#HOLY SHIT I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS DAYS AGO

[therxtking]

She hums thoughtfully. A new god... This place was getting more and more interesting. "Then I'd best leave it for now. And what of you, gore-gorger, what are you?"

The 'human' walks forward as she asks idly, going to inspect the creature she killed... It smelled strange. The whole thing was strange.

While she wasn't threatened by the furies, she kept a note on them just in case they decided to swoop. Barely worth killing... To him they were likely as fascinating as a pigeon to a city dweller. To her, it was something fascinating. New. So full of secrets.

Khazaan isn't paying attention to the Furies anymore. Rather unabashedly, he's staring at her in open interest, head tilted like a great hound. " A bad idea. These are the messengers of the God of Blood and Shadow. A few of them he will not miss, but the entire flock. He may just take offense."

" But if you insist-- be my guest. We have yet to see Khade visit his rage on a-- 'mortal'." The way he chuffs the word suggest the daemon is aware of Zicamaia's true nature.

" They are Furies. They are craven and marginally stronger than a man." The Daemon comments, twirling his own javelin. The Furies have taken to the wing, no longer panicked and confused. Some stop to hiss admonishments at Khazaan and the other, smaller being, but then quickly flap away when the Bloodthirster steps to them.

" Not worth dying over. Barely worth killing."

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

[came0dust]

i cannot keep drawing this dude on my phone but god do i love drawing him (+ bonus colors)

[thethingything]

y'know what though, as much as we've been stressed to all fuck and complained about that a lot on here, we have been doing better at like, finding things to enjoy and trying to acknowledge when good things happen. it's just that we have a tendency to just write out vent posts while we're really stressed but then forget to post anything about the good things but like, we are acknowledging them in our brain at least

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

While we're here, I just want to add an example of a good response to Harris' video.

In the first half of the video, Harris briefly mentions a creator called Lukeypoo (who now goes by Luke Stephens) who had plagiarised Harris' Bloodborne review, and his response at the time was to deny it, signal to his alt right buddies and insult Harris.

After the video came out, Luke Stephens made a post on his community page regarding it:

For those, who can't see the screenshots, it reads:

A video went up on YouTube last night that showed something I did 6 years ago in early 2017, of which I'm very ashamed. I've talked about it on stream plenty since then and try to be very open about it, but I know a lot of people haven't been watching me since 2017 or have not heard me discuss this before. I don't want to hide from my mistakes or deflect, so very plainly here's what happened:

I was just starting on YouTube and I ripped off a phenomenal video on Bloodborne. It was a fantastic video by hbomberguy and after finding it through a Reddit post I tried to take his 1.5 hour masterpiece and make my own suckier version at around 7 minutes. I copied the premise, jokes, structure, and then pretended like it was all just a coincidence that they were so similar. I was a 19 year old idiot who thought it didn't matter because "he's a bigger creator so it's fine" and "it's just the internet." When I was rightly called out for copying his video I dodged, lied, and even attacked and insulted the appearance of those holding me to account, including hbomberguy himself. I copied someone's video, in parts word-for-word, and I pretended like *I* was the victim and *they* were being unreasonable. Unbelievable. There is no question at all: I was in the wrong, fully.

Let me be very clear: I whole heartedly disown who I was back then and what I did. Politically, religiously, and even morally/ethically I was a person that I hate today. I was an extremist, a bully, a religious zealot, and above all, a prick. This event sparked a spiral in my personal life that I didn't document online, but that has led me to who I am today. Someone who tries very hard to respect my fellow creators, audience, and to uphold a high ethical standard for myself. I strive every day to be a better man for myself, my family and kids, and for the community around me. And that's why I'm writing this, because I don't think we should hide from our mistakes or pretend they didn't happen. I screwed up, big time, and I stole the hard work of an incredibly talented creator and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I was 19, hard headed, and above all arrogant and unwilling to acknowledge I had screwed up. It took a couple years after that before I could openly admit what I had actually done, and that it took that long is all the more shameful.

I don't expect a response or certainly forgiveness, but for what it's worth, I am truly sorry for everything, @hbomberguy

For the last 6 years I've been working my butt off to be someone I can be proud of being and I hope you all can see that the man I am today is not the shameful excuse of a person I was back then.

I've never watched a video or stream by Luke Stephens so I can't attest as to his content, but this is one of the best responses I've seen to any kind of accusation, and so I lean towards believing him to be a better man than he was six years.

I thinks it's important to highlight the good response/s to Harris' video, to remind ourselves that plagiarism is not such an immoral action that from which you can't redeem yourself (though in Somerton's case, I'm less sure of that) if you take accountability for your actions, and to remember that in most cases, we should give people space to grow and become better.

The swiftness and brutality of Hbomberguy’s complete evisceration of James Somerton’s career cannot be overstated.

[theblehthatbloos]

Whenever I say the girlies love me on Tumblr I also am talking about the hairrest men you could imagine, like just a werewolf of a person. My range has no specificity and I canonically set off geiger counters.

[thebuttsmcgee]

so. um. 👉👈

hi guysies.

Ig I should just say like. Hi

I haven't been posting here as much cause. Idk. Might be depression? I keep thinking its cause I've been so busy, which also wouldn't be not untrue, but these past, like, 3 weeks I think so far? I've had some free time but I haven't cause. I dunno, then again, I haven't been doing too much in general? I gues, besides very mandatory things, hell I've even been lacking in my regular skyrim hours of playing.

That, and as said, I get super melancholic when I remember just how sad and bittersweet it is that t0h is. Actually legit over. The show and experience, that is.

Oh all that and also becuz my headphones broke! Fuck! That's like number 2 in my bare necessities for when I post, do almost anything really! It's seriously been painful this past month going without headphones holy shit. Dude I've been scratching at the bit for some relief for headphones, I NEED music legitimately. Even right now, as I'm typing this on my phone, my music is on low levels.

But yerp. Its been. Rough. Really rough. I really do appreciate yall, everyone of yall. Have a sweet week everyone, ✌️!

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 2

In which you spend the weekend in Miami as Max's personal guest.

Warnings: smut at the end ;) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words (whoops) plus social media posts

Part 1 Master List

(a/n: holy shit you guys absoltely blew up part one (its sitting at 1.7k notes last time i checked in under 3 days??? like WHAT???) so here's the much requested part 2. LMK if you want a part 3! Also going to try something different with the tag list tonight, so bare with me as I figure this out!! xoxo)

You play with the hem of the cornflower blue sundress, nerves ratcheting up another notch when the car pulls into the race track. After you had wrapped up filming the podcast two weeks ago, Max had taken you out to one of his favorite London restaurants where you had spent the next nearly five hours talking about everything and nothing all at once. The only reason you had left was that the staff of the restaurant had started cleaning up around you, literally sweeping up under your feet and turning off the music as you had lingered over the last bits of your dessert together. 

The next day, Max had needed to go back to Milton Keynes to spend some time in the sim ahead of Miami weekend, unable to stay in London with you despite every bone in his body screaming that he didn’t want to leave you. It was weird, almost scary, to him how much space you took up in his thoughts so quickly. He didn’t usually get attached to anyone, much preferring to remain aloof and independent but in the two weeks that passed since he had seen you, he was unable (or unwilling, depending on who you asked, honestly) to think of anything else. The way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you seemed to hang on every word that came out of his mouth simply mesmerized him. 

So now, here you were, two weeks later, moments away from seeing him again. Because while Max was down bad and trying not to blow this, you were also completely smitten with the Dutch driver. You had spent hours editing the first and second part of his episode yourself, something you hadn’t done in years, because you insisted you wanted to keep the integrity of the interview under your total control. Your video editor had seen the way you spoke about Max and just nodded, knowing that there had been something that sparked between you and him and that there would be no arguing about it with you. 

Max is in the garage when he gets the text from you that you’re in the parking lot waiting for him. As luck would have it, he’s just finishing up with some engineering meetings so he’s got some free time. He replies instantly, telling you to wait in the car for him and he’ll be right there. 

“I’m running out for a bit, GP. I’ll be back before FP1.” 

“I mean, you’d better be. Who else is going to get in that car? Horner?” 

Max chuckles, clapping his racing engineer on the back before slipping out the back of the garage. 

Max’s heart stalls when he sees the car you're in, nerves suddenly twisting in his gut. You two had been texting back and forth constantly since he left London the morning after you met. Evenings had been spent on FaceTime together when you could manage, but with your busy schedules it hadn’t been enough for Max. The relief he felt knowing you were less than 100 feet away had him swaying on his feet a bit. 

You knew Max was coming to meet you at the car but it had been a long drive from the airport, so while you waited you decided to stretch your legs. Max watches helplessly from a distance as the rear door on the SUV swings open, your bare legs making his mouth go dry when you hop out out of the car. 

It’s almost as if you sense his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze caressing your bare skin like the touch of a well known lover. It takes you a moment to recover when your eyes lock with his, the look on his face practically a billboard for how excited he is to see you. A wide grin spreads across your face when he starts towards you, heart tumbling down through your toes as he jogs your way. 

“Hi.” He breathes, stopping just short of gathering you up in his arms like he truly wants to. Despite how close you’ve grown over the last two weeks, Max reminds himself that it truly only has been two weeks and he doesn’t want to come on too strong. 

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at finally being in his presence again. “Hey you.” You croon, nearly unable to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms. 

This kind of behavior was as out of character for you as it was for Max. You’d been burned by men in your life that were supposed to be there for you, love you, and protect you and so those walls had been put in place high and strong for years now . Something about Max made you question those defenses, wondering if he was going to be the one to stick around long enough to tear them down. While you tried to remain calm, objective, and aloof it was utterly impossible to act that way when you were around him. 

“How was your flight?” Max stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, nerves turning the tips of his ears pink. He wants you in his arms so badly but didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want you thinking he had only brought you out to Miami this weekend for one thing. Because he hadn’t. He had simply wanted you by his side. 

“Well I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to fly commercial ever again, so I’ll be sending you the bill for all my private flights from now on.” You wink.

“You can use my jet whenever you want, schatje.” 

Your stomach does the same involuntary flip it does whenever he calls you that. At first it had been timid, slipped in at the end of a sentence almost like it was an afterthought or unconscious desire to claim you but as time goes on, Max settles into calling you either that or liefje more often than not. 

“Don’t tempt me.” You grin up at him, knowing that he fully means what he says. He’d absolutely let you use his jet whenever you wanted, all you had to do was ask. 

“So, your timing is really good.” Max nearly reaches for your hand but chickens out at the last minute, settling for just walking you back towards the car that sits idling behind you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I actually have an hour and a half break before I have to be back for the first practice session so I thought I could take you over to the hotel, get you settled in. I booked you your own room, of course and thought you’d maybe like to take a shower or a nap during the first session and then I could have an intern get you so you can watch the sprint quali later this afternoon.” 

Your heart warms at the earnest look on Max’s face. The fact that he’s gone ahead and thought all of this through for you, clearly wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of all while you’re sure he’s overwhelmed with work, softens those well built walls arond your heart a bit more. 

“A shower and a nap does sound good.” 

Max smiles down at you, those blue eyes of his taking in every inch of your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “Good. Lets get you to the hotel then.” 

“Lead the way, Maxie.”  

yourpersonalinsta posted a story

story replies: user9029 girl drop the diet and workout routine plsss yourdad baby girl, i love you but put some clothes on >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too dad! maxverstappen1 are those my socks??? >>>yourpersonalinsta my feet got cold while you were gone playing with race cars. >>>maxverstappen1 i was literally working! and how'd you get into my room??? >>>yourpersonalinsta a lady never reveals her secrets, maxie ❤️ >>>maxverstappen1 i was right, you are trouble >>>yourpersonalinsta i prefer the phrase 'joy to be around'. pls hurry though back. i'm hungry and i may die of starvation in the next twenty minutes if you don't feed me. >>>maxverstappen1 do your fans know you're this dramatic??? >>>yourpersonalinsta why do you think they're my fans?

The rest of Friday blurs together in a watercolor wash of heat, and people, and sounds that you’re utterly exhausted by the time you tumble into your bed late at night.

Alone, thank you very much.

The wine that you had drank at dinner with Max and a few other drivers has heat pooling low in your belly as you watched Max watch you all night. You had wanted to invite him back to your room, but something kept those words from slipping out all night and Max had been the picture of respectable, simply dropping a kiss on your forehead before wishing you goodnight at your hotel room. 

