pain shooting pleasurably down his spine -- and your hips attempting to meet each delectable thrust of his tongue until you're fully, impatiently, grinding against Adrian's face.

Fuck yes.

He loves when you try to use him. Loves when you get all filthy and unhinged for him, because of him. Just absolutely falling apart in his hands because he makes you feel good.

He used to think making random women get off as Vigilante was cool. But making you desperate as just Adrian Chase is top fucking tier. Nothing inflates his ego more. He feels like he’s on top of the world when you beg for him.

Adrian's tongue swirls in the divet of your sex as he nuzzles his face side-to-side. The tip of his nose catches at your sensitive clit with the movement, creating friction that thrums through you, makes you pant with desperation.

“Adrian..!” you keen. “P-please, I'm g-gonna..!”

His fingers dig into your skin. Bruising permission for you to let go, to come all over his face. His own breathing picks up, a rumbling groan encouraging you, vibrating against the damp folds of your pussy.

You come with a muted sob, hips undulating with each wave of your climax. Adrian drinks it up, keeping his face flush against the outpouring of your cunt. Laves at the dripping juices with a grateful hum until your body finally slumps back down into the couch. Your thighs ease their clutch from his ears, letting the sounds of the apartment whoosh back to life.

Adrian allows your legs to slide off his shoulders as he stands up. He looks down at you, taking in your heaving chest and the sheen of sweat dampening your hairline through the haze of his glasses, which he forgot to take off in his eagerness to consume you.

Fuck, you look pretty all spent like this. Eyes half-lidded and dazed, the post-coital glow of your cheeks.

“I think I'm addicted to your pussy,” he confesses through the mess of you that currently coats the bottom half of his face. Sloppy. He's only a messy eater when it comes to you.

You drag your gaze up to meet his eyes at his confession. Something saccharine gleams in your irises as your face breaks out into a syrupy smile.

Adrian remembers he likes the taste of that, too, and leans against the armrest of the couch so he can kiss you. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip and then slips between your teeth to glide sensually over your own tongue. You sigh helplessly against the kiss when you taste yourself all over Adrian's mouth.

It's a slow and sloppy mishmash of mouths. Wet and sultry and sticky. It makes you horny again. Adrian can tell by the way your naked bottom half slowly gyrates forward, seeking friction. Your hands clasp shakily against his biceps, a quiet plea for more.

Which he's all too ready to give.

Still standing between your open legs, Adrian props a knee up on the cushion where your bare pussy is currently making a mess. Without looking, he traces the fingers of his right hand down until he’s rubbing messy circles onto your sensitive clit. Your hips jerk at the contact. Adrian swallows your whine.

He breaks from the kiss, leaving his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers continue their glide downwards, slipping easily into the welcoming heat of your sex.

“I thought about you every day,” Adrian says, voice ragged. “Do you know how hard it is to be away from you? Like, literally. I was literally hard for you the entire time.”

A laugh exhales out of you. You tilt your face up so you can catch his bottom lip between your teeth and pull, playful and needy. “I m-missed you, Chase,” you purr against his lips, clearly affected by his finger-fucking you. “You were gone so long I had to touch myself.”

The murmured admittance is both sweet and dirty and makes Adrian groan an expletive. His erection aches, and he can't do anything about it because one hand is propping himself up over you against the sofa while the other is busy trying to coax another orgasm from you.

As if reading his mind, your hands skirt down along the rough material of his suit, bumping over the hard piece of his utility belt before finally applying pressure against the stiffness of his pants. Even through the layers, the palm of your hand offers instant relief that he bucks into.

The thing is-  he's so pent up after going days without having you touch his dick. Sure, he touched his down dick, but obviously it's not the same. That sharp, exciting swoop that happens low in his gut doesn't occur when he's just trying to rub one out. Only you can do that. Which is pretty fucking romantic, he thinks.

And so, as you palm at his cock through his pants, he speeds up his ministrations on your soaking cunt, growing dizzy.

The world becomes nothing but the space you both take up on this single couch cushion, Adrian’s left hand gripping the back of the couch somewhere behind your head. Your right leg hooks around his hip, anchoring as you stroke him through his pants.

Shit, he's not gonna make it. His balls tighten just from your clumsy groping. Adrian drops his head into the crook of your neck and crooks his fingers deeper into you. He kisses the salt of your skin. Feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his pumping fingers, the erratic cant of your hips meeting each thrust.

Finally, you come around his fingers, back arching off the sofa. Something guttural rumbles out of him and into the space where your neck meets your shoulder as he follows suit, coming explosively in his pants. His cock twitches with each pulse against the heat of your touch, which continues to grip him through the fabric. 

Adrian collapses beside you on the couch once both your orgasms subside. Moments pass with nothing but the sound of both your labored breathing, only interrupted by a soft grunt as you yank the discarded book out from where it got trapped between your thigh and the armrest. 

“Did you,” you pant, “seriously just come without taking your suit off?”

Adrian pulls his glasses off his face, then lolls his head so he could look at you. “Yeah. You’re very good with your hands. The best in the world.”

You grin. “I barely did anything.”

Adrian’s uncomfortably sticky crotch says otherwise. He really, really missed you.

taglist: @whatevermonkey

[crimeronan]

i've seen a couple people in the notes of this very good post about fictional polyamory by @thebibliosphere say things along the lines of "oh, i've been doing it wrong :(" or "how do i know if i did this right??" or "i should probably give up and start over, i wrote this badly :(" and. no!!!!

(i AM seeing far MORE people say "oh, this clarified and helped me so much, i think i know how to fix issues i've been having with my own story" which. YES!!!!)

listen. if you're a monogamous person who's writing a polyamorous relationship, and you've been focusing mainly on The Triad and All Three Together All The Time as the endgame, that's literally fine. that's a perfectly acceptable and strong starting point for your plotting, imo. you do not need to give up on a story that you've started like this.

but the things discussed in the post Can and Should improve your execution!

you can keep the same plot beats and overall relationship arc 100%. polyamorous relationships are infinite in their formations, every one is unique. "basically a monogamous romance but with three people" Does exist, as a relationship type. you're not hashtag Misrepresenting (TM) poly people with it

BUT i do think it will help to read up on some poly people talking about how their relationships Differ from monogamous ones.

so i have outlined some basic important concepts about polyamory.

MORE IMPORTANTLY though, i've broken down some questions that you can answer throughout the writing process to strengthen your individual dyad relationships, your individual characterization, & your characters' individual feelings/experiences. this is a writing resource have fun

future kitkat butting in to say i spent over two hours writing this and it definitely needs a readmore. it is also NOT comprehensive. but everything should be pretty simple to follow! feel free to reblog if you find it helpful yourself or just want to reward me for how gotdan long this took KSLDKFJKDL.

i've grabbed quick links for a couple of the important concepts, some have SEO pitches in them but the info largely seems to be good. (if i missed anything Egregiously Gross on these sites i should be able to update the links with better ones later, since they're under the readmore.)

sidenote: this is NOT meant to be overwhelming, despite the length. if you can't read all of this, that's Okay. you do not need to give up on your writing.

here we go:

compersion!

compersion is a BIG thing in a lot of polyamorous relationships. it's joy derived from seeing two (or more) of your partners happy together, or joy derived from seeing your partner happy with someone else.

compersion is really important as a concept because it highlights that every individual relationship within a polycule is different -- and that that's a GOOD thing. it's sort of the inverse of jealousy.

by the "inverse of jealousy," i mean that instead of feeling left out and upset and possessive, you feel happy/joyous/content.

i can use personal experience as an example: it's a Relief for me when my partners receive joy/support/sex/romance/etc that i can't (or prefer not to) give them. and i love seeing my partners make each other laugh and be silly together.

it's 100% okay for a poly triad not to be together 100% of the time, it doesn't mean that the third member is being left out or not treated equally when two people do things alone together.

(i have individual dates with my partners all the time! PLUS larger 3-and-4-person date nights.)

if the third member DOES feel jealous or left out, then the polycule can have a conversation to figure out what needs/wants aren't being met, and solve that. this happens semi-regularly in my polycule, as it will happen in any relationship (including monogamous ones)! it's just part of being an adult, sometimes you have to talk about feelings.

metamours!

a metamour is someone who is dating your partner, but ISN'T dating you. this may not be relevant for people writing closed three-person romantic sexual triads, but it's a super helpful term to know.

the linked article also lists different types of metamour relationships with some fun phrasing i hadn't heard before. the tl;dr is: sometimes you'll be domestic cohabitation friends, sometimes you'll be buddies with your own friendship, sometimes you might not interact much outside of parties, every relationship is different.

there's no one-size-fits-all requirement for metamour relationships. sometimes polyamorous people will end up dating their metamour after a while (has happened to me), sometimes polyamorous people will break up with one partner for normal life reasons, but remain friendly metamours.

the goal of polyamory is NOT for EVERYONE to fall in love. it is 100% okay if this happens in your story, it happens in real life too! but it is also 100% okay for characters to be metamours without ever becoming "more than friends."

(sidenote: try to kill any internalized "more than" that you have when it comes to friendship. friends are just as important and special and vital as partners.)

of course there are a million ways for messiness to occur with metamours within a complex polycule, exactly like with close-knit platonic friend groups. however this post is not about that! there's enough "here's how polyamory can go wrong" stuff out there already, so i'm focusing on the positives here :)

open versus closed polyamorous relationships!

i'm struggling to find an online article that reflects my experience without directly contradicting at least SOME stuff. so i'll give a quick rundown

google has a bunch of conflicting definitions of open relationships and whether open relationships are different from polyamory. the general consensus seems to be that an open relationship prioritizes one partnership (often a marriage), but that each partner can have extraneous flings or long-term commitments (most often sexual in nature).

this is not typically how i use the term wrt polyamory. the poly concept is pretty simple. a closed polyamorous relationship is one with boundaries like a monogamous one. there are multiple partners in the polycule, but they are not interested in having anybody new join said polycule.

an open polyamorous relationship tends to be more flexible -- it just means that IF someone in the polycule develops mutual feelings for a new person, it's fine for them to become part of said polycule if they want to! the relationship/person is open to newcomers.

some groups will need to negotiate this all together, others will just go "haha, you kids have fun." just depends on the individuals!

with open AND closed polyamorous relationships, the most important thing is making sure that there's respectful communication and that everyone is on the same page. but there's no one-size-fits-all way to do that.

i wish i could give you guys a prescriptive "You Must Do It This Way" guide, but that's.... basically the opposite of what polyamory is about, HAHA.

feelings for multiple people!

i was gonna tack this on to the previous section but decided it warranted its own lil bit.

a defining feature (....i'm told?) of monogamous relationships is that a monogamous person only has feelings for One individual at a time. they only want a relationship with one individual at a time. or, if they DO have feelings for multiple people simultaneously, they're still only comfortable dating one person at a time & being exclusive with that one person.

this is perfectly fine!

the poly experience is generally different from this. but once again..... polyamorous people all have different individual perspectives on this.

for me, i have never been able to draw hard boxes around romantic vs sexual vs platonic relationships, & i love many people at once. my personal polycule lacks many strict definitions beyond "these are my chosen people, i want to forge a life with them indefinitely, whatever shape that life takes"

some poly people feel explicit romantic or sexual attraction to multiple people at once, some poly people feel almost no romantic or sexual attraction at all. i'd say that MOST poly people feel different things for different partners, which is not a bad thing!

some poly people are even monogamous-leaning -- they have just chosen one romantic partner who is themselves part of a larger polycule. (so this monogamous-leaning person has at least one metamour!)

or alternatively, they might have one romantic partner AND a qpr, or other ways of defining relationships. (this is a factor in my own polycule!)

i made this its own point because if you're writing a straightforward triad, this is unlikely to come up in the story itself -- but it's worth thinking about how your characters develop/handle feelings outside of their partnerships.

like, is this sort of a soulmateship, 'these are the only ones for me' type deal? in which they won't fall in love with anyone else, and can be fairly certain of that?

that's pretty close to typical monogamous standards but you Can make it work. just be thoughtful with it

alternatively, can you see any of these characters falling in love Again after the happily-ever-after? and how would the triad approach it, if so? what would they all need to talk about beforehand, and what feelings would everybody have about the situation?

it's worth considering these questions even if the hypothetical will never feature in your actual canon, because knowing the answers to these questions will help you understand all of the individuals & their relationship(s) MUCH better.

i've been typing this for nearly two hours and there's a lot more i COULD say because... there's just a lot to say. i'll close out with some quick questions that you can ask yourself when developing the dyad dynamics within your triad

first, take a page and create a separate section for each individual dyad. then answer these questions for every pair:

how does each pair act when alone?

how do they act differently alone compared to when they're with their third partner?

are there any elements of this dyad (romantic, sexual, financial, domestic, etc) that these two people DON'T have with the third partner?

if so, what are they?

are there any boundaries or hard limits within this dyad that aren't shared with the third partner?

if so, what are they?

partner 3 goes out of town alone for a few weeks. what are the remaining two doing in their absence?

