#anyways now i know this is is him its like of course it is. hes a genius at making memorable funny videos for a budget of a nickel

[rafesbangs]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ brat!lamb!reader teasing rafe about how desperate he is to fuck her... until she's the desperate one.

warnings: MDNI ! 18+ ! semi-public? (its just a backyard), fingering, teasing, kinda dom!rafe, language, possessive rafe i guess. wc: 1.1k

a/n: really getting back into it hello. i think this might be the first time i'm really happy with something i've written whew,, ENJOYYY

it was a sunny afternoon, you were laying out in a lounger next to the pool in a frilly white bikini that barely left anything to the imagination, sunglasses adorning your face as you fiddled with the braids in your hair. music softly played in the background as you marvelled at the view of the glistening water.

it had been scorching hot for a few days and you'd finally decided to take advantage of the pool in the backyard. you were the only one home, thankfully, you couldn't stand your parents nagging at you all the time and now they could only do that over text in a completely different time zone.

on account of this, you had your phone on silent (who wants notifications interrupting songs anyways) so you didn't take notice to any of the messages of your boyfriend had been sending you the entire 2 hours you'd been outside.

rafe knew you were home alone so of course to him only one idea came to mind when he woke up this morning and remembered your parents had finally left for two weeks. he'd texted you a few times simply hinting at wanting to see you but after you hadn't been replying for an hour, his texts grew a little desperate and worried.

2 hours later he's pulled up to your house and rapping on the front door, something else you unknowingly ignored. frustrated he finally decides to walk around the length of the house and enter from the backyard gate. to his surprise, and relief, there you were, humming to music without a care in the world.

he grinned as he watched your warm body lay steady, the sun was gleaming down on you, he would easily have described you as an angel to anyone in that moment. but his frustration came bubbling up again.

"y/n." he said gruffly, stalking over to you on the lounge chair, you slowly lifted your head at the sound of your boyfriend's voice, glad to hear him until he opened his mouth again. "i've been fuckin' texting you? where's your phone."

you raised an eyebrow and reached under the lounge chair, pulling your phone from the shade. there on the lockscreen you scrolled through all the texts, momentarily glacing back up at rafe every few texts as he stood there, fists slightly balled.

you sat up, stifling a giggle, "someone's happier than me about my parents leaving.."

"why's your phone off" he snapped, frustration bubbling into anger at your laughing. your brow furrowed at the tone he was attempting to use with you.

you crossed your arms, "rafe are you really gonna try and speak to me like that after the way you've been begging to fuck me for the past two hours?"

his jaw ticked, he knew you were completely correct. he swiftly sat down on the edge of the chair, his body inches away from yours as a hand reached out and snatched your phone.

you watched him carefully, now getting angry yourself, how could he just snatch something of yours off you like that?

and then you glanced down at his khaki shorts, it was impossible to miss, you didn't know how you hadn't before, they were completely tented. a smug grin made its way across your lips, he was soo sexually frustrated that he was getting angry over everything now. cute.

as he was busy changing the settings on your dnd, you slowly and carefully reached over and started palming him through his pants. he jolted at the touch and snapped his head to look at you, relief but also shock in his eyes.

"you've never been good at communication.." you smiled sweetly, rolling your thumb over his tip through the fabric. he twitched a little then threw your phone down and grabbed your hand, using it to pull your entire body towards him so your lips were just grazing his.

"don't you ever forget to reply to my texts." he lowly said, looking into your eyes intensely. unfortunately for you, his gaze was absolutely irresistible, like looking into heaven itself.

you didn't waste any time in pressing your lips to his while practically crawling into his lap and he wasted no time in pulling the bikini top aside to cup your perky tits. he grinned into the kiss, heat engulfed your body as he pulled you and close as he could.

he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and re-adjusted you on his lap, you could fully feel the extent of his frustration. he doesn't breaks his lips from yours, pushing his tongue past the seam of your lips, entangling his tongue with yours.

"you want me just s'much as i want you, don't you baby" rafe rasps against your lips as a hand slinks down your body and to the centre of where the heat is pooling. you groan as his fingers swipe across your folds through the thin bikini bottoms before he yanks them to the side.

he teases your wet pussy before slipping two long fingers inside, parting from the kiss to see your reaction at the intrusion. you gasp, mouth agape as he grins mischievously, "look at you, so pretty around my fingers."