Saturday’s sprint race is just as busy and loud as qualifying had been and by the time it’s over, you’re exhausted, hot, and sweaty. You’re over the moon when Max pulls off the win in the sprint, throwing your arms around his damp neck the moment you see him after his media duties are completed and he finds you waiting for him in front of Red Bull's hopsitality. 

“That was amazing Max. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. You make it all look so easy.” You gush.  

“It looks like you’re my lucky charm now, schatje. Won’t be able to win without you.” 

You smile, cheeks aching a bit at how much you’ve been doing that this weekend. You’ve fit in so well with everyone it’s almost spooky, like your presence was expected and welcomed in the garage, slotting into Max’s world with uncanny ease. 

As you follow Max back to his driver’s room that’s tucked away in the back of hospitality, his hand reaches for yours almost unconsciously. When his fingers twine with yours, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach this week take flight yet again. If this is how you react when he reaches for you, you can’t imagine how you’re going to handle when he finally kisses you properly. 

The hallway is quiet and long, with Max’s room at the end of the corridor. You’re only about half way there when a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, stopping you in your tracks. “Woah.” You whisper, free arm bracing against the wall for support. 

Max turns to you in an instant, his handsome features a mask of concern. “You okay?” 

You blink a few times, trying hard to fight the impending fainting spell you can feel yourself hurtling towards. “I..ummm…I think so?” 

Max all but picks you up in his arms, ushering you the short distance that separates you from his drivers room. “Lets get you sitting down. Have you eaten today?” 

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “Not since breakfast.” 

Max frowns, “That was hours ago, liefje.” 

The room is small with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and closet but it does the job, serving as a quiet respite from the mayhem of the paddock. Max gently leads you over to the navy blue couch. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water and food. The heat in Florida is no joke.” 

You nod, already feeling a little better now that you’re sitting down. Max is gone for several minutes but comes back absolutely laden down with so much food, you can’t help but laugh. “Max, I don’t know who you think I am but I am not a 300 pound body builder.” You say though your giggles. 

Max looks a little embarrassed but just tuts at you, placing the plates (of which there are three) down on the table in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked. You had fish at dinner last night, much to Lando’s dismay, but they’re cooking salmon tomorrow, even though I asked for some today for you.” 

The way your chest squeezes at his ramblings has nothing to do with the headache that’s forming between your eyes and everything to do with the man sitting next to you practically spoon-feeding you a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. You obediently open your mouth when he lifts the fork to your lips, only rolling your eyes a bit at his fussing. “I am an adult, Verstappen. I can feed myself.” You grumble between bites. 

“I know but just humor me.” 

You roll your eyes again but open your mouth, the beet and goat cheese salad actually tasting really good. 

“Good girl.” He coos, setting your thighs squeezing together on their own accord. 

Your eyes flicker up to his at the praise and something passes between you two, a little spark of heat igniting there in the small room. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper after a few more bites, tension hanging thick between you as you're tucked up together on the small couch. 

“Don’t be.” He insists, pushing a bottle of icy cold water into your hands. “I’m just glad I was here to take care of you.” 

“Me too.” You breathe, acutely aware to how close his body is to yours.

The urge to kiss you overwhelms Max, and it's not the first time this weekend this has happened. He’s been fighting the ever strengthening desire to just sweep you up and haul you back to his hotel room since you first stepped out of the Range Rover yesterday afternoon. Truthfully, he’d been wondering what you taste like ever since he’d walked into that recording studio in London.

He couldn’t explain how or why but your sudden appearance in his life seemed like some cosmic shift under his feet, his entire existence adjusting to this new normal of being in your orbit. He’d spent the last two weeks listening to all five years of your podcasts, even finding some old work you’d done in college and with each episode he found himself falling further and further into a rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to climb out of.

Max falls silent then and so do you, a comfortable quiet settling over the room. The spark that had ignited so innocently just minutes before begins to smolder into something that has the energy between you two shifting. Like the entire reason for you being here this weekend had led up to this very moment. 

You break the spell first, leaning in just a fraction closer to Max like he's is the magnet you’re elementally obligated to be attracted to. But Max is equally compelled in his desire to finally find out what you taste like so he closes the gap between your lips and his, mouth grazing yours with the slightest pressure. It starts out as a timid thing, unsure of if it should exist in such a charged atmosphere. Once it gains its footing though, the kiss lengthens and takes on a life of its own. 

You sigh into Max’s mouth like it’s a relief to finally have him kissing you. Max lifts the tips of his fingers to your chin so he can tilt your head upwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss to a more heated pace. Your fingers grip at his Red Bull polo, desperate for something to hold on to while the taste of Max races through your veins. 

Something akin to a purr rumbles in the back of your throat when Max’s hands sift through your hair and it grows a little hotter when he tugs on the ends, forcing your head back so the slender column of your neck is fully exposed to him. You try not to cry when his lips leave yours, unhappy with how you can’t taste him fully anymore, but that disappointment quickly evaporates when he trails open mouthed kisses towards the enticing hollow of your throat. 

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Max murmurs against your heated skin. 

Your head spins at his words. So it hadn’t just been you that had felt the spark that first day. “Max.” His name is a reverent prayer on your lips, urging him to never stop touching you. 

Max thinks he could go the rest of his life without winning another race and he’d still die happy because he’d finally kissed you. “You drive me mad, liefje. I am utterly consumed by you and I have no idea how you slipped this far under my skin so quickly.” 

The words send shivers skittering down your spine and you find yourself leaning into his touch even more, heart hammering wildly against your ribcage. 

A sharp and sudden knock sends you leaping out of Max’s arms so quickly, you nearly fall to the floor. “Holy fuck.” You whisper, hand flying to your lips like they’ve been burned. 

“Christ.” Max breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah?” He calls, voice a strangled mess. 

“Uh…” The hesitation in the person’s voice told you that they knew they had interrupted something. “Max, Christian and GP wanted to go over a few more things before quali.” 

Max touches his forehead to yours, letting loose a breath to steady himself before he can answer. “I’ll be there in five.” He grumbles and you can hear the shuffle of feet retreating moments later. 

“You are going to ruin me, schatje.” Max murmurs, even though he has a feeling he was already ruined. 

You chuckle, rubbing your fingers over your swollen lips. You had never had a first kiss like that, ever. The way your body simply melted around Max like warm butter had your center turning molten. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You joke.

Max just shakes his head and chuckles before his face pulls serious again. 

“How are you feeling? Do you want to stay here and rest or come with me to the garage? I could have an intern take you back to the hotel?” Max lifts his hand so it frames your face, concern flickering across his features. Your chest constricts in the most delicious way when he pulls your hands into his lap. 

“I’m good. I think your kisses may have healing properties actually.” You flirt, gazing at Max from under long lashes. “If I’m not too in the way, I’d like to stay with you.” 

It crosses your mind then, a quick rabbit of a thought, darting across your consciousness that you’ve been so independent for so long, so bent on not relying on anyone for security or safety, only to have the entire rug of your resistantance ripped out from under you. It’s a gooey and warm feeling that you hope isn’t just a flash in the pan, although your gut tells you Max is the real deal. 

You hadn’t given yourself this freely to anyone in so long, panic grips at your throat for a moment, the desperate need to flee suddenly choking you. Just when the panic of what’s transpiring here threatens to pull you under, Max’s cool blue eyes yank you back to him where you belong. 

“I think I’m going to like having you by my side.” His breath fans out over your cheeks, pulling you further out of your tumble.

Max stands, sensing something shifting deep within you then. He saw something pass behind your eyes just then, the delicate shiver of hesitation. He’d been expecting it. No one who was as strong as you were got that way without having a story to tell. He knew that and had known this moment would come. What he hadn’t expected was to watch you pull yourself back from that precipice of panic. It had been a stunning thing to watch, even if the act was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But the way he watched you catch yourself spinning and knit yourself back together without so much as a whisper of a breath made him want to shield you from whatever had caused you the heartache to begin with. 

He holds his hand out to you, which you gladly take, and leads you towards the door while knotting his fingers up with yours. The nerves in your stomach settle with his touch and it sort of scares you, how well this man can read you so soon. This had been the last thing you had ever thought would happen when the man you were falling for walked into your life just 2 weeks ago. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

198,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbull racing, and others yourpersonalinsta omg miami if this is how you introduce yourself to a girl, i can't wait to see how the first date goes! super proud of @/maxverstappen1 for winning the spring race today. next up: quali. user992 girl is auditioning to be the next WAG in the paddock >>>user020 seriously thirsting for nothing but clout this weekend maxverstappen1 told you you'd bring me extra luck this weekend >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ >>>user0093 oh this is interesting user9392 the fact that she was such a genuine fan of the sport before and now she's AT her first race as Max's guest all because of her podcast. i just... >>>user223 now i'm crying, thanks. redbullracing so fun having you in the garage today! excited for sunday! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for having me!

There was just something so enticingly attractive about watching Max race on Sunday that had you feeling embarrassingly needy for him by the time he got you back to his hotel room that night. As you had watched him on the podium that afternoon, you just knew how messy you’d be below him later that night.

“I think your performance this weekend has earned you a reward.” Your rasp, voice a husky whisper in his ear as you glue yourself to him in the elevator that evening.

Max cocks an eyebrow at you while his fingers grip at your hips. “Oh yeah? And what would that be, lifeje?”

“Why don’t you take me back to your room and let me show you.” You lick at his neck, savoring the taste of sweat and champagne that clings to him despite his shower at the track earlier.

Max’s groan is enough of an answer and when the elevator slows, signaling your arrival at his floor, you follow him out into the quiet hallway, giggling when he playfully grabs a handful of your ass.

You had tried to convince yourself the entire drive back to the hotel that this wasn’t how the night was going to end. It was too soon, you thought. This was the first weekend you had spent any time with him and you didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea about you. And then he had spent the entire drive back to the hotel with one hand inching higher and higher up on your bare thigh. His thick fingers traced random patterns on your tanned skin, until the very tips had slipped just under the hem of your dress and all thoughts had eddied right out of your head.

Max, meanwhile, had been thinking of this moment since the second he had climbed out of the car. He didn't want to push you but the need to learn how you sounded when he was buried deep inside you was was out of control.

The moment the door snicks closed behind you, you're shoving Max against the wall, utterly desperate to get your mouth on him. Sinking to your knees in front of him, hands trailing down his torso. Your fingers drag over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, long nails sending a shudder down Max's spine.

"Let me taste you, Max." You moan, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"Please." He begs as he sinks his hands deep into your hair.

You have to stifle a gasp when you free his thick cock from his boxers, pushing the soft cotton down to his ankles along with his jeans. He's already desperatly hard, dick all red and angry with arousal, practically begging you to take it in your mouth.

Max can hardly believe the sight before him. You down on your knees for him, lips mere millimeters from his raging hard-on, was probably the prettiest sight he'd seen in a long time. When you first wrap your lips around the tip, tongue darting out to taste the salty precum that he's already leaking, it takes every ounce of control Max has to not sink deep down your throat.

"Holy fuck, baby." He shudders, fingers gripping your hair even tighter. Max would be lying if he said he hadn't played out this exact scenario several times over the past two weeks, only it had been his own hand fisting his cock instead of your lips.

All you do is hum in response, the vibration of your voice sending sharp new shivers bolting down Max's spine. One hand snakes up his toned thighs, enjoying the thick muscles bunching and flexing as you take him deeper down your throat. Your other hand, however, trails down your own thighs, dipping below the hem of your dress to find your own already ruined panties wet with the arousal Max has already drawn from you.

"You like touching yourslef while you suck me off, pretty girl?" Max's voice is all gravel as his hips snap towards you, forcing you to take him even deeper into your mouth.

You look up at him, eyes watering, thick lashes matted with tears and smile the best you can with your lips wrapped around him. You continue your work, head bobbing up and down on his length, enjoying the way his dick is slick with your saliva, a bit of it dripping down your chin as you take him even deeper. You swear you could spend the rest of the night down on your knees with how good Max feels and tastes in your mouth, your own fingers buried deep inside you. The release you've been wanting all week starts to build and Max begins to feel it too.

Max knows he's not going to last much longer and he doesn't want to come quite yet. Gently he pulls you off, chuckling at the mewl of protest that slips past your lips when he pushes you off of him.

"Max." You whine, wanting nothing more than to swallow his release down your throat.

"Get on the bed, lifeje." He orders.

You scramble to your feet, disappointment at not making him come with your mouth quickly replaced with the anticipation of what you know is coming next. You've tried so hard to resist the fact that you've wanted this since the moment you saw him Friday afternoon but as you lay down on the bed and watch Max stalk towards you like a lion after his prey, all reservations evaporate into thin air. You know deep within your chest that this is what's supposed to happen right now.