(doesn't have to be anything special, it's just to get a sense of how the two interact on a day-by-day basis without the third there)

what is something that each partner in the dyad admires about the other -- that they DON'T necessarily see in the third partner?

what problem do These Two Specifically need to solve in the story before their relationship will work?

how is that problem DIFFERENT from the problems being solved within the other two dyads?

doing this for ALL THREE dyads is VITAL imo. that way, you develop complex and nuanced and different relationships that all have unique dynamics.

those questions should be enough to get you started, i hope

then After you've charted the differences in relationships, you can start to jot down similarities in the overarching triad. what does one person admire in Both of their partners? what are activities that all three like to do together? what are boundaries or discussions that all three share?

but the main goal is to figure out how to Differentiate each relationship!

a polycule is only as strong as the individual relationships within it. if two people are struggling with their own relationship, adding a third person won't fix that.

(UNLESS the third person is the catalyst for those two to, like, Actually Communicate And Work Their Shit Out. i just mean that the old adage of "maybe if we just add a third-" works about as well to fix a miserable non-communicative marriage as, uh, "maybe if we have a baby-")

AND FINALLY.

if you're not sure whether your poly romance reads organically to poly people, you can hire a sensitivity reader with poly experience. if you can't afford that, you can read up on polyamorous resources like a glossary of terms & articles actually written by poly people. (and stories written by poly people!)

you can also just.... ask poly people questions, if they're open to it. i like talking about polyamory and my own relationships so you're welcome to send asks if u want, i just can't guarantee i'll answer bc my energy levels fluctuate a lot and i don't always have time.

polyamorous people are in an uphill battle for positive representation right now & so the LAST thing i want to see is authors giving up on their stories bc they're worried about getting things Wrong. well-meaning and positive stories that treat this kind of love as normal, healthy, & aspirational are So So So Needed. even if you guys end up with some funky-feeling details.

seriously, if you're monogamous then you probably don't have a full idea of Just How Nasty a lot of people can get about polyamory. i wish it DIDN'T mean so much for you guys to want to write nice stories about us, but it does mean a lot. and it means a lot that you want to do it WELL.

in conclusion. this is not a prescriptive guide, it's just a way to raise questions. and also, you all are doing FINE.

[yourgothiccqueen]

LN4 - “Formula One Sucks”

Summary: A grumpy reader meets her match.

Parings : Lando Norris x Female Reader

Warnings: none except swearing - fluff and silliness!

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Masterlist

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“I think just don’t give a shit about it!”

“That’s because you’re a boring cow!”

Y/N sat crossed legged on the grass outside her tent, sun beating down on her face as she half heartedly sipped on a capri sun. Spending the night lying on the floor had left her aching and exhausted, and she feared spending the day watching ‘cars go round in circles’ would truly tip her over the edge.

“I just don’t get why I had to come.” Y/N groaned. “You know loads of other people.”

“None of whom were free at short notice on a Sunday!” Y/N’s friend Annie exclaimed.

Y/N groaned dramatically. She was already hating the fact that she was going to be spending the day trying to shelter from the heat whilst pushing her way through crowds of obsessive fans.

“It’s the three things I hate the most - cars, people and outside.”

“Oh shush, you had to come because you’re such a joyous, positive influence in my life who I knew would jump at the opportunity!” Annie said, sarcastically. “Now stop being so bloody miserable.”

Y/N scowled and playfully swatted Annie on the leg.

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“I know. Now drink your capri sun and cheer the fuck up.”

—————————————————————-

By 12pm Y/N had not, in fact, cheered the fuck up. She was truly finished with the world of formula one. So far she had queued for the loo, listened to some very loud music and spent an extortionate amount of money on a relatively small (and cold) hot dog.

Annie had long disappeared, claiming to have spotted some guy called ‘Fernando’ before rushing off into the crowd with a squeal, promising to meet Y/N at their seats later on.

It was beginning to get all too much for little Y/N L/N (😉) as she made her way throughout the bustle of people, eager to finally find someplace quiet to eat.

Eventually she found herself going through a set of doors (which definitely did not say staff only) as she found herself a quiet corner.

“Perfect.”

Before she could even take a bite, she heard a cough from behind her.

“Ermmm, what are you doing?”

Turning around, Y/N found herself faced with a relatively young man, wearing an orange cap with curls of brown peeking out the bottom. He looked strangely familiar, but Y/N couldn’t put her finger on it, and quite frankly she was too hangry to care.

“I’m eating my hot dog.”

The man smirked and let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Y/N shrugged and said “ask stupid questions, get stupid answers” before taking a bite.

The man raised an eyebrow slightly, intrigued by the passive aggressive woman in front of him, who seemingly didn’t know who he was.

“Are you here for the race? Or do you work here?” He questioned.

“I’m here for the race. Are you?”

The curly haired man smirked slightly, letting out a little laugh.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

Y/N crammed another bite of hot dog into her mouth “Well, enjoy. It’s all a load of crap if you ask me though.”

A look of intrigue on his face, he asked “what makes you say that?”

“It’s just boring!” Y/N exclaimed. “Car goes zoom, someone wins, hurrah - so bloody what?! What’s the point?”

The man looked back at her, a look of mild bewilderment and irration written across his face.

“Well yeah, the car is one aspect of it, sure. But it’s the drivers that bring that passion, that excitement every week. They’re the ones who shake things up and keep things fresh. They’re the ones who make it worth watching.” The man let out a small cough. “I mean, that’s my opinion anyway.”

“Hmm. So which driver should I look out for today then?” Y/N queried.

The curly haired man shot her a questionable look.

“Don’t you know the names of any of the drivers?”

Y/N shrugged “I know Lewis Hamilton.”

He let out a laugh and another smirk again “well, that’s a start I suppose.”

Y/N was getting sick of this man smirking at her. But then again, it was a very nice smirk. And he did seem like a very nice man.

“So, what are you doing here if you hate formula one?” The man queried, arms folded against his chest.

“My friend’s a big fan, and her boyfriend who was was meant to be coming has got the flu.” Y/N sighed. “As much as I hate being here, I’d feel even shitter if she came on her own.”

The man let out a small smile “Well, that’s nice of you to do that for your friend.”

He suddenly glanced down at Y/N’s lips, and appeared to take a step closer.

Was this mysterious, attractive stranger about to kiss her?

His thumb reached up to her chin and she couldn’t help but look up into his eyes.

God he had beautiful eyes.

She felt his thumb touch her skin with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes fluttered shut.

He smelt *heavenly*. What aftershave was he wearing?

“Sorry, you had some ketchup on your chin.” He let out a soft giggle.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she felt herself return to reality.

“Oh!”

The mystery man let out a giggle as his thumb brushed against her chin - “all gone.”

She laughed. “Thank you. It’s not everyday a stranger wipes ketchup off your face. Did we just get to second base?”

The man let out a laugh (it’s a very nice laugh).

“Sure. I’ll count it if you do.”

An urgent shout sounded from a door behind them.

“I’ve got to go. It was nice chatting to you though.” The man stated. “And to answer your question, look out for Lando Norris today. I’ve heard he’s one to watch!”

“Will do.” Y/N called, still slightly stunned from the interaction.

A few moments passed before a security clad gentlemen rounded the corner.

“Oi, you shouldn’t be back here! Get back out the front!”

“Relax - I’ve finished my hot dog, I’m going!”

———————————————————

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, as Y/N sat close to Annie, eyes fixated on a certain McLaren as he reached his final lap of the race.

“And Lando Norris has finished in P2!”

Cheers erupted from around Y/N and she found herself joining it. Turned out that ‘cars, and people and outside’ could be pretty exciting - who knew?!

“Fuck yeah!” Annie shouted, jumping up and down.

The McLaren driver removed his helmet before waving up to the crowds, a grin plastered on his face.

Y/N’s own grin left her face.

“Oh shit. That’s the guy I met earlier!”

“What?” Annie exclaimed. “You met Lando Norris?”

“Yes! Is he a big deal?” Y/N stated, panic rising.

Annie glanced around them, signalling to the cheering crowds - “Duh! What did you say to him?”

Y/N gulped - “I shoved a hot dog in my mouth and told him formula one is crap.”

Annie stared. No words left her mouth.

Y/N could feel her face turning red. “I then proceeded to ask him if he was going to the race.”

A quick, sharp laugh left Annie’s mouth, before she fell into floods of hysterics.

“Holy shit! What is wrong with you?!”

Y/N could feel herself cringing.

“Oh god, I don’t know! Lots apparently!”

She glanced down to Lando again, to find him smirking up at her. He winked, before turning back towards his team.

“Oh my god, I’m never going outside again.” Y/N cringed. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Annie laughed. “I didn’t tell an F1 driver that his sport is crap!”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt a tap on her shoulder. A uniformed worker pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

“I’ve been asked to give this to you.” The woman smiled, before walking away.

“What is it?” Annie questioned, eyeing the paper.

Y/N unwrapped it, finding quickly scrawled words,

Hello Grumpy,

I hope the race was enough to change your mind about formula one. Here’s my number if you ever fancy a hot dog or a debate over ‘cars going zoom’.

LN xx

“What. The. Fuck.” Annie’s eyes widened.

Y/N grinned.

“Maybe I do like F1 after all!”

[roanofarcc]

ONE DANCE, PLEASE?

pairing: trevor lefkowitz x ghost bride!reader

summary: since your death, weddings at Woodstone have been a source of bitterness for you but that doesn’t stop trevor from attempting to cheer you up with a dance

word count. 1.6k || masterlist

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of death, dead!reader

a/n: this is my first ghosts fic so please be gentle! I love the idea of a ghost bride and debated on making it into an OC or reader story. I think I like having it be in little one-shots! it’s a crime more hasn’t been written for trevor (or any of the show’s characters). feel free to request for trevor or any other ghosts characters <3

“Are you going to mope around for eternity?” Sasappis asked you, standing arms crossed in front of a beautiful garden decorated to the nines. The backdrop to your sulking was stunning flowers tied in bunches and pastel dresses moving around the patio-turned-dance floor. 