"please..." you whine, gripping at the bicep of the arm that had your body trembling. he just grinned, jamming his fingers harder into your weeping hole as your breathing got increasingly heavier.

you couldn't take the lack of control, the lack of the release you were begging for, leading you to start fucking yourself on his fingers. he just scoffed and pulled your head in by the nape of the neck to continue torturing your lips.

finally, your legs began to twitch, pussy clamping around his thick digits. "you gonna cum for me pretty girl? cum all over my fingers? hm?" he coaxed as you frantically nodded, digging your nails into his arm, begging.

rafe nipped at your bottom lip, dragging it out a little with his teeth before releasing it and whispering into your ear, "i know baby, i can feel your nails digging into me, come on, cum all over my fingers f'me"

your eyes roll back as you groan, "oh shit, oh rafe!" white light clouds your vision as your face falls into the crook of his neck, he slows the pace before dragging his fingers out of your soaked cunt, bringing his hand up to his lips and slurping your juices off.

he kisses the top of your head before re-adjusting your bikini for you, "mm, made f'me" he mumbled with a satisfied grin. he gently slides your body back onto the lounge chair before stripping his shirt off and slowly stalking over to the edge of the pool.

"wait rafe, what about you?" you question, still a little out of breath.

he turns with a smirk, locking his gaze on yours for a moment, "we've got ages baby, your parents aren't around are they."

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

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

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck did he even say? 

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

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

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh. 

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

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

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

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

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways. 

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

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

Wonwoo grits his teeth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Last Friday.” 

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking. 

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being selfish.” 

“Maybe. But you should be too.” 

“Wonwoo…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally give in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was gone. 

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

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

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

[florestalio]

DAYDREAM — L.HS

GENRE: pwp. i would say more, but i wanna keep the plot a secret

SYNOPSIS: where heeseung gets the best head of his life... or does he?

WARNINGS: (1.6k words) MDNI, oral (m! rec), hair pulling, throat fucking, throat bulging, cum eating, let me know if I missed any!

NOTE, daydream — "sip, sip, sip, make me empty". yep. that's it.

HEESEUNG LOOKED DOWN AT YOU WITH A SMIRK. God, you looked so fucking pretty right now, on your knees.

All for him.

His eyes raked over your pliant body shamelessly, licking his lips at the sight of one of the spaghetti straps of your cute white tank top having slid down your shoulder. Your tits were practically on display for him, since you chose not to wear a bra, your nipples having hardened, peaking through the thin material of your top. Your top was, to his perverse enjoyment, a low cut one, allowing him to see the top half of your tits.

Fuck, they were perfect. Just like the rest of you.

The way he was leaning back on the couch, his legs spread wide apart, one arm looped over the top of the couch, an extremely sexy smirk on his face — safe to say, he wasn't the only one turned on right now.

While he was sporting a rock hard boner, you yourself were rubbing your thighs together, your panties sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Your hands were clenching the material of his jeans on his thighs, an unintentional pout on your face.

Heeseung noticed, of course, cooing at you mockingly, at the sight of your pout. “Aw, are you feeling impatient? Want my dick down your throat that bad?”

Normally, you would be embarrassed by such vulgar words. But right now? Right now you were too horny to give a fuck about the language.

You nodded your head in a lust-driven frenzy, more slick gushing out of you. You needed him in you, anyway, anywhere — you just needed him.

His smirk widened at your answer. He didn't do anything yet, but you were already so pliant for him? What would happen when he actually did something?

He relaxed further into the couch, raising his eyebrows at you, the ever so cocky smirk not leaving his face. “Well? What are you waiting for then? Get on with it.”

Your eyes lit up at that, your hands flying to his zipper at lightning speed, clumsily trying to get rid of the barriers. You pulled down his waistband, the imprint of his cock very much visible through his boxers, a wet patch of precum accompanying it. As if in a trance, you started tracing its shape over the thin material.

His reaction was almost immediate. He let out a loud groan, throwing his head back on the sofa, his hips bucking into your hand. Encouraged by his reaction, you pressed your hand completely on him, starting to slowly palm him.