"Dress off." He commands and the thrill of being ordered around flashes through you.

You follow his directions before laying back on the pillow, watching as Max reaches behind him back to strip off the sweaty team kit you hadn't bothered taking off before sucking his dick. A sudden wave of vulnerability sweeps over you as Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your bare frame.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on." Max murmurs, sensing your hesitation at being so vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't want you to be nervous, needing you to know how utterly obsessed he is with you. It staggers him when he thinks about how deeply you've dug yourself under his skin in such a short time. You've barely spent longer than a few days together and he's already so deeply lost in you.

"Do something, Maxie." You beg, squirming under his heated stare.

His weight is heavy and delicious when he finally covers your body with his, notching his cock just outside your dripping core. Max reaches down, letting out a heated moan when he feels how wet you are for him. "You are soaked for me, gorgeous girl. God, how did I get so lucky? Have you been like this all fucking day, schatje?"

"Been desperate for you all fucking day, Max." You breath, your hips lifting up off the bed in a needy search for the friction you crave.

"Lets see if we can get you some relief, yeah baby?"

When Max sinks into you for the first time, you can't help the desperately needy whine that escapes from your mouth. His name is a prayer on your lips, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. The stretch of his cock burns in the most delicious way. "So full." You cry as Max's hips meet yours when he slides into you completely.

Max doesn't quite understand how you're so blissfully tight and wet and warm all at the same time but he thinks it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he buries himself in you to the hilt, the base of his dick grinding against your clit. "Fuck, you're to tight around me baby. How do you feel this fucking good?"

You and Max fall into a rhythm, the only sound in the room are the quieted sighs slipping their way from your lips before Max can steal them from your throat. The friction is amazing and before he can quell it, Max feel the lick of fire coiling at the base of his spine, telltale sign that he's about to spill. “Won’t last much longer.” He pants, lips falling to suck at the skin at your neck. 

Max struggles to keep the pace up, diving into you with long, slow strokes that fill you up and empty you out over and over and over. Sweat forms on his brow that was tipped down in concentration and you have to resist the urge to lick it off. Every stroke deep into your pussy fills you up so fully it's almost too much. Too much sensation, too much heat, too much fullness. You can’t help the whines that slip from your lips but Max only encourages them by chanting your name over and over. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos in your ear as your muscles tense beneath him. “You’re doing so good for me, taking it all so good.” 

The praise is almost too much. “Don’t stop.” You beg when his fingers dip down between you to find your clit as he continues to stroke into you. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids. “Holy fuck. Max.” You manage to bite out.

“Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my dick, please baby.” Blinding need consumes Max's entire existence, his full attention focused on the way you clench around him over and over.  

That’s all it takes. The command sends you hurtling over the edge, right into a spine tingling orgasm. Your body goes rigid for a moment under Max's weight but as quick as it starts, a boneless languid feeling sweeps through you as the endorphins flood your system. Your own climax has pushed Max over he edge and he comes hard, groaning in your ear as he rasps your name. 

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the heavy weight of his body on yours. Much too soon, he rolls off and you whimper, instantly feeling empty without him inside you. Max gathers you up in his arms though, the heat of his body quickly warming your chilled skin. Your hand settles on his chest, right over his heart, which is still racing.

“Jesus Christ, shactje.” Max finally breaks the silence, giving my hip a squeeze as he nuzzles into my hair. “You really are going to ruin me.”

maxverstappen1 posted:

838,291 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1: another great weekend with a good haul of points! Thank you Miami, you were good to us. On to the next! user2992 uh, max? care to explain that second photo >>>user92928 is that who I think it is??? yourpersonalinsta had so much fun with you this weekend! can't wait for the next one >>>maxverstappen1 ❤️ >>>user0221 EXCUSE ME. user0022 i ran into them late Sunday night at the hotel and let me tell you...there's nothing PR about their chemistry together. >>>user9288 i fucking KNEW it user05543 anyone else see @/yourpersonalinsta's dad in the likes!?

yourpersonalinsta posted

231,209 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, charlesleclerc and others yourpersonalinsta after this weekend, i think i can consider myself officially a red bull girlie. blissfully excited i got to see a MV1 podium AND sprint win! thank you for letting me into your world @/maxverstappen1. can't wait til next time ❤️ maxverstappen1 gonna need you at every race now that you're my lucky charm. user9282 'thank you for letting me into your world' YOU EXPECT ME TO ACT NORMAL AFTER THAT CAPTION MA'AM??? >>>user7623 kicking my feet and giggling and i'm not even @/yourpersonalinsta omg redbullracing you're welcome in the garage any time!! >>>user9935 even admin has a crush! >>>maxverstappen1 @/user9935 i mean, how can you not??? >>>user9935 omg hi king. glad you know how amazing she is! don't hurt our girl, k??? >>>maxverstappen1 i would never ☺️ (liked by yourpersonalinsta)

maxverstappen1 private stories

story replies: yourpersonalinsta god i look good in navy >>>maxverstappen1 no more ferrari red for you, sweet girl >>>yourpersonalinsta miss you already 😢 >>>maxverstappen1 i know. i'll see you soon, promise >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ danielricciardo excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK >>>maxverstappen1 : 🤭 charlesleclerc oh she's got you using the lip biting emoji. it's over, pack it up boys. MV1 is officially off the market. >>>maxverstappen1 accurate though

@shelbyteller @martygraciesversion381 @anilovessadbooks @formulaal @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[diilchasp]

do y’all ever think about the complexity of everything and just lose your shit

[hemmingsleclerc]

Scandal! pt2┃CL16-MV1

part 2!!! is all yours, thank u sm for the love and support for this work

instagram

ynln has posted a story!

seen by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 3,593,639 others

caption: Day at the beach with my favourite people

charles_leclerc has respond to your story!

can we talk? send 1 hour ago

maxverstappen1

Liked by victoriaverstappen, ynln and others

maxverstappen1 fun day

username yn and him being on the beach....on the same day..

username ugh stfu they're not dating

username max with his sister and mom 🥺

username so cute!

f1_gossip

Liked by 592,285 others

f1_gossip This afternoon Y/N uploaded a story to her Instagram account in which only she appeared on the beach, but her mother uploaded a video to her stories this afternoon where you could see Y/N, Max and Y/N's little sister, relaxing in the water. But Max uploaded a post where his family was seen right there, letting us understand that both families went out for a little getaway! Could it be that both drivers are in some type of relationship? What do you think?

username let them enjoy in peace!!

username omg they're so cute

username wait what?! omg

twitter

instagram

f1

Liked by 863,672 others

f1 Our favourite paddock couples in today's race!

username well, charles is jumping of joy

username leclerc's a little happy there isn’t he

username all couples happy and together and then there's charles and aurora walking one meter away from each other

redbullracing

Liked by 749,193 others

redbullracing Imo 👉LAAAAAAAA 🎶 yn and max have arrived!

username yn and lewis=best dressed of the grid

username someone looks happy after spending a whole day on the beach 👀

cha_yn

Liked by 829,573 others

cha_yn the fact that I thought these two were gonna get married kills me

username does anyone know why they broke up?

username They never clarified anything but it was all very sudden tbh, but some say that there were rumors of infidelity on his part.

username wait, I thought it was bc things weren't working out but they never stopped loving each other, but I really don't know why just a month later he was seen with Aurora

username I smell a PR relationship from the ferrari team

username holy shit I never thought about that! It really doesn't seem like Charles is happy to be around his ''girlfriend''....

username I'm a child of a divorce

username I will never forget when Y/N won a race and Charles ran out of his car to go congratulate her and it was the first time we saw them kiss in public.

f1

Liked by 1,384,694 others

f1 Red Flag 🚩

Charles Leclerc crashes into Max Verstappen on lap 15 ending the race for both drivers

username 💀💀

username It was clearly seen how leclerc threw the car at max

username THE BEEF BETWEEN THESE TWO TF

f1_gossip

Liked by 946,284 others

f1_gossip OH MY GOD! After the accident between the Ferrari and the Red Bull, a completely angry Max went to look for Leclerc and fans captured the moment when Max started pushing and yelling at Charles. Was all this simply because of the race or something else?

The FIA ​​is still investigating the accident but in the meantime, who do you think was at fault?

username charles for sure

username idk man but I think verstappen

username LECLERC IT WAS SO OBVIOUS

username Max always ruins a driver's race, it's nothing new tbh

username Call me crazy but could it be that Charles was angry to see that Max and Yn were together on the beach yesterday? Now I'm gonna shut up

username WAIT

f1

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 1,355,124 others

f1 YN LN WINS THE GRAND PRIX!! THIS IS HER FIFTH CONSECUTIVE VICTORY AND THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY THAT A FEMALE DRIVER ACHIEVED THIS

username She shut up all those men who said she was going to last two races at most.

username I love women being successful

maxverstappen1 👏👏

ynupdates

Liked by ynln and 284,483 others

ynupdates Max congratulating yn for her win today!! They're so cute

username the fact she liked the post 🥺🫶🏻

username he's so green flag

username He didn't walk, he ran to congratulate her

twitter

instagram

f1_gossip

Liked by 947,538 others

f1_gossip oh, my. It's official, charles and aurora both unfollowed each other, please let's make a toast

charles_leclerc has posted a story!

seen by maxverstappen1, ynln, and 5,483,694 others

Messages

ynln

Liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,895,548 others

ynln yeah my bf's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

jk he's cool asf, he’s a 3 times wc 🤭

maxverstappen1 hell yes I am

maxverstappen1 I love u my love😍

username I FUCKING KNEW IT

username damn that's a hot ass couple I see

username MAX CAN YOU FIGHT!??!!?

maxverstappen1 yes I can, and I already have for that woman

username: oh yeah right, with leclerc, I forgot, my bad💀

comments have been limited for this post

okey so I did my best, I'm sorry if u don't like it :( but! I'm happy if u did. As you voted Max was the endgame for this so yeah!

taglist

@ilivbullyingjeongin @piceous21 @humongouscatfest

@callsignwidow @barcelonaloverf1life @happyyaay

@leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @raizelchrysanderoctavius

@toldyouitwasamelodrama @jaydaaasworld @love-simon

@annesunlight @forevercaffeinated-lee @gabys-gabs

@spookystitchery @marvelfangirl04 @acutely-autistic @under-seasoned-pasta

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

The fact both have robo dogs makes it EVEN BETTER

I don't see the differences

I mean yeah

[jarofstyles]

❛ come in me. i need you to fill me up. ❜

JEJE

This is late 😭 I wrote this a few days ago and forgot to post it… but it’s from the dialogue prompts I reblogged a bit ago and I felt like writing something!! 😃 and it’s dirty of course

This is from Illicit universe if you want to imagine that, or could be a standalone ❤️ and it’s pure filth

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, the usual filth

——

Y/N mewled as she felt his cock filling her up. thorough, deep, hot, her face felt hot as he pressed down on her tummy. “Holy fuck.” The whimper resonated through their bedroom, along with the wet slap of skin and the soft sound of her little gasps and his grunts.

Harry's eyes rolled back as he felt her clenching around his cock, the sound of her mewling and whimpering driving him wild. It always did. He gripped firmly, fucking into her with his deep thrusts. Feeling every inch of her was what he needed more than anything. "Fuck, baby… fuck, I needed you." Harry's eyes rolled back, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he felt his cock filling her tight, wet pussy over and over again. It had been too long without it. He liked his job, but being away from her for business trips was becoming increasingly hard. Keeping his hand pressed firm on her stomach, his eyes refocused as her tits bounced with each thrust.

His length felt thick inside of her, stretching her cunt to its limits. It had been weeks since he’d been inside of her and it was showing with how she felt when he pushed inside. With each thrust, he filled her up completely, making her feel full to the brim with his hot, throbbing prick. The goal was always to make her feel good, full, satiated.

“Did you miss it?” Y/N panted, peering up at him with a loaded gaze. “Did you miss my cunt while you were away, H?”

Harry groaned at the dirty talk, his cock twitching inside of her. “Shit, angel... So much. You’ve got no fuckin’ idea. I couldn't stop thinking about it." He shifted his hips, changing the angle and hitting a particularly sensitive spot that made her gasp and tighten around him even more.

“What did you think about?” she needed to know. their phone sex hadn’t been as frequent as she wanted, but he was making it up to her now. Giving her exactly what he knew she’d need.