“Is that not the point of being a ghost?” you replied, jutting out your feet forever stuck in kitten heels and skin-colored pantyhose. Sass lightly kicked your foot with his and nodded his head to the corner just off the dance floor where the rest of the ghosts danced and laughed. A part of you was jealous of how easily they enjoyed themselves at weddings and how they were not plagued with an eternal hatred for them and what they represented. 

It always felt like a cruel joke, even though it never had anything to do with you, when Sam and Jay hosted a wedding at their B&B. As much as you loved the couple, you couldn’t stand what most considered a joyous event. The union of two people in love, not tainted by tragedy, grew your restatement each time. Weddings were a part of the business and helped Sam and Jay bring in the money they desperately needed to fix up the mansion, but that didn’t mean you had to enjoy yourself. Instead, you spent each event sulking on the sidelines, ignoring the pang in your chest, and avoiding your ghostly counterparts' advances to cheer you up. The only thing that would’ve cheered you up was a do-over of your big day that was ruined by a strike of unluckiness, resulting in your untimely death.  

Sass narrowed his gaze at you but decided against saying whatever he wanted to. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed back to the ghosts. You adverted your gaze back down to the beads sewn into your dress, picking at them with the wish you could pull the garment apart with your hands, but since it was what you died in, it would forever stick to you. 

A slow song played through the DJ’s speakers as the sun slowly began to set over the yard. Strung lights glittered warmly, bathing the attendees in a golden glow. The bride had looked radiant since she arrived at the mansion days ago, and all day you had to watch her and her husband’s love run circles around you. Your malice wasn’t aimed directly at the happy couple, but rather at what they represented and the reminder of what you almost had. 

Someone appeared beside you, their presence clouding your solitude-sulking. “What a bunch of losers,” the person said, causing you to turn your head and meet Trevor. “I mean, seriously, this song was lame when I went to weddings and people are still dancing to it? I get the appeal of throwbacks but let’s pick this snooze-fest up a little, am I right?” 

You rolled your eyes. “What do you know about weddings?” 

“I happen to have been invited to a lot of them, thank you very much. Well, the receptions and bachelor parties, usually. Those weddings had a lot more alcohol and single bridesmaids.” You said nothing in response, hoping your dimly lit mood would shoo Trevor away. You were mistaken, though. If anything, your silence only encouraged him further. He moved in closer to your side, standing with his hands on his hips as he gazed out across the crowd. “I think they may need some help livening things up a bit. Care to join me?” 

He often tried to do that, brighten your mood by offering to dance with you. And every time you turn him down, not because you didn't want to, but because you’re worried that the second you start to enjoy yourself at a wedding, tragedy will follow a second time around. You liked Trevor and couldn’t stand the thought of enjoying yourself only to hurt yourself, again, or him. In your head, as long as you moped around, everything would stay the same as they were, which you loved more than you’d admit aloud. You liked your ghost-mates and you liked Sam and Jay. If you somehow brought some unfortunate curse upon any of them because you enjoyed yourself just as you had on your own wedding day, you weren’t sure you could cope with that a second time around, not when you hardly coped with it from the first time. 

“Trevor…” you sighed, defeated and slumped-shouldered. 

Normally, he dropped it after that. He usually sat quietly at your side until his excitement and urge to join the party overwhelmed him and he resumed dancing with Flower or attempting to play pranks on the livings with Thorfinn. That time, however, he took you by surprise. He moved directly in front of you, face set with a certain tone of seriousness that was odd. 

“Nope,” he said, simply. “You are not moping for eternity. I won’t let you.” 

“That’s not your choice.” 

He smirked, cheekily and annoying but stupidly charming. Those three words suited him too well. Trevor extended his hand out, making a grabbing motion with his hand. “One dance, that’s all I’m askin’. That’s all I need to change your mind.” You tightened your grip on the skirt of your dress, unbudging at his request. “One dance. Please?” His voice was a little lower, pleading almost. 

One dance. You never got to dance at your wedding. Something bad could happen, it probably would. 

Trevor’s fingers grazed your knuckles, tapping them lightly and looking at you in a way, underneath the golden light, that made you consider it. He noticed your hesitation and dropped his hand back down at his side. 

“Okay,” he said after a beat before he turned away with a little frown on his lips that made you feel even worse. 

There was something wrong with you, maybe it was some kind of ghostly side effect of dying on your wedding day; perhaps you were doomed to live in the murky waters of what-if and why. 

The bride and groom were in the middle of the patio dance floor, spinning each other around in quiet fits of laughter and bodies pressed as close as they could get with the bride’s fluffy dress. They were married, dancing as two halves of a whole with nothing bad lingering over their heads. There was no impending doom, aside from you sitting on the outskirts. The doom was you and your mind, rippled with jealousy, sadness, and a million questions of what exactly you could have done differently that day. But the truth was, there was nothing you could have done. Fate was fate, as Flower had once said in one of her more insightful conversations. Fate was messy and included bear attacks, arrows in necks, and accidents. Fate found you there, at the Woodstone mansion forever a fiancee but now entangled with the fates of your ghost friends who also found themselves there forever. 

Forever was such a long, made even longer with eternity hanging on your shoulders. How many more weddings would you sit there, watching and sulking in your own unhappiness that others wanted to fix for you? 

Something between a groan and a sigh left your lips as you stood up, letting your wedding dress fall back down to the ground in the pristine condition you had died in it in. “Trevor,” you said again, louder as you called after him. He stopped, slowly turning around with a confused quirk of his brow. You nervously picked at the beads again, but that time wasn’t to pick them off but rather settle them back in place in a similar way to how you had picked at them awaiting your turn to walk down the aisle. A dance was not nearly as monumental as that, but it carried a weight that pressed down on your chest. 

“One dance,” you said. He stared at you for a moment like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right. It wasn’t until Thor punched him in the arm with a hardy laugh and Hetty pushed him forward towards you. 

Trevor approached you, smoothing out his tie. “Really?” he asked. 

You nodded. “If anything bad happens, I’m blaming it on you," you said only half joking.

He smiled, wide and toothy and the way that made you subconsciously want to copy it. “The worst thing that’ll happen is me stepping on your feet. I haven’t slow danced since prom.” Despite that, he dramatically bowed and extended his hand. “May I have this dance,” he said in a terrible accent. You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, some of that weight lifting from where it hurt your chest. 

Once you accepted his hand, he all but dragged you to a quiet corner of the dance floor, away from where any livings would walk through you two, and away from the other ghosts and their suggestive smirks and comments pointed at the two of you. 

When you danced, with his feet clumsily trying to avoid stepping on yours and hands rested on your waist, nothing bad happened. You did not die a second time around, nor did tragedy strike in the way you feared. The only thing that occurred was dancing, peppered with occasional laughter and a quick apology when Trevor stepped on your skirt and halted your movements. You recovered with a shake of your head and a slight lead in the dance, which he didn’t voice but silently appreciated.

[crypticminx]

Dad!Jacob going to his first parent teacher conference!!!

Sooooo cute! Ty angel!! This is pure fluff :3

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Jacob’s little girl was an angel.

Actually, angel was quite the understatement for the four year old who was already such a little ball of wonder.

From the moment he first laid eyes on her when she was just a tiny infant, letting small wails out as she entered the world, he was in awe. Seeing her all nestled in his overbearing arms made her look so much smaller—so petite and full of innocence. As her big, brown eyes stared at him with curiosity, he knew she was special.

His loving girlfriend, y/n was an extordinary woman. She caught his attention off a whim, the two of them meeting on set for a shoot he was doing. She was his makeup arist and he just so happened to be the very lucky model who had the pleasure of getting his looks done by someone as beautiful as she was. After a successful shoot, the heart struck man figured he had nothing to lose and asked the girl, catching her off guard, to join him sometime for a coffee.

She compiled, of course.

One thing lead to other for the fast moving individuals and soon enough, after only dating for a short period of time, she fell pregnant. That happened to be the best day of his life hearing the news he would be a father.

Though the tabloids said otherwise. Making dumb—and extremely false—accusations. Actor Jacob elordi seems miserable going on a walk with unnamed woman or Jacob Elordi is next in line to be a dad after one night stand gone wrong, the absurdity of it all made the happy couple laugh. But that’s just show business.

As he’d reminisce of all the moments leading up to the birth of his first born daughter, he truly treasured the days of getting to endure all of her firsts. He’d never forget the moment he was away filming and got an unexpected facetime from y/n. excusing himself to answer it somewhere private, thinking something was wrong, he was stunned to hear his baby girl say her first words. However, he was also full of remorse for not being able to witness it in full physical form.

As time progressed faster than he would have preferred, she was still always going to be his little girl no matter what.

That’s why he felt joyous that tonight he got to attend her very first parent teacher conference.

She absolutely adored going to school. Upon hearing that she would be starting school, something her parents brought up to her in a very light manner, her mind raced with all the fun new possibilities it would bring her. She was already a natural achiever for such a young age. Every little outing they’d attend as a family, nothing crazy huge, she wasn’t the one to shy away or hide behind his legs. Instead, she’d run around introducing herself to the best of her abilities.

It wasn’t the little girl who cried on the first day of school, it was Jacob. He felt his eyes grow watery as he waved goodbye to her from a distance once she began walking in with all her new classmates. He hid his tears behind sunglasses, but broke down to y/n once they had privacy in the comfort of his suv. He was accustomed to having her at homes all times, especially when he’d take short breaks from acting.

The two of them going on walks with Layla or taking her to the park where she would scream with laughter as she’d beg him to push her higher on the swings; they did everything together.

So being able to hear about her progress in school was exciting to him. It made him feel extraordinarily proud.

Unfortunately, he’d have to attend alone.

His adoring y/n had just given birth to his second child, another beautiful girl, a few months ago. Having a fussy baby that was on a tight schedule was not something y/n was in the mood for bringing to an event that took place after hours. As much as it brought her sadness, she reassured Jacob that it would be best for her to stay home and watch his girls. He agreed and vowed to share every little detail when he got home.

He walked in his bedroom, smiling at the sight that was y/n all snuggled up on their bed, pouring herself into one of his books. Beside her was a handmade bassinet, comforting the sleeping newborn who was just put down for hopefully the rest of the night. His other little girl kept herself occupied in her playroom as she played with her Barbie’s in a new doll house Jacob gifted her.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” he whispered, leaning down to y/n as she gently placed her book on her lap. He gave her a swift kiss on her cheek, feeling her lips curve up into a smile.

“Have fun, my love,” y/n beamed at him as he slowly retracted himself from their embrace.

———————

When it was Jacob’s turn to be called in, he followed after his daughter’s teacher as she welcomed him in taking a seat with her at her large desk displayed in the centre of the room.

The classroom was inviting.

Pictures that the young students made for their parents were placed all over the wall. When his amused eyes found the one his daughter made, he felt himself grow full of sentiment.

“So, Mr. Elordi, You’re Ceres’ father,” her voice was soft, sounding fond of her pupil as she gathered her notes.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat. It wasn’t that he was nervous, but he forgot how these types of things played out. It had been ages since he was in grade school, it made him feel nostalgic in a strange way.

“Well, she’s a lovely student,” he felt a sigh of relief exit him, even though he already knew that was the truth. It felt good hearing his daughters teacher admit that to him.

“You know, I’ve never seen a girl as excited to be in school as yours,” she acknowledged to the proud father. “Most kids when they start off have a hard time adapting, struggling to get comfortable in a new atmosphere away from their parents.”