Heeseung had to bite down on his lip to muffle his sounds, his eyes hooded, as he watched you further rile him up. It was infuriating and hot at the same time. Unfortunately, he was starting to grow impatient from your teasing, causing him to push away your hand and grab a fistful of your hair instead, pulling your hair back. He sneered at you. “Have you had your fun yet? Get to work darling, or you might get into a lot of trouble. Trust me, I wouldn't be gentle about it.”

You gulped, nodding slowly, the sting from where your hair was being pulled causing your eyes to water. He let go of your hair, leaning back again. You grabbed the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. His cock sprang out, tall and proud. He let out a hiss as the cold air touched it, his mushroom tip an angry red colour, leaking a generous amount of precum.

You grabbed the base of his cock, using your other hand to grab the tip, spreading his precum around it with your thumb. His eyes rolled back in his head at the feeling, his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth to stop his moans from spilling out.

You had started to almost salivate the moment you saw his dick in all its glory, the urge to wrap your lips around it going through the roof. But you wanted to take your time with him. That's what you were here for, after all — to worship him.

You gave his tip a tentative lick, feeling it twitch in your hands, a muffled groan falling from his lips. Encouraged by his reaction, you started to give his tip kitten licks, leaving kisses along his entire length. You could see his chest rise and fall at a fast pace, his ragged breathing causing your pussy to throb with incessant need.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you took one hand off him, collecting a wad of spit in your mouth, before spitting it in your palm. You used your spit to rub his length, the mixture of your spit and his precum making the glide easier. You then finally wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around it, the salty taste of his precum invading your senses, leaving you dazed.

Impatient from your teasing, he grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail, before pushing your head down on him completely, causing his dick to hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. Your hands flew to his thighs, gripping them tightly, as you steadied yourself. 

You relaxed your jaw, slowly starting to bob your head up and down on his length, feeling the way he kept twitching in your mouth, despite not yet being close — although, you were more than happy to change that.

You relaxed your jaw and throat as best as possible, before taking him in deeper. His mushroom tip hit the back of your throat, causing him to choke lightly. He groaned at the feeling of your throat muscles contracting around his tip, causing him to buck his hips into your mouth — a huge mistake on his part, his cock having lodged itself further into your throat, the warm feeling causing him to let out a loud guttural moan.

He grabbed the back of your head again, quickly mumbling an apology to you. “‘M so sorry baby — but I need to fuck your mouth — will literally die if I don't–”

Before you could even register what was happening, you felt a sting at the back of your head, as his grip tightened on your hair. Suddenly, the air was completely knocked out of your lungs, as he started to harshly thrust into your mouth, fucking it as if it were your pussy.

Your nails dug into his thighs, drawing blood, although it did nothing to deter him. You could feel your eyes watering, tears falling in a steady stream from both of your eyes, drool falling from the corner of your lips. Heeseung noticed all of it in his lust driven haze, cooing at your pathetic appearance.

There was a bulge in your throat everytime he abused it, something you were glad that he was yet to notice. You could feel the vein on the underside of his cock pulsing, the pace of his thrusts increasing substantially as he chased his pleasure.

He grabbed your jaw in his other hand, squishing your cheeks together to make them hollow out further. His thrusts became erratic, his head falling back with a loud moan. “C-Cumming!–”

Suddenly, he pushed your head all the way down on him, your nose touching his pelvis. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his jaw going slack. He shot rope after rope of cum straight into your mouth, your mouth helping him ride out his mind-blowing orgasm.

You finally pulled off his softening length, once he started squirming lightly from the overstimulation, swallowing every drop, careful to not spill anything. You opened your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue for him to check, getting a tired nod of approval.

He leaned back on the couch, breathing heavily, his mind reeling from the feeling of your amazing mouth. Without even realising, his eyes started closing, lulling him into a deep, much needed, sleep.

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WAKE UP!”

Heeseung woke up with a start, wide eyes staring into your own angry ones in shock. Your hands were on your hips, your jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, as you glared at him. “Do you know how long I have been trying to wake you up for now? An hour! You hear me? An entire fucking hour! The party starts in half an hour, and neither of us have prepared any dresses to wear! What are we going to–”

He tuned you out. He wasn't particularly interested in what you were talking about either, too busy feeling hot all over, at the fact that he just had a dream. A wet dream. A wet dream about his best friend.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, realising they had zoned out. You turned around on your heel. “Why do I even bother…”

You suddenly noticed a plushie having fallen down on the floor, causing you to roll your eyes. He must have thrown it while moving around in his sleep. You bent down to pick it up.