Harry's breath hitched as he thought back to their phone calls. They were good, anything was with his love, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Flesh against flesh, the taste, the sounds… "I thought about fucking you in the shower, bending you over the sink and pounding you out until the water turned cold." He thrust harder, the headboard jostling a bit as he looked down at the pretty cunt he had missed so desperately. “Had the perfect bathroom and no pretty little slut t’fuck full. S’a goddamn shame…”

“Shit.” Y/N whined, wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. “I know you hate wasting cum, baby. M’sorry I wasn’t there for you to have when you got worked up. Next time you’ll just have t’take me with you.”

Harry grunted, making a note of that. No trips for that long without her again. He would have to ensure she was there next time. Pay for her his damn self if they cared about him taking a plus one. Clingy? Maybe. But she was his god damn soul mate and he needed her. "I fucking hate it when you're not there, Y/N. I end up jerking off in the shower, imagining it's your tight little cunt I'm fucking." His lips ghosted hers. “It all belongs inside of you.”

Y/N's back arched off the bed, her nails digging into Harry's back as he thrust into her harder and spoke dirty words to her. Hazy eyes glazed over with pleasure at his words. Her legs pulled him closer, trying to get deeper, deeper, deeper.

“Put it in me then.” She coaxed. “I missed it just as much. Hate feeling empty.” Her body loved every single bit of him, getting off on the mere grazes of his fingers but the desperation he showed had her dripping around him. Call her selfish but she wanted everything. “Cum in me. Need you t’fill me up. Give me what you’ve been holding back.” She mewled. “I want it.”

Harry's control snapped at her words, his body reacting to the request before his brain could connect. It wasn’t his normal, but the combination of how good she felt, how long it had been and her words had shot the target. He slammed into her one last time before stilling deep inside her. His hips jerked a few times as he unloaded his heavy balls deep into her spasming cunt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! M’sorry baby, I couldn’t hold it.” He slurred, body shaking slightly, mouth slack. Her orgasm usually came first, but she had triggered it without giving him warning. “I jus’ fucking missed you so much…”

Harry's cum shot deep into her, filling her cunt to the brim with hot, thick ropes of his essence. It overflowed slightly from around their joined bodies, running down her ass and onto the bed. Filthy, messy, completely them. His cock twitched and throbbed inside of his girl, each pulse sending another spurt of cum deep into her, filling the primal need. He panted, kissing her between inhales as his cum continued to ooze out of her. “M’sorry baby. I’ll take care of you in a second.”

Arms wrapped around Harry, holding him close as she pulled his face against her neck. Soft strokes to his hair followed whispered soothing words as he caught his breath. In all honesty? She found it incredibly hot that he had lost control like that, pouring his heart and cum into her without hesitation. It was a compliment. “It’s okay, baby.” Comforting him was instinct. “I know you’ll take care of me. wanted your cum so bad anyway…” She kissed the side of his head, letting him catch his breath. “Think you have some more for me?”

Greedy, greedy. Always needy. It’s something he utterly loved about her.

Harry groaned against her neck before slowly pulling from her heated channel. White cum dribbled down her ass as he grinned sheepishly at her question. “Maybe.” He gave her a sly little smile, licking his lips as she pulled his mouth down for a kiss. “Let me clean you up with my tongue n’food and give you your own orgasm first. Need you t’be taken care of.”

[mimasroom2]

Hot tub time ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

Ellie x reader modern au/slice of life

I have a hot tub but we need to get it fixed. I’m literally so eager so I wrote this LMAO. I LOVE SLICE OF LIFE ELLIE X READER SM!! Expect a bunch more, I have so many ideas written down😚 Im so sappy grrrr,,, I already wrote kinky ass sex so here’s soft sex for u guys😋

C/w: smut lol. Ellie + reader have their own house YAHOO! A bit of fluff in this one >•<. Au but Joel is still dead 😞. He’s mentioned like once. Cunnilingus😝 (r! Receiving) I feel so awkward using y/n like seriously and unironically ahhhh.

W/c: 2.4k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

“I’m actually so fucking bored I’m gonna gouge my eyes out.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Ellie is always so damn dramatic. You glance over and she’s pretending to pull her hair out, large fistfuls in each hand.

You playfully shove her, “Okay, shut up Ellie.” And you both laugh. It was winter, and she was right… sadly. There was nothing to do during this time of year. Well, besides stay in and cuddle. The only problem was.. you’ve already done that. You two were both off work for the holidays, and you’ve already spent the wholeeeee vacation laying in bed together, so you guessed that Ellie wanted to do something a little more active.

“Wanna play Mario kart? I think the switch is in the bedroom.” You try suggesting, absentmindedly rubbing her leg.

“Nah,” she stretches her arms out on the couch, “Somethin’ more like physical yknow. Gotta keep these pretty muscles toned.” She winks at you, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re actually such a gym rat, you should just live there at this point.” You smirk to yourself, examining your nails.

“Maybe if I did I wouldn’t constantly trip on all the shit you leave around here.” Ellie remarks back, lightly kicking you on the knee.

“Hey, I keep it pretty clean considering we both share a room, thank you very much.” You cross your arms and huff.

Ellie gasps and starts kicking you more, so you yelp and start shoving her away. Suddenly she stops, holding out both her hands. “Holy fuck, babe. Yknow what I forgot about?”

“Huh.”

“Hot tub.”

You sit up at lighting speed, “OH DAMN YOURE RIGHT!” You actually can’t believe you forgot about that thing. You try to remember the last time you even used it.. must have been last summer. The hot tub was one of things that you’re OBSESSED with at first, but then you use it one too many times and you forget about it for a couple months. And then the cycle continues.

Ellie leaps off the couch and bolts down the hall. “GET YOUR SWIMSUIT ON WE ARE GOING IN!!”

~

You come outside and see Ellie lifting up the top of the hot tub. The whole things underneath a roof outside, so there’s not much snow in the porch where you two are standing, but it’s still really cold. You look up at the sky. The sun is starting to set, it’s been a little over an hour since you two had dinner. Delicious deer soup that Ellie made from when she went hunting a couple days ago. You always said that if Ellie was stuck in a post apocalyptic world, she would survive.

You suddenly remember the cold air hitting you, breaking you out of your thoughts of your girlfriend. You shiver, and pull the robe you’re wearing tighter around your body. You glance over at Ellie still messing with the top of the hot tub. All Ellie’s wearing is her classic swimsuit: plain black top and swim shorts. Her tattoo flexes as she finally pops the top off and turns the hot tub on.

You jump up and down in your slippers, trying to move to stay warm. “Ellieeee how much longer?”

She reaches down into the water and starts poking around at the buttons and jets. “Hold your horses, y/n, I gotta check all the filters n shit. Haven’t used this in a hot minute.”

“Mmmm I know but it’s cold.” You groan in protest. You know damn well you’re being a brat, but you swear you’re not built for any weather too hot or too cold.

“Well you wanna shut up and help me? Make it go by faster..” She looks up at you and you shake your head vigorously. “Yeah thas’ what I thought.” She smirks at you.

After what felt like foreverrrrr in the cold, Ellie turns the jets on and says you can hop in. There’s steam coming off the water as it hits the cold air. You can barley wait, you’re hyping the hot tub up in your mind. It’s something that feels like a luxury to you. The only thing that can make you stop thinking about your precious hot tub is your precious Ellie. You look up at her and get butterflies, even though you two have been dating for about 2 years now. She looks soooo beautiful, just standing there, folding up the tarp from the tub. You shake your head, thinking it’s so damn stupid to be drooling over your girlfriend who’s literally just standing there, doing the most mundane possible thing.

Some snow falls on top of your head so you brush it off. It’s getting too cold for you. You lick your lips, turning around to shed your rob, you’re still slightly shy undressing in front of Ellie, even though you’re still in a swimsuit. You hang your cute pink robe up on the hook where the towels you brought out are.

Turning back around to head into the tub, you see Ellie with her back towards you, messing around with the water guns from last summer. You check her out unapologetically, looking at her ass before you snap into reality again and take your slippers off to step into the hot tub. The hot water feels like it burns your skin, compared to the cold winter air. You take a couple minutes slowly sliding more of your body deeper into the water.

Ellie turns around, with one water gun still in her hand. “Feel alright, babe? Not too hot?”

You sink in deeper, up to your neck, “Mm feels good.” And then rise up again slowly, “Come in, Els. I’m gettin’ bored in here.”

“Oh yeah?” She closes one eye and lifts up the gun, suddenly shooting a short stream of cold ass water at you. “Not so bored now, huh?” She laughs and walks closer to you.

Your jaw drops and you scream when the water hits you, “ELLIEEEEE WHAT THE FUCKKKK!”

“What?” She fakes a pout, lowering the water gun. “I told you I gotta keep these muscles in good shape, right?”

Before you can retort, she’s already getting in the hot tub. “God, shove over. I’m freezing.” She accidentally splashes you as she’s hastily getting in.

“Ellieeeee! Don’t splash me! >~<“ you whine, but she just laughs, and this time splashes you on purpose. You sigh dramatically at all her antics.

She doesn’t reply, and just sinks in deeper, and you take no shame in watching her stretch her body out. Ellie groans slightly at the hot water enveloping her body. You sigh and blink at her, watching her eyebrows furrow. She slowly leans her head back against the headrest of the hot tub. You swear she’s egging you on, because she moans softly, giving you the perfect view of her neck, which she knows is your favorite place to kiss her. Suddenly, Ellie opens her eyes and says something that breaks you out of the trance you’ve had all day, “You keep lookin’ at me. What’s goin’ on?”

You let yourself float away from her in the water ever so slightly, “Nothing. I’m not looking at you.”

“Yknow I can like,,, feel your eyes burning into my back whenever you stare at me.”

You cover your face with your hands and

face away from her. She laughs to herself. She finds it so cute you still get flustered around her even after all this time you’ve been together.

“That’s too bad because I’m reallyyyy not looking at you.”

Instead of a snarky remark back, Ellie’s abnormally silent. You slowly bring your hands down to face her again, and she’s just looking at you with this look in her eyes. You think it’s somewhere in between concern and contemplation. “You trust me, right?” She says softly, after a few moments. You’re surprised, this is probably the quietest Ellie’s ever been with you.

“Of course I do. What’s wrong, Ellie?” Her tone is completely different than what you’re used to. This only happens on the rare occasion you guys have a disagreement. Or when you talk about something serious.

“Jus’ don’t want you thinking I’m gonna leave you.” She says, almost ashamed. She’s fidgeting with her fingers like how she always does, and avoiding your gaze.

You laugh softly. “Were you….. going to?” You can feel your heart rate speeding up.

Ellie’s eyes widen, “No. no no no.” She sighs, slowly, taking a few moments to collect her thoughts. “I get scared thinking about the future.” She mutters.

You look up at her. You knew Ellie gets scared. Of course she does. When she told you about Joel dying on what, your second date, you knew she’s not as… sturdy.. as she pretends to be sometimes. But that was in the past, and to hear Ellie admit she is worried about her own life ahead of her.. honestly made you surprised.

“Like.. I just want you to know that I’m always gonna be here for you.” She looks so concerned, like she might cry if you guys talk about this for any longer. She’s still looking down, trying to make herself smaller.

“Oh, Ellie.” You raise your hand up and softly tilt her chin to look at you. “I know. Okay? And nothing bad is gonna happen to you. Or me. Or us.”

She looks into your eyes for a second, before she gently tucks your hair behind your ear, leans in, and kisses you.

The kiss is as soft as she’s been talking - all emotion and thought as her lips move slowly against yours. She puts her hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. You sigh into the kiss. She was so tender with you right now. You were so used to fervent and desperate make out sessions with her. Not that that was bad, at all, but you didn’t realize how nice of a change this was until it was happening. You grab her waist, pulling her in closer to you. All of her is so soft and warm against you: her lips, tattooed arm, thighs.. and not just because you two were in the hot tub.

She pulls away to look at you, and you want to melt from the look on her face. She looks like she’s actually in heaven.

“I really love you.”

You smile softly at her, tracing over her tattoo lightly with your finger. “I love you too.” You pull her back into a kiss. After a couple more minutes, she’s more intent with her movements, like how she usually is. She’s not afraid to run her hands over your thighs and squeeze you nipple under your swimsuit.

You gasp at the sudden contact, and moan a little into her mouth.

She pulls away, “Cmon, baby. Need more of that.” and kisses you again, almost immediately licking your bottom lip, asking for entrance. She’s not as soft anymore, back to her usual self wanting to make you moan in pleasure as she works your body. You don’t even try fighting for dominance, just letting her tongue dance around yours as she pleases.