“Totally,” he agreed, his mind replaying back to his early moments of attending school, “my mum always told me I’d never want to leave her side when she’d drop me off. I guess it’s just hard for some kids.”

The teacher sheepishly laughed with him before she continued praising his little girl.

“I’m sure you and your partner are very thrilled to be blessed with an easygoing child.”

Jacob missed his girlfriend at the brief mention of her. He wished she could be by his side, hearing all the great things that had to be said about the very child they created. It was astonishing really. Something he couldn’t fathom to explain, but it brought him a great sense of joy and made him a little bit emotional.

“Well, we’ve just welcomed a new baby, so things at home have been a little hectic and all. Y/n wished she could’ve been here, but she sends her regards.” His face light up taking about his girlfriend, it was clear as day to anyone that he absolutely loved her.

“Oh, I know,” the teacher grinned, “Ceres talks about her baby sister to no end, it’s very sweet.”

At home, his angel was always trying to see what she could help her mother with. Though there wasn’t much for her to actually do, as taking care of a newborn was a very delicate task, she still included herself in everything. She loved to hold her baby sister with her frail arms and the heartwarming scene of it was y/n and Jacob’s favourite thing to gaze at.

He shook his head with a short chuckle, “yeah, that sounds about right.”

As their meeting continued, the teacher talked about how his daughter excelled at the criteria that was given to her, sounding like quite a smart student at such a young age. She displayed some of her work for him to take a peek at, even letting him take home one of the art projects she created. They discussed the further constructs that were going to be taught and what was expected, but Jacob had no fear. His daughter was intelligent, he gave that credit to y/n.

Before he knew it, the conference came to an end. There was so much to say about Ceres. However, there was a still a long line of other parents who patiently waited for their turn outside the classroom door. He gathered himself up, grabbing all the things he had the privilege of taking home, knowing he would display them forever.

“Mr. Elordi,” the teacher caught his attention, “you’ve got a good one on your hands.”

He nodded, feeling giddy and fuzzy with strings of heartfelt emotions. He was beyond proud getting to endure hearing nothing but the positive words that had to be said about his little girl, he felt silly for feeling nervous before.

For now, the only thing on his mind was sharing his excitement with y/n and spoiling his daughter.

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“So? You coming or not?” Simon asks and takes a small sip of his whiskey. 

“To a ball? You know I'm not one for that kind of stuff!” you respond and throw a wet rag on the counter and start rubbing the stains off the black marble. 

“I'm asking you to come with me... as my date... and it won’t be that long. I promise. We’ll get out of there whenever you want.” he mentions, eyeing you from the edge of the glass that meets his lips once again. 

“Fine! But I can’t promise to be good company. I have no idea what to do in that kind of setting!” you say with a light chuckle. 

“You’re always the perfect company, love. And don’t worry about it. Just stay by my side and look pretty... as you always do.” he mutters the last part, but your sharp hearing doesn’t miss it. 

You smile and look over at him, noticing the slightly flustered look written on his face which makes your smile even wider, “Thank you.” you murmur as quietly with a bashful smile and of course he catches that. 

“Wait! When even is this ball?” you ask, remembering that he never mentioned it. 

“Tonight!” he replies, “What?! I can’t get ready ‘till then! Simon, what the hell?! I don’t even have a proper dress!” you say in an agitated tone, a shocked expression etched on your face. 

He only chuckles and places his credit card on the counter, “Go buy yourself a dress. I'll pick you up at 7.” he says nonchalantly and leaves. 

‘bloody fuckin’ hell’ you grumble under your breath and let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to close up early to go get ready for the ball. 

And it slowly starts to dawn on you. He has literally asked you on a date! Why would he if he didn’t like you? 

And soon, the familiar butterflies return dancing in your belly and you look around the bar to make sure no one is there before letting out a loud squeal like a school girl! 

----- 

He picks you up at 7 sharp in a black Rolls Royce. 

His breath hitches in his throat the moment you walk out the door in your beautiful dress, all dolled up and pretty... not that you weren’t before... you’re always beautiful in his eyes. 

“You look beautiful, dove.” he mentions before kissing your forehead, “You’re not too bad yourself! You clean up nice, Mr. Riley!” you say with your gorgeous smile while lightly touching the collar of his suit. 

‘you’re gonna be the death of me!’ he thinks to himself as he gazes into your beautiful eyes, the very eyes that have stolen his heart. 

“Shall we?” you ask and he gestures to the driver to open the door for you. 

Most of the drive there is silent... but a comfortable, peaceful silence. It's never awkward with him. You've always liked spending time together in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

----- 

You arrive at your destination, the fancy ballroom and all the pretentious people smiling and laughing together, acting as if they’re friends when in reality, they will stab each other in the back without hesitation if the opportunity arises. 

But you manage to keep a joyous and warm facade as you mingle with the other guests and the night goes fairly smoothly. 

Apart from the nosey people asking if you two are in a relationship only for you to deny and say you’re only good friends much to your own dismay in order not to embarrass him or make him uncomfortable. 

But what you don’t notice is the disappointed look on his face every time you mention that you’re nothing but friends. 

But there is something you do notice. You spot the familiar figure in the distant corner of the room. A man you have seen at the bar on a few occasions. 

Who is he? Is he following you? 

There's a slight churn in your stomach at the mere thought of it and you tell Simon that you’re not feeling well. 

He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the car to take you home as soon as you mention it to him.

-----

“Simon?!" you call out nervously as you see a vehicle approaching in the rear-view mirror when you're halfway from your home.

"I think someone is following us!” you say, but it’s too late as you hear shots firing and then... nothing.

@luvecarson

[hotheadedhero]

Now hear me out-

Bayverse turtles giving reader a spiderman kiss. Like maybe the turtles haven't seen their beloved significant other for a while and decide to sneak away from patrol for a split second to give them an upside down smooch.

💜

AN: Hearing you loud and clear my lovely, this is frickin adorable, thank you! Big spiderman fan over here <3 Hope you weren't waiting too long, even being on holiday wasn't going to stop me finishing this 👀

Kiss me

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

You are in the middle of reading on your couch when there’s knocking at your window. A set of rhythmic taps that play out in a particular pattern. A secret code indicative of who is waiting outside your living room. With a joyous grin, you spring up onto your feet and pull the curtains open. You expected to see your boyfriend outside but you did not expect him to be hanging upside down from your upstairs neighbour's part of the fire escape. Given the fact that yours is currently classed as unsafe to use, this makes a lot more sense.

The set of circumstances that led to such a problem is not your fault. Whoever had lived here prior, assumed it would be a great idea to place a blow-up paddling pool on it for those dreadfully hot summers. The funny thing about chlorine water, however, is that chlorine water accelerates the corrosion of metals. Much to your derisive luck, it didn’t start taking effect until a few months after you had moved in. Without any substantial evidence, the blame is being passed over to you and that is not a bill you have the funds to meet. Hence, you are awaiting a hearing and, hopefully, following approval to get it fixed without burning a said hole in your pocket. Landlords, am I right?

You open the window for Leonardo. “I see you came to hang out,” you quip before smiling awkwardly. “Sorry about the broken fire escape.”

He shakes his head, knowing that you should be the last person apologising for it, but decides to make light of the situation with his own humour. "You may want to look into that."

"If you got a spare grand or two lying around," you joke in return, "I'd be happy to."

Leo breathes a quiet laugh and puckers his lips. Figures that he would only have time for a quick greeting, so you may as well make it worthwhile when you have the chance. Happily, you comply and lean forward for a kiss. You smile into it and, in doing so, you feel him do the same. It can be hard to find the time for small moments such as is but they are always cherished.

"Now go keep us safe,” you mumble against his lips. “I’ll come by the lair when you’re done.”

One last kiss is exchanged, trying to savour it as best you can, before he inevitably has to disappear into the night again.

Raphael

Sometimes dating can be a whirlwind of mystery and uncertainties: days where one wonders if such a thing is tenable. Raphael knew your relationship would come with certain hurdles - albeit this isn't the worst it could be - but he didn't think you'd go this long without seeing each other. With you working during the day and him the night, planning time together is a challenge. For the quieter nights, you’re usually too tired from your job. There’s the occasional drop-in on your days off but it’s a similar problem what with him needing sleep, too. Not now, though. The frustration is settled thickly into his skin. Perhaps that’s why he’s working so hard on his crunches. Replace the mental burn with a physical one.

Deciding to turn up the burn, he lifts himself onto his pull-up bar, hooks his knees over it, and resumes working on his core. Raph gets close to a hundred reps before he hears the rapid pitter of feet coming straight for the lair. He prepares to descend to the ground and greet you but you rush into his gym and grab his face before he gets the chance.

"Just wanted to drop by quick," you sputter feverishly before smacking your mouth into his. "Can't stay long."

Then you kiss him again; a long, deep, and tender press of your lips upon his. He falls into it enough that the raw emotion is clear but not so much that he slips from the pull-up bar. The fact that you’ve hurried in before your shift just to give him some quick love means the world to this big lug. He should think about missing you more often if it means the universe will summon you to him. One hand outstretches to pull your head closer but you move away just as he's about to. Damn.

Sprinting off, you shout out a last, "Love you," before disappearing off into one of the many sewer tunnels.

He just hangs there gaunt, blinking for the after-image of you that is now completely gone. Had he not been taken so sharply off guard, he probably would have made a grab for you, insisting that you call in sick and stay. In a perfect world, maybe. A short huff of amusement blows out of his nostrils and he returns to his workout, now fueled with a new, more desirable burn.

With a smirk and underlays of that soft smile you coax out of him, he whispers under his breath, “Love you, too.”

Donatello

As far as work days go, this one has been a doozy and getting back home couldn’t possibly be a more sweet reward. There aren’t many floors to climb but you’re so tired that you opt to use the lift instead of the stairs; a little self-treat and a decision that you quickly regret when it comes to a halt. Your poor, weary body jostles with the force of it stopping abruptly and you whine. Please, don’t do this. After the day you’ve had, this is the last thing you need.

Just when you think it can’t possibly get any worse, there’s a thud from right above your head. Bandits? Burglary? A raid? All stupid ideas in the grand scheme of things but panic is leading you to such irrational thoughts. With your rucksack as your only defence, you hold it up ready to bring a smackdown if needs be. Clanging. Creaking. Weight shifting. Then, the ceiling’s latch falls and down comes a head.

“Mind if I drop by?” your turtle boyfriend asks as he hangs all topsy-turvy in front of you.

“Oh, thank Mercury, it’s you,” you heave, letting your bag drop to place a hand on your chest. The prior anxiety wears off just enough for a new one to beckon and you straighten up. “Wait, the security cams-”

“Already taken care of,” he reassures with a weirdly cheeky grin. “How’s this for some spontaneous romance?”

Slowly, your face pinches and points up at Donnie, not overly impressed with what’s insinuated here. So, this was all curated by him, was it? Possibly a cute plan from his perspective but you’re much too drained to see it that way.

You rub your eyes with your thumb and finger and sigh. “I wouldn’t consider giving me a near damn heart attack romantic, Don.”

“Would it be considered somewhat romantic if I were to say that I also reset and upgraded your lift system? It shouldn’t malfunction for another 5 years now.”

Knowing he’d find a way to have a sweet reason for this, you can hardly hold back your smile. It’s a bit out there but you also have to remind yourself of who you’re dating. You sigh again, this time in fake disdain, and lean off the wall to kiss him. Judging by the little hum in his throat, he must be feeling pretty proud of himself. When you pull away, you adjust his slightly crooked glasses.

“The best thing you could do right now is let me get to my apartment,” you note with a pat on his cheek. “Please?”