Heeseung noticed it. Or course he did. He always noticed everything, especially if it involved you. How could you be so oblivious to his attraction towards you?

His eyes darkened as he caught a flash of your pink panties from under your skirt, just before you stood up straight again, he realised something.

He was going to change your indifferent attitude towards him. He was going to make you notice him — properly. Even if he needed to use some… interesting methods for it.

[aisiedaisie]

hello!! I was wondering about if you'd be interested in writing a regulus black / sirius black x reader ff where reader is learning french but is terribly horrendous at it

No pressure pooks🙏

Hello hello~!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you for this idea!!! As soon as I saw this ask I knew I had to write it immediately. Now, like the reader in this fic, my French is terrible... I haven’t touched it in years— aside from the occasional Duolingo lesson— so I’m sure my grammar will be all over the place. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, but fingers crossed!

Paring: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.2k

How has it come to this?

You’re perched on the couch in the cozy but slightly chaotic living room of your shared flat, flanked by Sirius and his younger brother, Regulus. Sirius— your boyfriend of six months —leans forward, scribbling something onto a notepad, his dark hair tumbling into his face as he mutters phrases under his breath. Beside you, Regulus sits cross-legged with the air of a reluctant tutor, his sharp features softened by uncharacteristic patience. 

Together, they are attempting what feels impossible: cramming basic French into your overwhelmed brain before you face what you can only describe as a gauntlet— meeting the Black family matriarch.

The mere thought of her sends a shiver down your spine. 

When she found out Sirius was in a relationship—and that she hadn’t been informed— she had, predictably, thrown a fit.

The result? An invitation, that felt more like a summons, to the infamous Black family home for Christmas. As if meeting your boyfriend’s parents weren’t already intimidating enough, there was a catch: she was said to be excruciatingly, almost maliciously picky.

Sirius hadn’t minced words about it, either. “She won’t like you,” he’d said bluntly the night the invitation, if you could call it that, had arrived. “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t like anyone.”

Which was, of course, impossible to not take personally.

So here you were, cramming vocabulary in a desperate attempt to win even a sliver of her approval. If learning French wasn’t already difficult enough, doing it under the critical eye of the Black brothers was verging on impossible.

“Non, non,” Regulus corrects gently, his tone calm but firm as he watches frustration creep into your features.

You glare at the notepad in Sirius’ lap. The word rencontrer stares back at you like a stubborn enemy, taunting you with its refusal to stick. Sirius seems to sense your despair, because he sets his pen down and shifts closer, his hand moving in soothing circles over your back.

“I’m never going to get this right,” you groan, dropping your face into your hands. The muffled words escape from between your fingers. “Spanish wasn’t this hard. Why is this so hard?”

“You’re doing much better than you think, love,” Sirius says, his voice warm and low, a balm against your growing nerves.

“She might not even say anything in French,” Regulus offers, his tone neutral as though trying not to spook you.

“But it’s her first language,” you counter, peeking at him from between your hands with a pleading look.

Sirius exhales, setting the notepad aside entirely. “You’ll be fine,” he assures you, pulling you gently against his side. You don’t resist. Resting your head on his shoulder feels infinitely better than wrestling with foreign syllables.

“Honestly, you’ll probably win over our dad faster than her anyway,”

“But it’s your mom,” you mumble, the thought of disappointing her settling heavy in your chest.

“She’s probably making a fuss because she needs something to complain about,” Regulus says dryly, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. He gestures toward Sirius with a nod. “And let’s be real... he doesn’t care about her opinion.”

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing he’s right. You’ve heard enough about Sirius’ tumultuous relationship with his parents to know their approval— or lack thereof —means little to him. Still, it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety in your stomach. The idea of stepping into that house, of facing her scrutiny, feels like walking into a viper pit.

“Why don’t you try again?” Regulus suggests gently, patting your knee in what you suspect is meant to be a comforting gesture. Though awkward, the effort is endearing. “It’s probably just nerves messing you up.”

You exhale deeply, then nod. Sitting here with them helps—at least somewhat—but their fluency feels like a spotlight highlighting your every misstep. You don’t want to keep fumbling in front of them, even if they’re patient about it.