“Ellie…” is all you have to say, and she understands, shifting her position to let you have more of her. You want to press yourself down onto her, and please you both at the same time. You lift your legs up, trying to hook them around her, but you start floating away in the water. You’re not even going fast, it’s so comical how slow the jets are pushing you. You snort and reach out to grab Ellie’s hand.

“Ohmygod!” Ellie starts laughing and she grabs your hand, “Can’t exactly scissor in the water, I guess.” You blush and scoff at how forward she can be.

“Cmere. Let’s get ya propped up.”

You untie the knots on you bikini bottoms to take them off, tossing them somewhere you’ll pick up later. She grabs your hand and gently guides you to sit on the edge of the hot tub, on one of the corners so you don’t lean back and fall off. She brings your arm down to her face, and kisses you on the back of the hand. You smile and giggle. You swear you feel like a little girl again. You’re a princess and Ellie is your prince. You glance up at the sky - the sun is setting. An array of orange and pinks.

Ellie’s below you, turning down the jets of the tub a little, and getting into her favorite position: right between your thighs. You really couldn’t ask for a more perfect fantasy if you tried.

“This okay?” She asks, lightly rubbing your thigh with her thumb.

“Yes,” you breathe out, “please, Ellie.”

From where she is, you’re practically a goddess towering above her. You feel powerful and confident, and fucking desperate, wanting Ellie to just devour you already.

Ellie only hums in response before kissing your clit. You gasp sharply, you swear no matter how many times she eats you out you could never get used to the heavenly feeling. Her tongue starts lapping you up, and you moan loudly. You silently thank the neighbors for never being outside late during the winter, and that the hot tub is reasonably private, so no one can see you.

Maybe it’s just the cold frigid night air in comparison to Ellie’s warm, wet mouth, but you swear this is some of the best head she’s ever given you. Ellie never stopped licking and kissing at your clit - eventually she didn’t know if you were shaking from the sex or shivering because of the cold, but either way, she could tell from the volume of your moans that you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Mmmmmm- gonna cum soon..”

Ellie just nods, her face still buried into you. You can feel her cute little nose bumping up against you, and both her hands are up on your knees, spreading your thighs open for her.

She knows you’re close when you start whimpering and gasping for air.

“Ohmygod ohmygod Ellie,, fuck- you’re gonna make me cum..”

As soon as you warn her you’re throwing your head back, and your hips snap up as your orgasm takes over you. She keeps licking you clean until your breathing slows and you let yourself sink back down into the hot water.

You can’t even think of anything to say, so you grab Ellie’s arm and wrap it around you, as a way to ask her to cuddle you.

“Always such a cuddle bug after you cum..” Ellie mutters, mostly to herself, as she rests her head on yours.

You just chuckle and look up into the sky as the sun finally sets. You sigh in and out the cold winter air. Ellie kisses the top of your head, whispering one more ‘I love you’ as she pulls you closer into her arms.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[memewhore]

This is Bishop. I adopted him two weeks ago. The feral cats outside are doing fine - I was going to adopt at least one of them but the shelter I'm working with to get them fixed and re-released back here posted a final plea for someone to adopt Bishop that day or his fosters were going to have to release him outside as a barn cat. But he seeks out humans and they really didn't want him to be outside. So since I had everything ready to take in a cat, I thought, "Well, I'll just shoot them a message and see what comes of it". They delivered him to me 2 days later. He was scared and spicy at first from being confined to a garage but only 2 weeks later he's a completely different cat. He's also huge - around 15 pounds! He walked out of the carrier and I said, "Holy shit!" lol.

Look at his massive shoulders 😮❤️

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .3 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 9.9k (holy shit) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, seungcheol featuring!! y/n does like kinda get hurt (you'll see) but nothing like bad, a lot of crying?? sorry i make y/n cry so much, ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this like three days ago but i just finished the last part so here you go!! sorry sorry sorry for the delay! 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 

The palace feels extraordinarily wistful tonight. 

His coat trails after him in the dark of the night. He shouldn’t be awake at this hour. It’s unhealthy, or whatever Hoshi had told him for the years when he was on the battlefield. He couldn’t help it. It was a coping mechanism of sorts. His mind would spend the day experiencing everything that happens and would spend the night sorting and processing through each and every event. And on those days where the empty company of his desolate, cold commander’s tent seemed too loud, he would take a long evening stroll around the camp grounds, brushing it off as an evening check-up on the midnight-round soldiers who seemed more asleep than himself. 

He thought the systems of his mind would have adapted to Society’s peace by now. 

Apparently not, because he found himself in a random hallway in the royal palace, thin rays of the moon streaming in through the windows and the midnight air chilling him, even through his layers. 

He hasn’t ever seen the palace so silent before. 

When he was younger, running the hallways of the palace with Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Hoshi, he had always remembered it to be bright, sunny, almost over-crowded with laughter and giggles from the maids and royal court officials who would pass by the halls frequently. Now, in the cover of a twilight moon and a midnight blanket of stars, the palace was almost eerily, strangely quiet. Silent, almost. Each flickering lantern casts soft yellow shadows along the stone and tapestry walls, illuminating the bare minimum of each section of the hallways. 

He prefers it like this, he thinks. Alone. 

Alone with the clangs and clashes of swords. Alone with the cries and yells of his far-away officers, now sleeping peacefully, forever. Alone with the tears that were spilled on off-handed solitary nights over old parchment letters. Alone with the burden of duty that seems to haunt him wherever he goes. 

He turns a corner. 

He prefers it this way. And maybe he was-

He stops in his weary tracks. 

He notices her fluttering hair first. First her dark hair that flutters with the icy winter wind from the opened window that she leans against. Then her rather thin-looking shawl that leaves nothing of her nightgown up to anyone’s imagination. And then lastly, how the moonlight shines an ethereal glow upon her face, tilted up towards the stars, lost in thought. Her posture is tense, almost as if she is expecting something to jump out of the shadows at this hour of the night. 

Well, him, technically, he guesses. But still. 

He stands, rooted to his place, as she shivers with a small breeze. One side of her shawl slips down her shoulder, but she makes no move to adjust it back up her shoulder. Almost as if she does not notice it. Her hands remain folded in front of her on the windowsill. A small hand-held lantern rests almost forgotten on the corner. 

He hesitates. Every fiber of his body begs for him to take a step closer – to take in her perfume again, to run his fingertips down her porcelain skin again, to make up for the time he had given up. 

Joshua’s words ring in his ears. 

If you really like her, you would do something. 

He takes a step closer. 

“It’s late.” 

Y/n whips around, a hand on her chest and another on the windowsill, surprised by the sudden sign of another person. The way her face slightly falls as she turns back to the window pinches Wonwoo’s heart. 

“It seems the palace is enduring a restless night,” she replies. But her words are clipped – voice soft and light but tone careful. As if she is afraid of him getting too close. 

Wonwoo takes another step, then another, and then another, until he stands behind her, leaving just enough room for another person. His eyes dart to her hands that rest against the ledge. There are white bandages, starkly contrasting against the dark stones of the palace walls, that wrap themselves around her hands. His brows furrow. 

His chest tightens. He feels his hands close into fists at his side. He tries to keep his voice casual – keep his worry from seeping in too much with his words, “What happened to your hands?” 

Y/n stiffens as her gaze drops. Her hands slowly move in to tuck into the folds of her thin shawl. “Nothing worth mentioning,” she murmurs. 

Wonwoo tries his best to force down some sort of disappointment at her short response. Her obvious attempt at pushing him away. 

For a good reason, too. 

No. 

Fix this. 

Another breeze drifts through the opened window. Y/n shivers, tightening her hold over her shawl. 

Before he can even think through his actions, Wonwoo’s hands are reaching for his coat. In the next second, when he finally realizes what he is doing, his coat is already over y/n’s shoulders, draping it over her bare skin. In a desperate attempt to prolong his distance, his fingers linger on her shoulders, smoothening the fabric over the curve. 

“It’s cold,” he murmurs. He waits for her rebuke, a snark, a comment, or a shove of his coat to his chest, but it never comes. Instead, he sees her fingers curl around the fur and pull it tighter around her. Something, deep inside of him, lights in a proud flame, seeing her draped in his furs. 

Y/n suddenly scoffs. “Is this part of your duty too?” Wonwoo easily picks up on the bitterness her voice is laced with. 

As much as Wonwoo tries to ignore the underlying stab at him, her words still sting. The words are laced with a certain pain he wished he could erase. Instead, he has become the cause of it. 

Fix it. 

“Not everything I do is duty,” Wonwoo pauses, unsure of whether to continue, “your grace.” 

Y/n stills, before a laugh is ripped from her throat. It sounds so genuine Wonwoo is almost taken aback. “What did you just call me?” she huffs, giggles flowing out of her mouth she tries to stop. 

Wonwoo can’t help the smile that spreads across his own lips at her laughter. “Your grace?” 

Why was that funny?

“God,” y/n sighs, turning to finally look at him over her shoulder. Her cheeks are a rosy red and her lips are glossed, eyes wishful for a second. “I’ve never heard you call me that before.” 

Wonwoo perks up. “Do you prefer me call you that?” 

Y/n shakes her head almost vehemently. “God, no. That would be terribly formal,” she argues. 

Wonwoo cocks his head. “But you call me that, y/n.” 

She freezes, laughter dying in her throat. “That’s-” she clears her throat, “That’s different.” 

And just like that, she stands away from him, expression guarded again. 

A blanket of silence falls between them before Wonwoo breaks it. 

“Everything I do is not just duty.” His words are firmer this time. Rooted deeper in his own conviction. 

She looks at him, eyes unreadable again. “Am I?” her voice is soft, almost as if she’s testing him. 

The question, oddly vulnerable, hangs heavy in the air – fragile and sharp. She looks especially delicate at this moment. As if one wrong word from his mouth can break her from the inside. His heart tugs painfully at the anguish he can puzzle together in her eyes. He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between them. His eyes hold hers and he wonders if she can see the longing swimming in his eyes. 

“Am I, Wonwoo?” she repeats. Every utterance of his name falling from her sweet, saccharine lips makes him feel like he’s falling for her again. 

“No,” he shakes his head. He tries to weave in every ounce of conviction into his next words, “No, y/n, you’re not.” 

They stand in silence. Y/n against the windowsill, Wonwoo in front of her. For a moment, he feels as though the silence can convey everything he had ever wanted to say to her. They stand in silence, their breaths mingling in the cold night air. Wonwoo stares into her eyes, his metal-frame glasses slipping down his nose. Her cheeks are flushed and he can’t help but think how breathtaking she looks – haloed by the moonlight, wrapped in his coat, hair cascading down, strands tickling her face. 

She breaks eye contact first, glancing down at the coat that wrapped her shoulders. “You left, Wonwoo.” When she looks back up, her eyes seem glassy, glazed over with unshed tears she refused to let out. 

Wonwoo’s throat tightens at her expression. She seems so pained. So frightfully alone that he wants to pull her in an embrace – gather her up in his arms and never let her go. Never let her go. A voice nags in the back of his mind. 

See? No good for her. You're making her cry. Fucking again. 

“Y/n,” he trails off, hand reaching for her before he physically has to force it down. Now, he is the one whose gaze drops. “Fuck, don't look at me like that,” he mumbles. 

Y/n lets out a bitter sort of laugh. “Like what, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo looks up and he can't help but feel a thick pressure behind his eyes. “I never meant to- to cause you pain,” he tries to explain, but his voice catches on the lump in his throat. “I- I have never wanted to cause- to be the cause of your- your misfortunes. Or your pain. I've only ever wanted to-” he cuts himself off. Eyes pained. If he says this now, y/n would probably scoff in his face. 

I've only ever wanted you, he wants to say, but he bites it down. 

There is now something else in her eyes. He can see it for a split second before it disappears back into the depths of her irises. When he searches her eyes for it again, she suddenly seems so vulnerable. As if she is finally letting him in. 

“I was sincere,” he starts, stepping ever so slightly closer, “at the ball.”

Y/n lets out a huff. “Before or after you kissed me?” Her face is hard again and Wonwoo wants to curse himself out. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “No, um,” he swears under his breath, “before I-” his cheeks heat and he averts his gaze, “-I kissed you,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” she says, “fat amount of good you kissing me did.” 

Wonwoo winces. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes. “I really am. I just-” 

Y/n suddenly covers his mouth with her hand. She shakes her head. “Stop talking.” She reaches for her lantern. “Come talk to me after you've sorted out your own thoughts, your grace.” She turns down the hall. “You said you do not view me as a duty?”