His eyes light up and he disappears back up from whence he came to get things running. Getting back home may have been trickier than you anticipated but it isn’t without its perks for being able to see Donnie. A conversation may need to be had about his choices of flirtatious spontaneity, however.

Michelangelo

In the late hours of the evening, you had decided to start settling down for the night. The typical, run-of-the-mill routine: brush your teeth, wash your face, and get into some cosy pyjamas. A nice movie sounds like a good idea before you hit the hay. You leave the bathroom to get a start on choosing one when you remark something in the air. It isn’t clear but there is an unspecified something different with your apartment since you’ve been in the bathroom. A smell? Or perhaps a few objects that now appear to be out of place. There wasn’t any noise to indicate a new presence. Ah. You know exactly what’s going on. Keeping back a laugh, you place your hand on your hips.

“I know you’re up there, Mikey,” you say, not even bothering to look up at your intruder.

“Aw, babe,” he whines from the ceiling as he lets the upper half of his body fall and hang limply in front of you. “Ruining the moment here.”

These types of hijinks may have pulled a fast one over you back in the day but you’ve grown more than accustomed to them by now, much to your boyfriend’s dismay. He isn’t inherently set on scaring your socks off - as much as that is a bonus - but he likes surprising you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes when you realise it’s him. He looks like a bit of a wounded puppy for the fact, so it only seems fair that you perk him back up again. Playfully rolling your eyes, you take a few steps forward and kiss him sweetly. It’s safe to say that this is much better than getting you all frightened. Regardless of that, you have to quietly question how he’s managed to find the time to come and attempt a prank at your expense in the first place.

“Mikey,” you hear one of his brothers yell from outside, “Don’s picked up on a burglary from the police scanners. We gotta go. Now!”

That answers that, then.

“Duty calls, angel,” he breathes out, clearly bummed out but feigning it against his lax grin. “You know how it is.”

Sensing his disappointment, you peck his lips again and grin encouragingly. “Go get ‘em, hero.”

He shoots you a wink and lets himself drop to the floor before jumping out of your window. You watch him bound off over rooftops, hollering and likely getting an ear chewed off by his brothers. Mikey hates to leave his sweetness behind but you know just what to say to get him fired up. Those thugs shall endure a swift beat down, so he can return for his “hero’s reward” quickly.

If you liked this, there's a real neat one by @theyhavetakenovermylife with the 2012 boyos with the same concept! (and also you just have to check out all of their works, they're amazing 🙏😭💕)

[rsventhesecondd]

midnight rant,

╰ • → Featuring . Hayato Suo as your boyfriend ! ╯

sypnosis . whereas— you're an overthinker, desperately trying to save your friend group that is falling apart. You find no way to cope, but luckily your boyfriend, Suo is here for you. :3 , Hayato Suo x f!reader 

warnings . light cursing, mentions of mental health issues, abandonment issues, angst, self-vent, skin picking , fluff

note ⧽some parts may seem rushed or ooc in other peoples opinion. english isn't my first language, so please bare with oncoming vocabulary or grammatic mistakes. Based off real life experiences

authors note . hi! this is for all those people that overthink a lot specially when it comes to relationships. I didn't really explain more, it has so much lore potential too.. It's not really more of a you getting comforted once you read it, but rather it's a you being in the same situation again, but not being alone. I really wanted to write Suo, but I didn't know how. Anyways, this might be a subtle vent, foreshadow :3

—

You sat down the bench just a few steps far from Furin Highschool, your eyes welling up– unable to hold tears. You should've been home, if not for that argument you had with your  bestfriend. 

It was your mistake, it was your issue, you're the problem. Was what kept on replying all over your head like Broken record. What was is the cause of this scenario? let us go back. 

You lashed out, unable to control your feelings any longer. What was once joyful and full of glee, was now full of trepidation and gloom. Your two  close friends, somehow, two of your only close friends that you consider as close ones are starting to drift apart. You couldn't really blame them. You rarely meet, nor called. Rarely chatted, hell– whens the last time you guys ever talked about your own lives? They were all too busy with their places to be, and you were too. Not that you  didn't have any other people to interact with. But somehow, some part of you is missing the times where you three were happy, talking about this– your new crushes, how your lives has been going, laughing over stupid things, ranting about this and that about how annoying they were knowing damn well you were annoying too. But you couldn't care less, because at that time, you felt safe. It was as if a safe zone, your safe zone. But then things started to fall apart, barely chatting, updating, and the other more— you tried. You tried to replicate the same energy you've had before, you tried to bring back the joyous and gleefulness of memories that you've remember. Now realizing that it has only turned into a mysterious enigma written in the ink of stardust on the back of your brain. You were hysterical. How could such strong bond just fade away ever so quickly? The promises and plans made, are now starting to fade. 

Those tears welling up in your eyes not holding up any longer, flowing as they stream down your cheeks. You wipe them away with your sleeves, hoping the flow water from your eyes stop as you let out a sniffle. 

"[name]?" a familiar voice questions, causing you to instinctively turn your head away from where the noise came from. You begged to the gods that this was just a dream, hoping you were hallucinating. You were in such  disgraceful state, you don't need another problem to participate.  There you were on the bench, closing your eyes shut as you continuously picked on your skin, hoping that the man of that voice disappears into thin air. 

"[name], dear.. what happened?" the same voice from before said, inching closer. You open your eyes to see Suo with a worried expression. You quickly wipe your tears once more, using your tear stained sleeve, trying to utter out words, but it seems as if you couldn't speak. "Shh.. It's okay, my love." Suo says, sitting down beside you, resting your head on his shoulder. "You know, your skin will be irritated if you wipe your tears like that" he says in a gentle, but slight tease of a tone. He faces you, cupping your chin as he wipes your tears away with a handkerchief. As much as you wanted to push, maybe– shove him away even, you found yourself calming down from his actions. You wanted to go away as far as you could, you wanted to bury yourself deep underground. You've never shown him this side of you, and it terrified you. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?" he says with a smile, it's as if it wasn't even a question, rather a clarification. You take a deep breath and sighed, "It's just, my friend has been seeing this person lately, well, used to. And they've been ranting about how this person they're seeing is 'cheating' , only going to them when they need something, and other more stuff. It just pissed me off. My friend deserves more than that, and it got to me. I attacked their ex in spite, saying shit I didn't even know I would. And.. I know it's my fault, I wasn't in the right place to do that. And I apologized, I felt bad, I swear, I really did." you say, unbeknownst to you that tears are flowing down your eyes, fingers picking on your skin. Suo, nodding silently, his hand creeping up to yours, holding them– as a way to prevent you from picking on your skin. "But, I'm.. scared. I know we all make mistakes, and I know my friend is a good person and that they do forgive me. But I'm scared. I'm scared that it'll fall apart, I'm scared that they'll leave me– I'm scared that I caused a problem, that I break something again" you say, breath hitching as you tighten your grip on his hand.  "I contacted my other friend Kotoha, who I was closer with. We three were really close, and I know them a lot. Even though they don't realize it, I always observe how they react to different stuff. And, Kotoha was friends with the person I fought.  I reached out to them, after the argument, and apologizing to my other friend because of the situation I've created, and after awhile Kotoha never replied even though they were online. And, I can't judge them, they might've not seen it, and they've been there for me a lot too. But I just can't help but overthink at the most little things, and I hate it. I hate it so much, I–"  you stammer, cut off by a light kiss on the lips. "I understand." Suo says, wrapping his arm around your back, his hand pushed you ever so slightly to his chest– pulling you into a hug. "You can't really force someone into a relationship, [name]. Platonic or not, if the relationship is not working and there is no solution, best leave things be" , he says, patting your head. "If the friendship wasn't it, then it's all part of the plan of fate. Mistakes are normal, [name]. And if they truly are friends, people you consider you can trust the most then.. , they will accept you for who you are. Your flaws, mistakes, but that doesn't mean they'll tolerate it. If the gods have decided that friendship truly is not meant for you three, then let it be and accept things for what they already are. Yes, it'll be hard, but I'll be here with you. I'll accept you for who you are, flaws, and secrets kept. I'll be with you when you need me, and when you're alone. I'll accept you with my all of my heart. Just like you did with me" he added, moving his hand to pat your back soothingly. This time, you weren't crying from sadness, or terror. You were crying tears of glee. 

"Let's buy ice cream? My treat of course." Suo says, standing up– reaching his hand out to you, the other behind his back as usual. "Really?" you exclaim, eyes brightening up as you let out a sniffle, him nodding in response.  "And let's put some cream on your hands after wards, get you fixed up" he added.

"Okay! I love you!" You said in your same bubbly mood, almost forgetting the events of today. 

"I love you too, my dove" he says in a soft tone, giving you a look of love. 

note . this had so much lore potential. I'm gonna rewrite this whole, trust.

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 3

Part 3 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The Inner Circle meets the most important person in Azriel's life. Warnings: Lia rewrites what the Carranam bond is to fit her own fantasy, (Mention of) Bad injuries and domestic abuse, (Mention of) Azriel's dad 🤢, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

“My Carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

No one was given time to think, much less respond, before Azriel had commanded everyone to leave the room. They would have been more reluctant to do so, the desire to know what the hell he meant was painful, had the serious look on the strange female’s face, and the look of despair on Azriel’s, had given them the impression this conversation was better left between the two. 

Out in the hallway, Cassian finally voiced his concern, 

“Should we have left him alone with whoever that was? He isn’t in any state to be fighting back should he ne-”

Amren scoffed at the question. “I’d trust her with him far more than you all.”

 “What do you mean? Do you know her?” Elain asked.

“No, but he is her Carranam. You all might not know the significance of such a bond- I don’t even know much about it myself, but I know enough to believe there is no one who would protect and cherish him more.” There was a sort of amazement and respect in Amren’s eyes that told the rest of them that she was right. Gave them enough information to walk away from the bedroom, content on letting Azriel come to them when he was ready.

—

The Inner Circle was no longer content waiting for their Spy Master to make an appearance. All had been sitting at the dining table for what must have been millenia, plates full with no appetite as millions of questions swarmed their heads. Amren had seemingly been the only one to have any idea what any of this could have meant, but the second she got the chance, she disappeared so she wouldn’t be bothered with questions about something that had nothing to do with her. 

Finally, Nesta broke the silence.

“Do you think he is purposefully trying to torture us by taking forever?” She asked, eyeing the very apparent shadows in the corner that had been slithering to and from the room since they had all sat down. “Or do you think she is-”

“It would be my fault Azriel was occupied for a bit.” The strange fae announced as she entered the room, Azriel by her side with a slight limp. The two looked… strange together, but also so right. White feathered wings stood tall behind the female, nicely contrasting Azriel’s leathery Illyrian ones. Where he was crowned in darkness and shadows, she seemed to have bathed in light. It should have contrasted each other terribly, but their stark differences only seemed to compliment the other.

It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice how their friend looked thousands of times better than he did just hours earlier.

He was still clearly injured, but far from the edge of death he teetered on these past few days.

“How? Madja could only do so much for him.” Rhysand asked, astonished at how well his brother looked.

She helped him into his seat before taking the empty one next to him. Even as they got comfortable, her hand never left his arm, finding comfort in his touch after days of agony and helplessness.

“Junia is a healer. The best Dawn has to offer.” Azriel said, the pride clear in his voice. It made sense that she- Junia had been from Dawn. A Peregryn and an Illyrian, two lesser fae known for their warrior skills and inherent desire for the skies. 

“I am not as skilled as Madja, but it's easier to heal when you know exactly what is wrong, exactly what hurts.” Junia said, rolling her eyes at Azriel’s shameless bragging. 

She let out a deep and rich laugh as she looked at everyone’s faces, all pained by the many questions swirling around in there. Feyre noted that she hadn’t heard such a joyous laugh since Azriel had done the same when Elain had gifted him medicine for all the headaches the Inner Circle gave him. 

Clearly, whatever bond they had between them was deep.

“You better introduce me, put them out of their misery.” She teased Az, who had been too caught up relishing her laugh, after a very long and rough berating it was nice to see her not seconds away from tearing out his wings. 

“R-right. Uh- this is my- well this is-” Azriel stammered.

“Mother above Az, don’t hurt yourself," Cassian amused.

Azriel closed his mouth as he blushed, unsure of how to go about this. 

“My name is Junia. As the brooding bat said, I am his Carranam.” Junia answered, side eyeing Azriel.

Keep it together, Az. It's a little pathetic. 

Azriel responded to her teasing look with a glare. We haven’t had to tell anyone about this in a while. Why don’t you try to explain it to these idiots if you are so clever.

Rhysand noticed the silent conversation going on between them.

“You can converse like Daemati? Is that your ability?” The High Lord asked her.

They both hesitated, realizing they didn’t really know how their so-called “telepathy” worked.

“No- or I don’t believe so at least. When you communicate with someone, you are doing so verbally, even if not aloud, correct? I don’t hear Azriel’s voice in my head, I just feel what he is trying to tell me, if that makes sense.”

“Like a mating bond?” Feyre questioned.

“Also no. It's not our feelings that are conveyed solely, we can gather more specific meaning from it. Yes, Junia would feel I was not excited for this conversation, but she would also know I was offering her one last chance to leave, should she also not want to deal with all of your… strong personalities.” Azriel responded, looking at Junia. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his family.

She laughed at his desperation which, while very clear to her, she knew the Inner Circle was none the wiser to the just how far Azriel was willing to go to leave this table. She could see him coming up with escape routes in his head as he picked up his wine glass. 

“Oh you poor delicate flower,” She teased. 

Unfortunately, they all still noticed the blush that once again appeared on Az’s face, laughing at their scary brother, head tortured of the Night Court, being compared to a ‘delicate flower’. 

Downing the rest of his glass, Azriel finally explained.

“A carranam bond isn’t like a mating bond. It comes from an old phrase, A Soul Friend. It gives Junia and I the ability to channel each other's powers, even make them stronger when we are together. Like you noticed, we have a different, more intimate way of communicating, far stronger than Daemati and mates can.”

“How the hell has no one else here heard of this bond?” Nesta asked, skeptical. Seems like something a group of people as obsessed with the mating bond would know about.

“It is rare, extremely so. There are also many… vulnerabilities that come with a bond such as this. To find your carranam is hard enough, most will never be born with one. But to accept such a bond is dangerous. And unfortunately there have been instances of others abusing such a gift. Tying their carranam up to reap their abilities, taking so much from them that both end up going insane. It became illegal in many places and eventually was forgotten by our world.” Junia answered.

“How did you find out what you guys had?” Feyre jumped in.

While this was Junia’s story as much as Azriel’s, she hesitated. Because there was another factor to that story, and she didn’t believe she was the one who should talk about it first.

Another glance between the two, a question asked. Azriel answered it by speaking up, “Junia is from Dawn. After my… mother was released- rescued from my father’s abuse, she wasn’t in wonderful shape. Fortunately, Rhys, Cassian, and myself found a place created by High Lord Thesan’s mother that offered aid to those escaping similar situations, Rosehall. That is where Junia worked as head healer. She helped my mother a lot throughout the years.” Such admiration and gratitude in his voice made several people at the table start to tear up.

Everyone was quiet. While Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor knew the story of Azriel’s mother being sent to Rosehall, they hadn’t known about Junia, just about the healer Az’s mother had gotten along with-

“You are the friend of his mother’s he sends gifts to every Solstice?” Mor asked, having been approached by Azriel for help with buying said gifts many times in the past.

“I thought you picked those gifts out yourself? You didn’t tell me Mor did all the work.” Junia turned to Az.

“I do pick them out, you just have peculiar taste. I have needed her help locating shops to buy such things before. That's it.” Az defended.

I certainly do have peculiar taste she silently said to Az who, again, blushed at the double entendre.

He quickly cleared his throat, “A few years after my mother had entered her care, while I was visiting, there was an attack on Rosehall. It was one of the families of a newer resident enacting revenge for escaping abuse. When many were hurt or dying… or dead, the two of us the only ones available to help, this bond had snapped out because of that desperation. It was new but it felt like it had always been there. We both leaned into the feeling and fortunately it didn’t end terribly. Suddenly, my shadows were able to start healing, and were able to talk to Junia, giving her any info on people who needed her help that she couldn’t see.”

Everyone was astonished at such a story. So different but also so similar to the mating bond. 

“Since then we have been each others’ confidants. While we don’t live particularly close, shadow walking gives me the ability to come to him whenever, and vice versa. Plus the connection is always there, even miles upon miles apart.” Junia answered. 

“Why keep it a secret?” Cassian questioned, knowing how much a connection like this would matter to Az, but confused because wouldn’t he want his family to know about him having such a bond?

“I am not exactly without enemies, Cas. I couldn’t have a possibility of someone coming after her because of me.” The sound of raw pain in his voice let his family know that this wasn’t something that was simply a fear. 

Someone had gone after her in revenge.

“Your secret is safe with us. You are safe with us. Should you need anything, just say the word.” Rhysand offered. 

The two carranam looked at each other. “After I spent a while yelling at Azriel for scaring me half to death multiple times in the past few days. We decided that maybe it was best I… step back from Rosehall.” Junia explained, sadness present in her tone as she talked about leaving the place that had been her sole purpose for her entire life. “I have healers on my staff that deserve the promotion, including Azriel’s mother, who has used her experiences to really become a confidant and friend to so many of our residents.” 

Azriel’s throat bobbed at the mention of just how much his mom had healed and helped since she escaped his father. 

Excitement filled the room at the possibility of adding another to their family. But Junia was still painfully aware of just how many questions everyone had.

“Alright, now that all the nitty gritty is out of the way, you can all begin your interrogation,” she teased.

All at once, tens of questions left everyone’s mouth. Not a single one able to be distinguished over the rest.

Azriel’s hand reached down to hold Junia’s, squeezing her while seeming to say I told you we should have escaped while we could.

They both downed their wine glasses while they waited for the Inner Circle to tire themselves out. 

A/N: Originally, this was the end. But I think I created so much backstory and also fell too much in love with Junia not to add more. So please let me know if you'd like more to this series! (And what you’d like to see)

Taglist: @bunnyred-blog1 @that-one-bibliophole @fuckingsimp4azriel @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minaaminaa8 @lilah-asteria @azrielswhore @maksamillion

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[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me Part 3: This Sticky Mess of Mine✨

QZ! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Here is the final part for these two! I might do some one-shots in the future, but we will see. This one is mostly all in Joel’s POV so enjoy 🥰

Chapter Summary: While you’re indulging in a can of peaches, Joel can’t seem to keep his eyes or his hands off you.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: Joel’s POV, QZ! Joel, feelings, a day on patrol with Joel, teasing, unprotected piv, oral and face riding (fem receiving), cream pie, smut and lots of fluff, no use y/n, soft! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The air is warm as sweat drips off Joel’s tanned skin, running through his slicked back curls as he leans against the rundown walls of an old rundown convenience store. Sunlight glitters off the broken glass shards by the front door. Forest green vines snake their way against the crevice of every corner, even against the ceiling that has mildew corrupting the structure. Picked over shelves and half-opened items litter the cracked ground. But none of that matters because you’re here with him out on patrol. You. The troublemaker that stole his heart back at the QZ. 

   And there you are. Sitting up on the dust-covered cabinet, legs swinging back and forth like you just found the last stash of candy. Hums of satisfaction leave your glossy lips that are now covered with the sticky syrup from the open can of peaches in your hands. And fuck do you look delicious.

   He can’t help but sit back and admire the blush of your cheeks, your beautiful eyes glowing like bright halos as you indulge in one of your favorite sweet treats. Peaches. And God, what he wouldn’t give to be that can of peaches right about now. 

   A smile permeates on his lips, tugging and curling to indent deep dimples in his cheeks, stinging because he can’t stop staring at the angel that sits in his presence. That angel being you, a downright troublemaker. But you’re his troublemaker, and he has no intention of letting you go. Ever. 

   “Good?” he asks, chuckling under his breath as you dip your hand inside the aluminum can and smile up at him, taking the breath from his lungs. 

   “Mmm, so good,” you moan, sucking your sticky-coated fingers in your mouth, licking the syrup slowly from your peach-covered skin. 

   He groans, dragging his fingers along his patchy scruff, undressing you with his eyes, pretending it’s his fingers invading your mouth, commanding you to suck, to taste every inch of his skin. He can feel the saliva coat his skin, can imagine how good your mouth would feel on his fingers, on his lips. Can already taste how fucking soft your lips would feel, his tongue dragging against yours, collecting peach nectar from your mouth, swallowing your moans, slipping his fingers inside your denim shorts, curling them up till you can’t see straight anymore, till you can only say his name again and again and again.

   He drags his tongue against his lower lip seductively, imagining you covered in the sticky syrup, his tongue lapping up every single beautiful inch of you. The smell of nectar and lavender enveloping his senses, getting lost in the sweet taste of your plush thighs, indulging and reveling in how good your pussy tastes. All sweet and messy and perfect for him. Always so perfect. And he wants you. Now. 

   “You want some?” you giggle, kicking your legs with another joyous laugh, your smile flashing in the sunlight trickling through the cracks in the ceiling, covering you in angelic light. 

   His breath hitches and he pushes himself off the wall, stalking toward you like a starving wolf, ready to swallow you whole like you’re a sweet, innocent lamb. But that’s his favorite thing to do. Eat you until you spill everything for him. Always for him. His good girl. 

   He chuckles and shakes his head, stepping in front of you, pushing your legs apart and crowding your space, big hands lingering on your soft skin, jean shorts barely covering your thick thighs. “Think I want something else, darlin’. Why don’t you be a good girl and let me have a taste?”

   “I thought you didn’t like sweets,” you smirk, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief that he wants to devour fully. 

   “The only sweet thing I like is you, babygirl,” he smiles, his brown eyes melting into yours. And God, those eyes. Those beautiful, sparkling irises he can’t seem to get out of his head. They stick like glue. Permanent, paralyzing, something he wants to never forget. 

   “Is that right?” you ask giddily, a pretty blush staining your cheeks crimson, just like the color of your glossy lips. 

   “S’right. How ‘bout you give me a taste, darlin’?” He gently takes your hand in his and guides it to his mouth, eyes darkening and pupils expanding, giving you that look you know all too well. Your breath hitches when he slips your index and middle finger into his mouth, slowly sucking and gliding his tongue against your soft skin, making sure to clean every single speck of syrupy off your fingers. 

   Your mouth drops open as you gawk at him, watching him ravish your fingers, and it’s probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole existence.

   “S’good, so sweet,” he whispers, prying the can of peaches from your open palm, slowly tipping it to where the savory juice is running down your lips, your neck, your chest. And that’s when he snaps; his body filled with lust and fire pumping through his veins.

   He quickly pulls the cotton t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your lacy black bra and your denim shorts that tease him relentlessly. And as the sticky syrup covers your skin, there’s nothing but an aching need left in every single bone of his body. That need is screaming to devour you, fully and completely. And that’s exactly what he’ll do.