Wonwoo nods. “Yes, of course.”

Y/n gives him one look over her shoulder. Even then, Wonwoo cannot help but swallow at how his coat envelopes her figure. 

Her eyes seem more desolate in the shadows of the hall. “Then why does it feel that way?” she whispers before she turns and walks away, down the hall. Away from him. 

Again. 

y/n

It is by pure coincidence that you hear your name outside of Sungcheol’s study a couple of days after your rather forced midnight escapade with Wonwoo. 

However, it is by your choice that you stay, ear pushed up against the rather thin oak doors that are slightly ajar, a soft yellow light seeping out, listening into a conversation that apparently concerns you. 

“...marriage to …” 

Your brows furrow at the words. Marriage? Why did marriage have anything to do with you? And then you remember it’s Seungcheol. Him and his obsession with seeing you marry before he gets married. Before he opens the entirety of your powers. At this point, after everything, you might as well turn in a resignation letter or something, because you weren’t quite sure how you were supposed to survive high Society after the event a week ago. 

And you know. You’re listening to a private conversation of two men, one of whom is the king. But you couldn’t help yourself. It was like something rooted you to your position, brows furrowing as you tried to pick up all the words. 

“But why?” The voice sounds oddly familiar. “You’re not married. I’m not …marriage … who?” The sentence is chopped up but you can loosely string together a translation in your head. 

You recognize Seungcheol’s frustrated sigh. “Friend,” he mutters, “Wonwoo,” he groans. 

You freeze. 

The world around you comes to a standstill. 

You want to laugh at your continued stroke of misfortune. You and your fate’s delectable horrid need for pushing you towards someone you swore off years ago.  

“You can’t keep running from this. The elders want you to get married – preferably to someone with equal or around the same standing as you,” Seungcheol continues, and you feel your chest tighten. This feels like a page out of one of your conversations with the king. “I’m not even going as far as saying a love marriage, Woo. I cannot give you full title and power over your duchy until you do, you know this. An arranged one, a contractual one, a construct only, I don’t care.” It sounds so familiar it gives you shivers. “Just get married. If not to y/n, then to someone else. I’m not saying this again, Woo. Last time was your first warning from the council elders. This is your second from me.” 

“... I can’t. Cheol do you know how hard it is to get-” 

“-yes. I do. But you cannot take on the full title and powers without it, Wonwoo. I cannot control that.” 

A groan. Your foot taps against the floor. “I don’t know who-”

“-Y/n.” 

Seungcheol’s utterance of your name makes your heart stop in its cage of ribs. Your mouth goes dry and you finally realize the gravity of the conversation you just walked yourself into. 

Why doesn’t he ever just close his door when talking to someone?

“You know as well as I do, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol continues, a rare softness in his tone, “that the title of Archduke Jeon isn’t simply yours by name. The council has strict expectations—and right now, they expect you to marry.” He says the entire thing so matter-of-factly that you can’t even protest against it. Well, that and the fact that the exact thing was happening to you, but perhaps maybe less. Just a little bit. 

“Was all of that night because of your marriage?” Seungcheol asks. 

You backstep, blood running cold. 

What? 

Wonwoo’s next words almost tear your unassuming heart into shreds. 

“... it was.” His voice is hard. “My claim … based … marital status…” 

Seungcheol sighs. The noise shakes you to your core. 

There was absolutely no way a human could be this cruel. No way he could ever be this cruel to you. You had to mean more to him than just another duty he had to fulfill. You had to because if you weren’t even the smallest parts of you that had waited for him during the mundane pieces of life would seem so meaningless. So hellbent on your societal ousting. 

You had to be hearing something wrong. 

“Whatever you have with y/n…”

“...nothing.” 

You hear a chair scrape. It scrapes with it the remnants of your heart. You can hear it shatter onto the floor again, the pieces now so small you cannot be bothered to pick them up. There are pieces that lodge in the corners of your lungs, blocking blood vessels as cells carry oxygen into your head. Your hand grasps the wall in a desperate attempt to ground yourself

What did you even expect?

Seungcheol clicks his tongue. “You have a duty, Wonwoo. If not to yourself, then to this country, to the ducal people, to your king.” You hear the scatterings of paper. “And I advise that you fulfill that before you move on to more ambitious fulfillments.” 

That was what you were. Fulfillments. A solution for his aggravating empty ducal responsibilities. 

That was everything you were in their eyes. No, in his eyes. In his eyes, you were a means to an end. A sense of duty he felt that he had to accomplish. And of course he would go for you. Of course he would march back into your life like he had never left. Of course he would have kissed you under the moonlit twilight, not a care in the world about if anyone could see you two. 

Because he would have heard. He would have known everything already. He would have known your scandals, your engagements, your whereabouts in Society – how you were one scandal away from no prospective marriages – one scandal away from losing everything. 

You feel bile creep up your throat. 

Were you only duty for him the entire time? The entire fucking time?

Were you only a means to an end, a convenient solution, another Society whore in the rough for him? 

All this time?

You feel like your lungs are caving in. 

Your hand goes up to knock. 

Your knuckles rap against the wooden door. 

It creaks open. 

Creeeaaaaak. 

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both whip around. 

You bow:

Low, respectful, dutiful. 

You try to mask your sniffles with a quiet cough. 

“The nation’s humble servant greets the king,” you murmur. You are still in your bow when you feel a tear roll down your cheek. Your nails dig crescents into the meat of your palm. 

“Y/n?” Seungcheol pushes off of his desk, making his way over to you. You can picture his look of confusion painted on his face when you don’t rise from your low bow. It’s not like you, you know. You usually bring him into a warm embrace, a smile on your face. You usually give him a teasing bow. 

But you can’t look up right now. If you do, you know you’re going to break down sobbing in the middle of the royal study room. If you do, you’re so afraid of meeting his cold sharpened eyes and recognizing none of the imagined emotions you had found four nights ago. You’re so afraid you were terrifyingly wrong. 

Seungcheol stops right in front of you. From your line of vision, you can see the toes of his shoes. 

“Y/n.” His voice seems much more urgent, as if he’s worried. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” 

Your nails dig further into your palms. You feel the tips rip open the first thin layer of skin. You can feel tears welling against your waterline. How could his words feel so real?

“Your highness,” you whisper. Your hoarse voice echoes through the room. You can almost feel Seungcheol’s startle backstep at your sudden title. “I apologize for intruding on your conversation, but I feel as though I will not be able to attend our afternoon tea today.” 

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. 

You can feel warm tears drip down your bowed face. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your brain feels foggy. You feel foggy. 

“Why not?” A warm hand is placed on your shoulder, trying to force you up, but you refuse to budge. Seungcheol sighs. “Y/n, look at me. What’s wrong, kid?” 

Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip. Hard. The habitual nickname digs a sharp blade into your throat. “I just-” 

At that moment, your nails, which you had forgotten were still tight against your skin barrier, finally break through the last of the tension, stabbing into your palms. There is a surge of pain before the crescents fill with warm, wet, dark blood. 

“Ow,” you mumble. When you slowly open your hands, your palms are dark red. You finally lift yourself up, meeting Seungcheol’s eyes, which blow wide at your tear-streaked face. But he does not say anything. You move your hands behind you. 

“Why are you-” Seungcheol cuts himself off with a quick glance behind him. Your eyes trail his, only to see Wonwoo sitting rigidly straight, facing the other way, at Seungcheol’s desk. “-Nevermind. Why can’t you attend tea?” Seungcheol pouts. 

You swallow, mustering a small smile. Just big enough for Seungcheol to not worry. “You know. Duties. I think-” you heave in a breath, “-I think it will be best for me to head down to my estate in a couple of days, you highness.” 

It is evident Seungcheol does not enjoy your continued usage of his title because his nose scrunches and his pout deepens. “Already? You just got here,” he whines. 

You hum, eyes darting to Wonwoo’s form at the desk. He isn’t looking, but you know he can hear every single word. “It’s been a while since I’ve been down at the duchy. Plus,” you add, “I do not want to intrude on guests who feel as though I am merely a duty to be fulfilled.” Your words come out much more scathing, and when you glance at Wonwoo’s turned figure, it is frozen in place. 

Seungcheol does not get the hint because he suddenly grabs your shoulders, gently shaking you. “Who is saying that? I’ll have them exiled,” he huffs. His big arms cross across his chest. You can’t help but break out into a genuine smile. “What?” he asks, sniffing. “You come before this country,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You tilt your head. “So, actually, no, I do not,” you laugh. One last look at Wonwoo, who is tapping his foot. You swallow down the rest of your tears and force a grin. “God, you need to get yourself a wife, Seungcheol,” you hum, patting his bicep. 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Needa find you a husband first. Then we’ll talk about my love life, Miss Cupid,” he retorts, shaking his head. “Won’t you come to tea?” 

You shake your head no. “I’ll see you around, your highness.” You spare one fleeting glance towards Wonwoo, steeling yourself. “Your grace. I apologize for my intrusion again.” You bow before you can see Wonwoo turn at your sudden calling of him. 

You step towards the door before stilling. “Oh, and if I may,” you clear your throat, “perhaps close your door in the future, your highness? You would not want unassuming,” a pause, “passerbys listening into rather private conversations.” 

With that, you close the door behind you with a soft click. 

You miss Wonwoo’s gaping mouth and Seungcheol’s taken-aback stare that you leave in your wake. 

However, you do hear one sentence before you make your way down the hall: 

“Fuck, Seungcheol, what am I gonna do?” 

That and the shattering of your glass heart you had carefully glued together three years ago. Every step you take, further into the palace, leaves broken shards in its wake. 

When you reach up, fingers brushing over your cheeks, you feel a warm wetness. Its excruciatingly amusing, really, that you keep fucking yourself over with the same man. Same stupid stupid man with the same stupid fucking face.

Him with his dark hair. Him with his glasses. Him with his gentle smile, low voice, dimpled cheeks. Him with his stupid old letters that are in a meticulously organized pile in a drawer back at your estate. Him with his fast-beating heart under your hand during the ball. Him with his piercing eyes that you can’t help but blush under. Him with his knack of squeezing your poor naive heart until it explodes into shattered glass pieces. 

You forcefully rub at your eyes, tears coming out of you in staccatoed sobs and gasps of breath. You probably sound ridiculous, gut-wrenching sobs escaping your covered mouth as you stop in the middle of a hallway, one hand against the wall as you slide down, skirt covering your legs. You must seem crazy, insane, as a lady of your standing to drop into such an alarming position in the middle of the royal palace’s hallway. 

But you can’t help it. You can’t help the tears pouring down your face, the throaty gasps of breath as your hand clutches at your heart. You can’t help your fists slamming into the brick walls until you can physically feel the stone breaking your layer of skin. And you can’t help but lean back against the cool stone, staring up at the painted ceilings of the palace, wet tracks marking every tear you shed because of him. 

And you don’t even know why you’re crying in the first place, anyways. This concept, this dreadful soliloquy of duty, of honor, of responsibility has always followed you. Has always followed him. What did you even expect? Maybe, you dread to admit it, but maybe, just maybe there was – still is – a part of you that got excited at his sudden return from the battlefield. Maybe there was a part of your heart that still longed for something, a lost spark, a reunited kind of flame, to blaze to life again the moment you two locked eyes in the ballroom. Maybe there is still a piece of you – naive and stupid – that wants to run to Wonwoo, tears in your eyes, and pour out your soul. Confess to him the extent of your missing him. Confess to him the deeper, chained parts of your memories.

Maybe that part of you still wants to let him know the space he took up in your thoughts, your everyday routine, your unconscious spirit. Still wants to let him know how violently, terrifyingly your heart shattered when twenty-year-old you, still new to Society, still new to the idea of a responsibility, of a duty, heard him and Seungcheol talk about him leaving. Leaving into the battleground of bloodied wilderness – back to the northern borders of his duchy, and thus the country. Leaving the Capital, leaving his life, leaving you for something as measly as duty? 

And you could live with it. You swear. 

If it was just that – if it was just him leaving and never coming back to face Society again, you could do it. You think you could have powered through the rest of your noble life. You would have probably settled for some second-rate high-class noble who could bring, at least, value to Seungcheol’s life in the royal courts, if not yours. You would have given birth to two children and would have then gone down south to your sprawling country estate you hadn’t been to since you were twenty. And you would go down and see the nostalgic halls that chronically had sunlight beaming down on the limestone columns. You would have gone down and seen the visages of your younger self, running, laughing, tripping, and then falling in love with a man you thought you had erased from your life forever. You would have raised your children peacefully with Nai and a governess, teaching them subjects your father had not taught you when you were six and ten. Then, maybe you would have died a peaceful death – loved by at least, hopefully, Seungcheol, Mingyu, Joshua, and your children, if not your husband, living on in memories as the one noble lady who resolutely carried her burdens with a smile. The one who was untouchable, the one who sacrificed her dreams for the duty she wore like a heavy crown.

You would have been okay with the slow burn of regret over the years. You would have turned it into something manageable, something to grow old with in your desperate solitude. 

And you would have been okay. You would have lived on like he didn’t – never – existed. 

But then he came back. 

He came back like a ghost of your past you had just finally laid to rest. He came back like a phantom resurrected with the only purpose being to torment you with the memories you had buried meticulously in each polished hallway, echoing ballroom, whisper of silk, hurried glances, judgemental eyes of Society. 

You hug your knees close, face burying as you try to hide your tear-streaked face, gasping pathetically into the silence of the palace hallway. Suddenly, the very idea of knowing what he had felt – every glimmer of hope, every wishful unspoken feeling, every lonely night you spent dreaming of a different life – was all constructed. That all of your naive daydreams were for nothing. Wonwoo’s words ripped through your psyche, like sharpened daggers: “Nothing.” 

How cruel, you think, a laugh bubbling up your throat. How cruel to have meant absolutely nothing to him. To have been reduced to a mere patronizing duty, a role he, as a man, must fulfill because of popular demand. Because the crown required it. Because the court required it. Because you were a convenient solution to such an inconvenient fucking problem. And then he just comes back from his battlefields up north with just a little more pain in his eyes – enough to tear down your walls with just a little bit of help from his stupidly sweet words. And he kisses you.

The slightest brush of his lips – a constructed play of his – it wasn’t real. It was never yours to begin with. It was a ploy into his obligation to his title, his land, his legacy, his duty. 

You feel the coldness of the wintry palace air and the frigid stone floor seep into your skin, mirroring the slow chilling of your soul. There’s a dull jab of pain in your heart. You feel stupid – foolish. Foolish to dream and even more foolish to believe he had come back for you. And now you were to bear the weight of a revelation you knew was coming. A revelation that solidified your position beside him: a duty to shoulder, a burden to silence. A requirement to complete before he advanced to the next stage. Like you had always been with everyone else. 

You don’t know how long you stare into the dull darkness when you suddenly hear a pair of soft footsteps approaching from the dark. You hurriedly collect your breath, your sobs leaving now in small gasps. Your fingers rub almost violently against your eyes, trying to compose yourself. You get to stand up – an archduchess should never be on the floor – but when you look up, the face that stares back at you makes your shattered heart press miserably into your ribs, thudding with traitorous beats of hope. 

It’s unfair how the moonlight glints and reflects and twinkles off of his glasses that sit low on his nose. It’s unfair how he looks at you with a certain sense of grief, of regret, of pained sorrow. 

“Y/n?” 

You stand the rest of your way up to your feet, whipping around to face the other end of the hallway, your scrambled mind trying to come up with some sort of excuse other than “haha, you made me cry!” to tell Wonwoo when he asks the question. 

You start, “I apologize for-”

“-It’s late.” Wonwoo’s voice is thick with some kind of emotion you can’t really understand. “And cold.” An emotion you can’t place your finger on. 

You stay turned to the dark end of the hallway, but you can feel the warmth radiating off of Wonwoo’s body. And when you feel a thick, heavy, warm cloak being placed around your shoulders, you want to tear out your thudding heart and throw it on the floor, stomping on it until it finally bursts – until it finally stops beating for someone who did not want you the same way. Who only saw you as a duty – a wish to be fulfilled. Another box to tick off on his Archduke Requirements. 

“I will live,” you mutter, shrugging off the cloak. The fabric piles to a thick lump on the floor between you and him. You feel like you’re trying to convince yourself. “Perhaps it is time for both of us to return to our chambers, your grace,” you state. But you know Wonwoo can hear you swallow the rest of your tears back, your last breath going in stuttered and gasping. 

Wonwoo is quiet behind you, and you think he’s already left (leaving you to talk to yourself and an empty hallway, which would be rather embarrassing), but you feel his presence again as he leans down – picking up his discarded cloak.

His next words fan over the open expanse of your neck. “I bid you goodnight, then, duchess.” His words are quiet and reserved, and you can hear the small clangs of his sword and the cloak chains hit against each other. For some reason, his parting formality stabs a more piercing pain in you than anything else. 

Perhaps he is also reconsidering.

The next sound you hear is his parting footsteps and a thud against a wall that sounds disturbingly similar to a fist meeting the jagged stones followed by a shudder of an exhale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Technically, you should be at Seungcheol’s tea. Technically, you should be indulging the king in his weekly rant about the royal court members, his prospectives for a wife, his dreadful repetition of his day, the like. And technically, you should be smiling and laughing with him, sipping one of the most expensive tea steeped from the tea leaves from the West. 

But every time you stepped in a hallway a little further from your wing of the palace, you felt a hard lump in your throat, the words that had pierced you last night ringing in your eardrums unfairly loud. 

The library is silent at this hour of the afternoon. The royal court had convened in the morning – a meeting you were conveniently exempt from – and the advisory council had also met just a few hours prior. The maids and servants are busy with meal preparations for supper, the knights have their afternoon training with Mingyu and Soonyoung, and every other guest in the palace is either outside in the gardens or at Seungcheol’s open afternoon tea. 

So the library is quiet. It’s cold and quiet – the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes your breath sound a little too loud. The kind that makes you come to a standstill at every scuff of your heels against the carpeted floors.

You’re here under the pretense of finding a book. You had to lie to Nai about liking the quietness of the library and the slanting rays of the winter sun the large windows had to offer. The lie was more the sunlight than anything. You had walked into the library wing thinking reading something, thinking of something other than your tangled mess of emotions stemming from last night, would distract your naive heart from thudding for him again. 

As your fingers graze the spines of the library’s collection, curated by the princess who was off at Reoka finishing her University education, the door creaks open behind you. 

You stiffen. 

This isn’t a common hour to be roaming around, especially as an unfamiliar palace guest. 

You can’t bring yourself to turn around until you hear the soft padding footsteps and the familiar quiet clangs of metal near you. Your heart squeezes before your mind can process who it is as you turn from your place. Under the archway opening to the private collection, where you stood in front of an old bookshelf, Wonwoo stands, silhouetted tall and almost commanding under the shadow of the arch. He almost looks as troubled as you probably do. Almost. 

You turn back to the books, feigning disinterest at his sudden presence. Your fingers pick out the first book you touch by the spine, pulling it out from its home in between the old books. 

“I thought you would be-” Wonwoo’s voice is loud against the once-silent room. 

But your barely-contained words spill out before he can finish and before your mind can catch up to your voice. 

“-I thought you would be off attending more pressing duties, your grace,” you interrupt. You can’t control how icy your words sound and you force yourself to stand facing the windows, staring out into the sparring courtyard where the knights are being led through a drill. “Perhaps fulfilling your own or taking your precious time to remind another of theirs.” 

Wonwoo’s boots, careful footsteps, scuff the carpet, coming to a stop a couple of steps behind you. He makes no move to turn you around, to say anything to you. Instead, you can feel him staring – his heavy gaze boring holes into the back of your head, almost. Grazing up and down your back. 

When the silence becomes almost awkward, he speaks. “I wasn’t aware I needed to inform you of my whereabouts, duchess.” 

Your grip on the book tightens after his last word. The same formality of last night brings up evening memories of the night prior … rather unwillingly. Your hands squeeze the book until the hard spine digs into the wounds on your palms from 2 nights, bandaged with white cotton. 

You lower your head. “Oh, I think you’ve made your priorities clear enough. No reason to inform me of anything when you speak so clearly with your actions, your grace.” 

Although you will your words to not trail off in the end, they do, with the quiet lull of your voice. You let the silence after your words stretch – thick, uncomfortable, taut – between the two of you, letting it densely fill up the atmosphere. 

“It seems you misunderstand,” Wonwoo states, like you definitely said something wrong. Like you were wrong and he was right. His words are softer but not any less firm. 

You let out a hollow laugh, fingers relaxing their hold on the book. “Have I?” Even to you, your words seem accusatory. “Then please, enlighten me on what there is to misunderstand after being reduced down to a convenient solution?” 

You finally turn, meeting his eyes in the wake. They look troubled and your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly at the detailings of the darkness under his eyes, shadowing his face. Behind his glasses, his eyes glint with something you aren’t used to. When he meets your eyes, his expression flickers. 

Frustrated, you think. And you want to laugh. Frustrated. Him. Because of you. 

He steps closer. “A solution? You think you are simply a solution for me?” His voice rises at his utterance of ‘you,’ and you almost flinch back at his sudden rise in voice. 

But when Wonwoo stares at you with frustrated eyes, a flame of indignation sparks in you. Who does he think he is to be frustrated with you? 

You scoff. “What else am I supposed to think?” You surprise yourself, even, with the rise in your own voice, echoing through the library. You can hear the bubbling smoke of the tears from last night in your words. “You suddenly show up – out of nowhere – back into Society, after three years, and suddenly you’re everywhere – talking about some sort of duty and expectation placed on you. Do you think of me as some illiterate or some unhearing noble lady, your grace?” You spit, “Do you think I did not understand what you and Seungcheol were talking about last night? About your marriage, your title, your more aspirational fulfillments after marriage? Do not think of me as stupid, your grace.” 

Your chest heaves with every snarked sentence that escapes your mouth. 

Wonwoo steps closer, eyes glancing down at your bandaged hands. “You think- That wasn’t-”

“-Don’t even,” you laugh, holding up your hand. You hope the desperation in your voice is enough to convince him to stay rooted in his place – no closer to you. Because you think if he comes any closer, you’ll actually snap. “I do think. And what wasn’t, when I heard you so clearly?” Your next words escape you before you have a chance to properly bet on the probability of them being true. “And you’re here following me into the only place I can ask for some peace and quiet for what? Because if you’re going to come up all close to me and hold my waist and kiss me under the stars, your grace, you chose the wrong day to do it.” 

You can visibly see Wonwoo’s jaw tighten, fingers curling slowly into fists. His eyes shut and then open, like he’s physically restraining himself. “That’s not why I’m here,” he mutters, composure so obviously cracked at the thinning edges. 

You cross your arms. “Then why?” 

“I came here because I wanted peace, too,” he says, his voice rough with frustration. “Because this is the one place where I thought I could breathe without feeling like I’m drowning. But apparently, even here, I can’t escape your assumptions about me.” 

He sounds so bitter that you blink, startled by his sudden tone. 

“My assumptions?” You laugh, poking a finger to your chest. “You’re the one who up and left!” You shove a finger into his chest. “You’re the one who made me not even worth a proper fucking goodbye!” 

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow and you immediately know you’re close to crossing some sort of line. “I left because of a reason, Y/n.” His voice is so calm still, compared to yours, that it stokes the fire of your anger.

And there goes his utterance of your name again. 

“Ha!” You laugh, slapping the bookshelf. The sound rings loudly against the quiet privacy of the library.

Wonwoo swallows. “You mean so much more to me than-”

You stand facing him, heart racing again as you feel the word prod at your tongue. “-Don’t do that,” you snap, stepping closer to the Archduke. “Don’t stand there and act like I mean something more to you when I’m simply a solution. You don’t need me, your grace. You need a wife, your title, to make the king happy. Me?” You laugh, and even to your ears, it sounds relentlessly bitter and sharp. “I’m the convenient solution for an inconvenient situation.” 

For a moment, you think your words have actually hurt him, because his face falters. But he quickly masks his expression. However, his lips tug down. Almost as if you had gotten some miniscule detail wrong in the fine print of your words. “Y/n, that’s not-” 

“-Then answer me,” you interrupt, sharp with accusation. “Where do I lie in your list of priorities, Wonwoo? Right after the organization of your troops? After Capital Estate renovations? Or am I closer to the bottom, near the niceties you need to uphold for society?”  

As you stare, the silence is almost deafening – suffocating – with the weight of your question. And you can physically see the guilt that finally swims in his eyes. And he goes to open his mouth but it falls shut soon after, almost as if he does not have anything else to say. And to you, that in itself is answer enough. 

“Exactly.” Your voice is uncharacteristically venomous and Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line. “You know I’m right. I’ve always been second, or third, or fourth to you and your duties.” Your words whip glass shards into the air. 