   He takes one more look at your wide doe eyes and jumps, every composure of his control gone in a flash. “C’mere, pretty girl.” His mouth molds to yours in the next second, hands roaming savagely over your body, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other twisting uncontrollably in your hair. 

   A moan slips free when you open your mouth, and it’s like music to his ears. He slots his tongue inside and strokes slowly, eating up every single drop of syrup on your tongue, groaning at the sweet sound of your pretty little moans that fall free as he devours you completely.

   Your fingers lace through his slicked back curls, and a deep groan leaves his throat. He loves the way your fingers brush through his hair, scraping against his scalp, eliciting goosebumps each time you touch him. You’re like lightning, and he’ll gladly accept every single strike you give him.

   Tongues clash wildly together, an uncontrollable wildfire blooming through the abandoned room. All thoughts of infected, raiders, and patrol take flight out the smashed door. There’s nothing in this world that can pry this moment from his fingers. He’ll continue to sink into you until you melt and unravel completely in the palm of his hands.

   He releases from your swollen lips, dragging his tongue down your cheek, sucking the savory skin of your elongated neck, your fingers digging deeper into his scalp as another moan leaves your pretty lips, making him feral with every quiver you breathe. 

   “Joel…” you moan as he unclasps your bra, pulling it free and letting your full breasts spill out for him. He kisses his way down your sticky chest, slowly rolling his tongue over each pebbled nipple, sucking and kneading the supple skin while another moan falls from your lips.

   “S’right, baby. Know jus’ what you need, my little troublemaker,” he smirks, unfastening each button on your denim shorts one at a time, dragging the metal zipper down gracefully and then letting the denim fall in a heap to the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy underwear that are soaked against your beautiful core. 

   He takes a step back, assessing your arousal, dragging his eyes down your splayed body, your mouth breathing heavily and eyes wide with anticipation. It’s such a gorgeous view that he wishes he had a camera because he so badly wants to remember this moment in full detail. 

   “Look at you, darlin’. Soppin’ wet. Soakin’ right through that lace for me. What a messy girl you are,” he groans, dragging his thumb up the seam of your folds, eliciting a sweet moan from your lips. A choir of angels to his ears.

   “Yes, yes. Messy for you,” you choke out, his hand slipping beneath the drenched lace, rubbing his thumb in tantalizing, slow circles, making you shake beneath his touch.

   “So fuckin’ wet, sweetheart. Let me jus’ slip these off real quick. I’ll make a mess of you yet,” he promises, taking no time in ripping your ruined lace off, eyes wide as you take in the large size of him looming over your bare body. 

   “How are you going to ruin me, Joel?” you ask shakily, your core buzzing for him, your clit already swollen and ready for his meaty hands to ruin you. 

   “For starters, I’m gonna take my time with you. Yeah, gonna take my goddamn time.” He grabs the open can and tips it at a ninety degree angle, letting the syrupy juice of the canned peaches serenade your silky skin, running all the way down until your pretty pink pussy is gushing with the sugary goodness. 

   His hand guides down to your slick folds, rubbing the messy substance over your drenched center, creating the most obscene wet noises that vibrate off the walls, reverberating back into his eardrums like the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard in his entire fucking life. 

   “Goddamn, darlin’. You’re fuckin’ drenched. S’this all for me?” he smirks, eyes blowing out wide with every roll of your tongue, your large eyes burning with need.

   “Yes, it’s all for you. But Joel—fuck. Need you to…”

   “Shhh. I know what you need, sticky girl. Need my tongue, don’t ya?” Without giving you a moment to respond, his tongue darts down your stomach, sinking to his knees slowly, teasing the tip of his tongue over your dripping core, barely brushing against your needy clit.

   “Ohh,” you whine, bucking your hips up in hopes to get the friction you need. But you don’t need to beg because he’s sure to take care of all your needs and leave you completely satisfied and more. 

   “Patience, baby. I’ll give you what you need. Don’t worry,” he assures, guiding your legs over his shoulders slowly, opening your legs wide and sliding you to the very edge of the counter, just enough to let the sticky residue of the syrup slide down and drip into his thick beard.

   He chuckles to himself and licks his lips like he’s about to feast on the most delicious dessert of all. Because that’s exactly what he’ll be doing. Oh, yes. He’s always loved eating messy pussies, but yours takes the cake. 

   “Joel I…”

   He attacks, mouth molding to your perfect pussy, the flat of his tongue licking a clean stripe up the entirety of you, a low moan falling from your lips as he circles meticulously over your puffy clit. 

   “Oh, shit. Feels so good, Joel,” you moan, your arms falling behind you, nails scratching at the chipped wood, legs shaking from the thorough licks of his large tongue. 

   “Yeah, s’right. Take it,” he coaxes, slipping two thick fingers into your dripping hole, curling them up exactly where you like it, right into that spongy spot that makes you lose control.

   He falls into a trance. Licking and teasing and sucking you dry, slurping up the excess peach syrup, tasting the nectar of the gods with every stroke of his tongue. His nose seeps into the curls above your mound, inhaling the sweet aroma of you, drinking you down like he hasn’t tasted water in days. He’s addicted to this. To feasting on you, worshipping you, making you come over and over and over until you spill everything for him.

   He’s selfish for you and he knows it well. He’d gladly get on his knees every single day for the rest of his life if it meant you’d come for him, spill those pretty moans he dreams about night after night. Maybe he’s a mad man, maybe he’s addicted, but God, what it feels like to be addicted to you is like heaven. All consuming and reckless. You wrecked him, but he doesn’t care. You can take all of him, have all of him. He’s yours now. All fucking yours. 

   If this is what a ruined man feels like then so be it. He’s been swept out to sea the moment you stepped foot through his door. He should’ve known he was a goner the first time you laid eyes on him. 

   “Fuck. Joel, I’m gonna come…” you mewl, arching your back and bucking your hips just enough to get his meaty fingers deeper in your core. He knows you love it, him having all the control and ravishing you till you’re nothing but putty in his hands. He fucking loves every second of it.

   “Go on then, messy girl. Get me sticky.” He curls his fingers a little more and pulls hard on your puffy clit, sucking it deep into his mouth and overstimulating your nerve endings just the way you like it. 

   He pumps his fingers once, twice, three more times, and then you’re clenching around him, your walls suffocating his skin. “Spill,” he commands. With one more lick to your bundle of nerves, you’re a goner. 

   Your release floods over his fingers, drips all the way down his bruised knuckles, your high-pitched moans filling the stifling air and knocking the breath from him.

   “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he groans, slowly releasing his fingers from your pulsating core, licking you clean along with his fingers and reveling in the sweet juices of your body.

   “Joel, that was… amazing,” you whisper breathlessly, your body coming down from its orgasmic high.

   “What makes you think I’m done with you, huh?” One eyebrow arches, and a smug smirk curls against his lips, leaving him looking like the devil that he is.

   “Not done with me?” you ask all wide-eyed and surprised. 

   “Oh no, little troublemaker. Not even close.” He tugs at your legs, sending you flailing over the edge of the counter, landing with a thud on his chest, Joel flat on his back.

   You look down in shock, your legs straddled across his broad chest, your center still buzzing with aftershocks of the first orgasm. You should’ve known he wouldn’t leave you with just one. 

   Before you can say a word, he pulls you up to his chin, hovering your open legs right above his mouth, his beard sticky with your release and the remains of the syrupy goodness of the canned peaches. He looks like a mess you wouldn’t mind cleaning up. 

   “Now sit the fuck down and give me another,” he growls with a deep, commanding voice that sends chills down your spine. You obey his command and sit, letting his mouth take you to places you can only reach with his tongue.

   He groans, flicking his tongue up and down the wetness of your slit, pulling on your puffy pink clit, reveling in the glorious moans you fill the hot room with. He’s never tasted someone as sweet as you before, never been this pussy drunk over some girl. But you’re not just some girl to him. No. You’re special, one of a kind that was made just for him. And he plans to keep you for as long as he can. 

   Your fingers pull on his slicked back curls, eliciting a deep groan from his throat while he feasts on your dripping core, smearing your arousal all over his lapping tongue. 

   “So fuckin’ delicious,” he breathes out, diving his tongue inside your slick folds, finding your dripping hole and tongue fucking you till you’re screaming his name. 

   “Joel, Joel, Joel. Oh my GOD,” you moan as he squeezes one hand around your waist, the other drawing slow, languid circles against your bundle of nerves, your walls squeezing the perfect amount before you let another orgasm fall on the tip of his tongue. 

   He laps up every speck of cum that drips down your tight walls, groaning at the sweet taste of you that he just can’t seem to get enough of. You collapse on his chest, but he’s quick to slide you down, right where the tight bulge is struggling to be let free behind his denim jeans. He’s been hard ever since you dipped your finger into the can of peaches, his balls full of his seed, wanting so badly to bend you over and fuck the living daylights out of you. But he’s not selfish like that. He’s selfish for you, needing to consume you in pleasure, forgetting himself entirely until you’re fully satisfied. 

   Maybe it’s the way you always try to put him first, but he’ll be damned if he ever comes first. You’re not just any girl. You’re the fucking goddess that saved his life, the one that showed him a path out of the darkness. You’re the angel in disguise he’s always needed, and he’s forever grateful that he found you in that alleyway so many months ago. He thinks that’s when he fell. And he did. He crashed hard. 

   He grinds your core against his hard cock, digging you against the rough material of his jeans, straining to control himself with your little whimpers. “One more, baby. Give me one more.”

   “Joel, I can’t. It’s too much,” you mewl, brows furrowed in exhaustion.

   “Hey, you trust me?” he asks softly, tracing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. 

   “Yes,” you whisper quietly, still grinding against his bulge.

   “You can take one more, sweetheart. Know you can. Think you can try for me?” he asks while he slowly unbuckles his belt, your fingers pulling the zipper down cautiously. He lifts his hips and pushes his denim jeans and boxers down, freeing his hard cock with precum spilling from the tip, desperate to get inside you. 

   “Mhm,” you hum, agreeing to indulge in his ask.

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises, your core sliding against his tip, smearing it in your wet slick. And then you start to ride him slowly. “Ride my cock, cowgirl. There ya go. Attagirl,” he groans as you fully seat yourself down on him, your tight walls squeezing his cock the perfect amount.

   You pick up the pace; grinding and riding him fluidly, your moans melting with his as bliss takes over his body. “Joel, feels so good,” you moan, eyes rolling back every time he kisses your cervix.

   “Damn right it does. That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he growls. 

   One more motion and he’s wrapping his arm around your waist and rolling you over, pinning you to the ground as he takes control and fucks you relentlessly. His cock is buried deep inside your pussy, eliciting moan after pretty moan as he rocks his hips faster, his lips sucking and licking your glistening skin.

   He’s barely holding on, unable to focus on anything but you. Beautiful and writhing beneath his hips. “So fuckin’ perfect, baby. One more. C’mon. Let me feel you come again.”

   His thumb presses firmly on your puffy clit, circling slowly to draw all the pleasure out from your body. He wants it all, wants everything from you. He can never get enough of you.

   “Joel, I’m gonna—” 

   “Give it to me, sweetheart. Soak my cock,” he growls, thrusting deeper and circling his thumb faster and faster until you’re screaming his name and clenching him so tight he can’t help but to moan himself. 

   “That’s my girl. Good fuckin’ girl,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling your slick drenching his throbbing cock.