However, Wonwoo looks at you with a hardened expression, almost as if you had just insulted his honor – his pride. A flicker of pain flashes across his face. He steps closer to you, tone sharper than ever. “You think it’s easy for me?” The intensity behind his words catch you off guard. “You think I can’t– don’t think of you every waking second? That I go a day without regretting every single mistake I’ve made?” 

It must be the distance between you two, because you feel your defenses falling. “Regret isn’t enough,” you retort, mind made up. “You can regret every single thing in life all you want but it doesn’t change anything. Your regrets don’t change how easily you left – how you prioritize everything else over me.” You know. You know how selfish those words sound, but you can’t help them from leaving your mouth.

He flinches hard. The next words that come out border a frustrated yell. “I didn’t have a choice! You think I wanted to leave? To leave you? That I wanted to-”

“-Yes.” Your singular response makes him stop completely, pale cheeks flushed and body stiff. “You chose duty, responsibility. Your perfect little archduke life you always wanted. And now you want me to give back the pieces you shattered? Pieces I’ve spent months gluing back together?” Your voice trembles with anger and you don’t think you’ve ever been this angry. Or frustrated. “Don’t you even dare. I’m done.” 

Wonwoo closes the distance between you two, his breath fanning over your forehead. His fists are curled at his sides, and you know he’s holding back every word he wants to hurl at you. He doesn’t know this, but his emotions are almost palpable on his face whenever he gets worked up. Whenever he thinks the other person is wrong. And right now is no different. You can visibly see his expression change from frustration to desperation to some sort of in-between. 

“You’re done?” he repeats, incredulous. His voice is quiet, sharp, and edged with an unmasked pain. He scoffs. “Is that what you tell yourself to make it easier? That you’re done with me? That you don’t care anymore?” 

He almost leaves you speechless, words cutting into you. A pot of rage – more at yourself than him – slowly bubbles because how could he have figured you out? His stare into your eyes almost makes you give in. But you steel yourself, standing up straighter. 

“I’m done,” you state. It’s such a lie. It’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told, probably. Because if it were up to your heart, you would beg him to stay and stay and stay. Tell him how much you missed him these last few years. Tell him how much he meant to you. But you can’t. “I don’t care about you, us, or what we could have been. So just leave me alone, please. Let me forget you.” I can’t forget you, are the words you whisper to yourself in your head. You wish he could keep coming back. Over and over and over and kiss you under the darkness of the night again and again. But you don’t think you can handle the pain a second time when he leaves. 

Wonwoo stares at you, jaw tight, eyes dark with something now unreadable. You both just stare at each other, caught in the thick tension in the atmosphere. You refuse to back down from his stare, even though every passing second makes your breath come out in harder pants, even though it makes you dreadfully aware of your strangled breaths. Then, as if he’s forcing his entire body to retreat, Wonwoo takes one step back. Then another. Then another. 

“Whatever you want,” he says. His voice is cold, final. 

You try desperately to ignore how his words chill you to the bone. “It is,” you whisper, voice distant. Every word coming from your mouth feels like a big fat lie. 

Wonwoo exhales sharply, hand raking through his dark hair. You think he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t, instead turning to leave. And a small part of you shakes in fear because what if he’s giving up. But then the rational part of your mind hits it over and over until it is semi-buried inside your memories. His boots echo every step and the sound rings through your entire being. Just as you think he’s leaving, he stops, hand resting on the archway. 

“I’m not giving up on you – on us,” he states with so much confidence you might as well think you are already married or something. His voice is steady, filled with some sort of intensity that makes your heart ache desperately to run into his arms. “No matter how much you push me away and lie to yourself.” 

Then he leaves through the archway, down the hall and out the door. The oak doors slam shut behind him, leaving silence in its wake. Your chest heaves with anger, confusion, and something else. Something that feels too much like grief or regret or another one of those feelings. 

You stand there, rooted to your spot, forcing each breath out of you, but the chaos inside your mind won’t settle. Even after everything, all you can think about – wish about – is how much easier it would be if you would just let him back in. If you could just forgive him – him and everything he ever did. If you could just (keep) love (ing) him again. 

But you won’t. You can’t. Not when you know right now that he’ll always leave you behind. Whether or not the reasoning is chivalrous or not. 

You wake up the next morning to sunlight streaming through your curtained window and puffy eyes. Nai is already busy in your room, tucking the curtains out of the way of the streaming sunlight with practiced hands and tidying up the room. You eye your clothes strewn on the floor – the ones you had thrown off after going back to your room late last night from a long frigid walk in the royal gardens – with guilt as Nai picks them up, throwing them in the hamper she carries. 

“Sorry,” you sheepishly murmur, sliding out of your bed legs-first. Your feet immediately touch the fur slippers Nai had put out for you. 

Nai just looks up, a radiant but confused smile blushing her lips. “Your grace?” 

You sigh, padding over to the loveseat by the window, a blanket draped over you. “You know, for the clothes, the mess, everything,” you hum, forehead meeting the cold glass pane. You can hear, distinctly, the clangs of swords coming from the sparring grounds. Your fingertip draws small animals onto the frosted glass, fogged over by the juxtaposing warmth and coldness. 

 Nai laughs. “My lady, this is a rather trifling matter to apologize for. And I will need to not take up on your apology for that reason.” 

Your heart warms at her words. “Thanks, Nai.” 

Nai stands a few ways from you, and you know she’s studying your face – puffy eyes, dry lips, tired cheeks. “My lady,” she murmurs, stepping closer, taking one of your hands in hers. Her hands are soft – uncharacteristic of the work that she did for you. “Shall we go down to the South for the rest of this winter season?” she suggests. It catches you off guard. It was usually you who suggested leaving the Capital early because Nai had always loved the Capital. 

Your head swivels towards your maid, eyes wide. “What?” 

Nai frowns and you notice she has her brown curly hair in a braid today. Her fingers smoothen over your soft hands. “I feel as though the Capital has taken away your entire youth and color,” she admits, looking down, averting her gaze. “Especially…” 

You gently smile, pulling Nai to sit down on the loveseat. “Especially what?” 

When Nai looks back up at you, she looks almost indignant. “Especially that Archduke Jeon, my lady,” she huffs, arms crossed. “I think that dreadful man causes you much pain. I suggest you leave this season early, leave that man forever waiting for you, my lady,” she announces, hand coming down to slap her thigh. 

There’s a pause of silence and then you splutter out a laugh, hunching forward. The sound shakes through your body and your lungs finally feel a little bit empty. “Nai!” For the first time in days, you feel like it is a genuine laugh – not forced, not practiced. “How did you come to this conclusion?” 

Nai pouts, bringing her knees to her chest. “I’ve been observing, you know, my lady? I think you are much too good for that man. Even if he does send over flowers in the morning.” 

You blink at her words. Flowers? “What flowers?” You had never gotten flowers from Wonwoo before. At least not since his return to Society. 

Nai suddenly gasps, springing up. “Oh my gosh! Look at my attention span! I completely forgot to tell you, my lady!” Before you can even question her words again, she’s up and off the loveseat, almost running to the other side of the room where your delicately set-up tea table and lounge chairs rest. At your next breath, she comes running back, a large bouquet of flowers in her hands. 

Something tight entangles around your chest and you can feel the thing fill up your lungs again. 

“What- who is that from?” you ask, swallowing. To be honest, you don’t want to know. 

Nai simply shrugs, handing you your bouquet. “No idea.” Her words change into something much more casual – a tone you are familiar with from when you two grew up together. “It came with the sunrise, but I think,” she dramatically pauses, making you giggle a little, “it’s from that Archduke.” 

Her words completely stop you. Archduke. Of course. Of course he would send you flowers after last night. When Nai hums, stepping back to admire the bouquet, Wonwoo’s words come crashing back down on your briefly-empty mind. I’m not giving up on you – on us. You want to break down into tears. Really, you need to get a hold of yourself these days. You think you’ve cried more these past few days than you ever had in an entire year. No matter how much you push me away and lie to yourself. His words enrage you still. How dare he figure you out. How dare he march back into your life like he has you all planned out, your relationship all already mapped out inside his brain? How dare he make you fall for him again, just as you thought you had forgotten him entirely. How dare he send you flowers in the morning without even a thought of how you might have felt? Why you are pushing him away. Why you are forcing yourself to go to these lengths. Because you aren’t sure you can make it out alive if he up and leaves again. Because you aren’t sure if you can come out of another relationship sane if it ends in a fiery mess, let alone ends. Because you aren’t sure if you can trust yourself, let alone him, enough now to let your heart make the decision for you – the first time you did that, it ended with you in the Capital, not knowing what had hit you, and him on the battlefield, fighting it out with some enemy for a duty you knew not. 

“My lady,” Nai calls softly. 

When you look up to meet her eyes, her hazel orbs swim with a worried flurry of emotions. You crack a smile. 

“Irises and tulips, huh?” you mumble, tugging at a tulip bulb that stands up straight amongst the irises. “What a man.” Your voice sounds so bitter even to you and you wonder if Nai pities you. If she finally looks at you with the emotion you hate the most. 

“My lady,” Nai repeats. Her hand comes up to rest on your shoulder and it feels almost grounding, in a way, knowing that you at least have her by your side. “A note.” Her finger points to the side of the bouquet, in between the creamy pink parchment and the fresh winter flowers, where a off-white note card sticks out. 

You pluck the card out of the bouquet with almost trembling fingers. You aren’t ready to see – to read what he might have poured out onto a singular small note card. You anxiously fold and unfold the sharp corners, not able to turn the cardboard around from the backside, where the store name of the Capital’s most expensive flower shop glints in gold leaf. 

You sigh, closing your eyes briefly. When you open them again, you stare at the words on the front, written in almost perfect calligraphy with dark ink. You let out a laugh – though dry and humorless. “Thought of you,” you muse, repeating the three words on the card to yourself. Your fingers grip the edges of the thick paper until it crinkles. “Thought of you,” you mumble again, head dropping against Nai’s arm, eyes closing. 

The card doesn’t even need a signature. Neither does the bouquet. There is only one person who would meticulously remember all your favorite seasonal flowers, who would look back at his stupid book of flower languages you had written for your final Botany project during your years at the National Academy. There is also only one person who would be this infuriatingly obsolete with you – who would write his stupid three words on a stupid thick note card and send it over casually with the sunrise to your palace room so secretly even your maid has no definite idea of who sent it. And you would recognize the curve of his ‘f’ anywhere. 

You’re not quite sure if you’re more furious or in disbelief. Perhaps both? No, more so furious than in disbelief. Of course, in disbelief of his sudden profession of his thoughts to you, maybe. But more so furious in the aspect of the audacity of him. And you really can’t help the way it gets a little harder to swallow your spit. Wonwoo’s sheer audacity to come back into your life just to mess it all up. Just to maybe stir up some sort of hope in you until he leaves again for another one of his duties. You can just feel it. It’s like this bubbling pot of emotions you’re trying desperately to push down just in case Wonwoo actually does come too close and gets a peak at the bubbles. 

Your hands clench. 

“They’re lovely,” Nai comments, picking up the bouquet again. “The flowers fit perfectly with the season, my lady,” she adds, fingers the petals. “So fresh.” 

You prod the inside of your cheek with your tongue. “Yes, what a perfect fit,” you mutter, glancing outside. 

“Shall I set up a place for these in the drawing room?” 

“No!” You clear your throat, eyes wide at your own quick reply at Nai’s question. “No,” you repeat, this time less hurried. “Just set it up on the table here.” 

Nai raises a surprised brow at your words but does not argue, simply bowing and heading out, bouquet in hand, to find a vase big enough to fit the entire fistfull of flowers. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, you finally glance at the note again. 

Thought of you. 

You wish he could stop thinking of you. Then, maybe, you could finally erase memories of him too. Give yourself the chance to move onto perhaps bigger problems in your life (or perhaps problems you wish were bigger in your life). 

Thought of you. 

Your heart involuntarily pounds at the image of him hunched over at his desk, detailing his uselessly pretty calligraphy, just for you. Perhaps this was part of his plan? Maybe this was his tactic – the trick up his sleeve for when he wanted you to swoon for him. 

You shake your head, standing up from the love seat and heading over to your bed again.

“No, no, no,” you mumble to yourself, tongue swiping across your teeth. “Forget him, y/n. He only causes you pain.” 

But for some reason, your hand slips the note into a drawer, storing it for safe keeping with the hundreds of other letters and notes from your painfully naive youth. Even though you knew you could never go back – to then, to love, to him. 

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