   He pumps in and out faster, huffing and groaning through each thrust he gives. You always feel so good, and he can never get enough. He’s like a starving man, dying when he can’t fill you up with his seed. He’d have you every day if he could. You’re a goddess, and he’ll worship you every single day. As long as you’ll let him.

   One more thrust and he’s throwing his head back, his seed filling inside you full, claiming you as his own. He stills above you, slowly pulls out and collapses to the ground in a heap. He pulls you on top of his sweat-coated chest, and then you both lay there just basking in the presence of each other, panting from the intense orgasms.

   He trails his fingertips down your jawline, lingering them on your glowing skin, needing to keep a grasp on your beautiful face.

   He loves the feel of your soft skin against his rough exterior, softening him up with every brush of your lips. He loves your glowing smile, how it always seems to light up every room you walk into. And your scent. God, the aroma of sunshine and violets and raspberry tea cling to his sheets, eliciting want and need that drives him up the walls. And he loves the way you say his name, all soft and slow, like you’re memorizing every syllable to memory, not wanting to forget the name that branded your tongue the night of the thunderstorm. His tongue swallowed you whole with every languid stroke, with every touch he could grasp. 

   Maybe he should’ve fallen for someone his own age, someone like Tess. But you. He couldn’t forget your lips, the way you blush every time he gives you that look, the one that gets him into trouble with his feelings. That deep, awestruck, mesmerizing look you give with every shy smile that curls against your perfect lips. And maybe… maybe it was that first night you stayed with him, that teasing knife practice lesson, the countless shotgun lessons and long patrol days in the blazing sun. Maybe it was that first touch that made him fall head over heels, crashing into the barricaded walls of the QZ. 

   He thinks it’s love. It is love. And God, he’s so fucking in love that he can hardly stand it. 

   It’s the way you're laying on his chest, leaning on your crossed arms, staring up at him with those beautiful glossy eyes, the warmest smile shining over your dewy lips. And that’s it. He’s a complete goner to the sweet girl that never should’ve walked through those QZ gates. Because now you’re his. 

   “We should probably get up. Tess and Nathan might show up any minute now,” you sigh, starry eyes still locked on his. And fuck, you’re so beautiful.

   “Five more minutes,” he groans, pulling you closer, skimming his lips across your forehead.

   “Joel Miller. What if they see?!” you squeak, jaw dropped in amazement.

   “Let ‘em see. I suspect they already know what we’re up to,” he chuckles, fingers brushing down your back in slow circles.

   “Oh? Tess knows?” you ask with your brows raised in question.

   “She might know. Might’ve told her how much I like you. And you live at my place now, darlin’. Think she’s very aware of what we are,” he chuckles softly.

   “And what are we?” you ask with a devious smirk, wanting to hear it from his own lips.

   “We’re together, baby. A couple. You and me.”

   Your beautiful eyes glow under the sunlight basking through the window, your smile knocking the breath from his lungs. “I love hearing you say that,” you murmur dreamily, perched on top of his chest like a glowing angel.

   “I’ll say it every day if y’want me to,” he replies with a smile, his palm brushing softly against your cheek.

   “Please do,” you giggle, eyes softly waning in his wide eyes. He fucking loves when you do that.

   “You know. One of these days, I’m gonna take you away from the QZ gates. Somewhere far far away. Maybe to Jackson where there’s no soldiers, no strict rules, no curfew, jus’ mountains and fresh air and freedom.”

   You bite your bottom lip and brush a tousled curl from his forehead, his hand catching yours and lacing his fingers through yours. “And why would you do that?”

   “‘Cause I…” He pauses, the words running dry from the tip of his tongue. 

   “You what?” you push, wanting to hear the words from his mouth. 

   “‘Cause… I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers out, eyes glossy from the daze of basking in your glory. His sweet little angel.

   “You? You’re in love with me?” you gasp, eyes wide in awe. You never thought you’d hear the words fall off his lips first. 

   “S’right, sweetheart. I’ve fallen for the pretty troublemaker from California. My little smuggler,” he chuckles, cupping your chin between his index finger and thumb.

   You melt into his chest and sigh, eyes soft with love. “And what would you say if I told you I felt the same?”

   He smiles, tears pooling in the back of his eyes because he’s so fucking in love with you. “You feel the same ‘bout an old man like me?”

   “Mhm. I’m so in love with you, Joel Miller. Think I have been for a while now. Grey curls and all.” You push your fingers through his messy curls, and he groans beneath your touch. He’s always been so soft for you. For months now it’s always been you.

   “Well then. Looks like you’re all mine, sweet girl. The world is ours. We can go anywhere you want. Jus’ say the word and I’ll take you. Wherever you want. I’m all yours.”

   You graze your lips against his cheek, his patchy beard brushing against your jawline. “How about for now you just take me back home?”

   He nods and smiles gently. “I can do that. I’d do jus’ about anything for you, pretty girl.”

   When you shift your weight and fall into him more, where he can smell the taste of promises in the air, you look up with eyes that melt him into liquid. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, mesmerized by the beauty before him. 

   “Kiss me?” you ask softly.

   He cups the back of your neck and pulls you to him, inches from his lips. “C’mere, love.” He crashes his mouth against yours, starting wildfires in his beating heart. He’ll never get enough of you, never get enough of this. You in his arms, your lips hanging off his, bodies burning for the other. 

   He’s engulfed in you, and he’ll let you swallow him until the only thing he can breathe is you.

   He faintly hears Tess closing in to the area, so he pulls you up and helps you dress, tossing his clothes on the moment you’re back in yours. Grabbing your soft hand in his, he leads you out into the light of the outside world again, breaking the peaceful bubble that only you and him shared. 

   When Tess emerges from behind a tall oak tree, Joel sighs but doesn’t drop his curled fingers that are interlocked tightly with yours. Nathan, one of the other smugglers trails behind, searching for any infected or raiders he might encounter.

   “There you are. What have you two love birds been up to?” she asks with a mischievous smirk, eyes locking on your entwined hands.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Joel chuckles while Tess shakes her head in knowing. 

   “Glad to see you keep this one smiling. He’s a troublemaker, this one,” Tess laughs, your cheeks blazing hot under a pretty blush that stains your flawless skin.

   “You hear that, trouble? Looks like I’m also a troublemaker,” Joel whispers in your ear, his lips brushing against your jawline as he plants a soft kiss on your face.

   “Guess we’re perfect together then,” you smile, biting your lower lip as shyness takes over. God, he loves when you do that.

   “That’s right, baby. Looks like we were meant to be.” He gives you one more kiss atop the crown of your head and steers you forward, fingers still interlocked as the both of you make your way back into the green forest.

   Forever is an awfully long time, but for you? For you, he’d live a thousand lives if it meant he got to be with you. 

   You’re his little smuggler, and he’s never going to let you go.

[lordsukunas]

best! friend sukuna headcanons

yall, ngl, he's just a red flag. he has his 'nice' moments but he's still an asshole! uh this is bound to be at least a little ooc bc lets bffr being his bff is unrealistic. anyway, pls enjoy! :3

best friend! sukuna who kicks the backs of your legs when you're standing, and then snicker when you crumple to the ground.

best friend! sukuna who skips the line and drags you along with him. he ignores the pathetic bitching and whining from the people who were in front of him. if they wanted their spot so bad, they should've got back in front of him.

best friend! sukuna who takes your phone off of the charger to charge his. and once his is on a hundred, he won't put yours back. you don't need your phone when you're with him anyway.

best friend! sukuna who insists on walking with you to the convenience store. it could be late at night or he could be in the middle of ripping someone's throat out for not giving him his damn money, and he'll still go.

best friend! sukuna who always makes sure you eat. post-sleepover and you're hungry? he's up, getting you something luxurious to eat at ten in the morning, and back at his apartment in a flash. he may have violated several traffic laws to do it, but at least you aren't starving.

best friend! sukuna who, ironically, cannot cook for shit. he always uses too much seasoning or disregards the given temperature from the recipe or doesn't bother with a crucial ingredient because he finds it nasty.

best friend! sukuna who enjoys poetry. it's something calming, peaceful, a stark contrast to all the blood he sheds daily. if you ask him for recommendations, he'll have an entire list engraved in his mind, tailored just to suit your tastes.

best friend! sukuna who eats up all of your snacks. oh, you have a bag of hot chips? he's eating them. the second he hears the rustling of a wrapper from your direction, he's holding his hand out. he knows you'll share. you always do.

best friend! sukuna who claims he only went to college because he was bored. while that does have some truth to it, isn't it convenient he's attending the same college as you? especially when he's never mentioned going or even caring about it, and the waitlist was so long.

best friend! sukuna who only cares for the things that directly interest and benefit him. he lives for him and him alone. you're lucky you've entertained for him as long as you have with that pretty smile, that annoyingly joyous, pure laugh and those endless rambles about the shows you've rewatched more times than he can count on one hand.

best friend! sukuna who hates how his breath catches when you show off a new outfit, how heat creeps up the back of his neck and warms his cheeks when you genuinely thank him, how he wants to cup your face in his massive, rough hands and press a kiss to your forehead.

best friend! sukuna who has never cared to love or be loved, not until he met you.

note: at some point i'll quit changing the way i format these posts... maybe idk. ALSOO i wanna write sumn abt yuuta to combat this post bc hes just a corny romantic n i love him ><

if u saw this w/o the cut... no u didn't.

[elyrch]

hii can you do more aizawa relationship hcs:) hes so cute i love him :3

yeah!! here you go :]

a/n: hes still absolutely smokin

i'm gonna say something absolutely insane here, but... i don't think aizawa is a cat person. i think he likes dogs. i see the people he CHOOSES to spend his time with, and most of them are pretty reminiscent of dogs. sure, he could have a cat- they're pretty independent when he's working and they don't slobber everywhere- but he likes dogs because they are loyal to him. if he were to get a dog, something like a guard dog would be like him, extra points if they're playful. belgian malinois, doberman, or even a cane corso.

his hair has a pretty wide range in how it feels. sometimes, it's coarse, other times, it's incredibly soft. usually it depends on how much time he can use take care of it- however, to him, being clean comes above all else. you won't see him sticky with sweat, or with grease in his hair, ever. he just doesn't wanna bring that home to you.

he has ONE stuffed animal in his bed. it's a big cloud with a smiley face on it (WAAAAAAAHHHHH) and he cuddles it every night. he's had it since forever and it's pretty squished and it's been sewn together many times, but it's his.

if he were to travel anywhere in the world, he'd go to new york city. idk to me he just feels like a new yorker. he'd punch straight through someones window if they didn't stop at a red light. he'd go to the lego factory and stare at everything in awe. absolutely insane man

falls asleep while you talk to him. he just feels so safe and doesn't usually get to sleep other times.

commits to the most insane bits in public. yes darling you have to call him boss baby

loves reading to you, even if hes got an awkward reading voice. he'd read you fantasy, science fiction, even textbooks. he doesn't really mind what he reads- but he does do silly voices for characters if there are any.

the BEST guy to snuggle. he rubs your back even while he sleeps (even though he sleeptalks lol). pulls you close to him and cradles you in his big warm arms. ough.

prettiest laugh. when you get him to actually really laugh, it's reminiscent of like. a great and joyous king. when he's that happy, it's like everyone else in the room will become happy like him. it's so very cute.

when you're doing a bit and finally break him, he laughs so hard he has to sit down on the floor. makes his tummy hurt :(

he is not good at names for pets. he gets a dog and names it baby. he gets a cat and names it baby. he just doesn't know what else to call them

thank you for reading!! please reblog if you enjoyed this one :]