“C’est un plaisir de vous re—” The words stumble awkwardly on your tongue, frustration bubbling over. “FUCK!” you burst out, dragging out the offending syllable slowly. “Rencontrer, Madame Black.”

Sirius loses it, muffling his laughter behind his hand while Regulus shoots him a sharp glare, clearly unimpressed with his amusement.

“Rencontrer,” Regulus repeats slowly, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Rencontrer,” you echo, focusing hard to mimic his deliberate pronunciation.

“Perfect,” Sirius chimes in, his grin softening as he finally reins in his giggles. “Now just a bit faster, love.”

You shoot him a look, your narrowed eyes more playful than annoyed. “I feel like I’m just free entertainment for you right now.”

Sirius smirks, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re always free entertainment for me.”

“Je t’aime tellement,” he adds quickly, the French phrase rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

You roll your eyes in exasperation. “Je te déteste tellement,” you counter, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Sirius freezes, his expression twisting into mock offense. “YOU CAN BARELY SAY RENCONTRER, BUT YOU CAN TELL ME YOU HATE ME?!?” His voice rises incredulously, his hands flying up in sheer disbelief.

Regulus lasts all of two seconds before dissolving into laughter. “How do you even know how to say that?” he manages between wheezing breaths.

You shrug nonchalantly. “You two say it all the time.”

Sirius lets out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back as Regulus dissolves into laughter again, shaking so hard he nearly falls off the couch.

“Oh my God,” Regulus wheezes, doubling over with laughter. “The one fluent phrase you know is I hate you!” His laughter turns into something closer to a breathless gasp, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His sheer amusement is contagious, and despite your frustration, you can’t help but crack a smile.

“Just—just don’t say that to our mom right off the bat,” Sirius interjects, fighting his own grin as he waves a hand. “If she says something awful, then by all means, go for it, but—”

You whirl toward him, eyes wide in mock outrage. “I would never!”

“Oh no, please do,” Regulus manages, wiping the tears from his face with the heel of his hand. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Je te déteste… you both,” you mutter, your attempt to insult them in French as clumsy as it is endearing. The effort only sets them off again, Sirius and Regulus laughing so hard you can’t help but join in.

“Je t'aime aussi, mon cœur,” Sirius teases, his voice full of affection as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Get a room,” Regulus groans, though the lack of any real annoyance in his tone makes his words land more as a joke.

“You’re in our home,” Sirius fires back without missing a beat.

That’s it— you lose it. Laughter bubbles out of you, breaking through the tension that had knotted your shoulders all evening. Sirius smirks triumphantly at your reaction, his arm pulling you closer, while Regulus just groans again, throwing himself back against the couch with dramatic flair.

In this moment, as the three of you laugh together, the anxiety about meeting the Black family fades ever so slightly. 

It will return, but for now, there’s only warmth, humor, and the feeling that maybe— just maybe —you can get through this together.

 Hopefully…

[marauder-misprint]

Charms

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff

After lunch, you had a free period. You had gotten comfortable in a bay window with a book and it didn’t take long for one of Hogwarts’ strays to find you. You had started with just absentmindedly petting it, but then it curled up in your lap and fell asleep. You both loved and hated how content it looked snoozing away. You groaned when the bells chimed to signal the end of the period. You couldn’t move, not with a sleeping cat in your lap. How could you disturb its rest? 

You sigh. At least it’s only Charms. You accept your position and continue to read. You’re certain that Pandora or Dorcas will take notes when they notice you’re not there. If worse comes to worst, you could see if Evan or anyone else has notes. Or you could have Dorcas ask Marlene for Lily’s notes. Staying with the cat seemed more acceptable with each person you added to the list of possibly having notes. For all you know, Professor Flitwick could be reviewing a spell you’ve already mastered and you’d be bored out of your mind anyways. Yes, staying here and letting the small creature remain unbothered was okay. 

Sirius, who had gotten better at sneaking glances at you during the classes you shared, notices right away when you aren’t in your seat next to Pandora when Charms starts. As much as he wants to point it out to his friends and get their opinions on where you might be, he doesn’t. If he did, he’d endure more teasing about “still being intrigued” by you. He was. He just doesn’t want to deal with his friends right now. 

Despite knowing you aren’t there, Sirius continues to glance toward Pandora throughout the class. He also looks at the door. He’s hoping you’ll walk in with some excuse for being late, but you never do. Sirius has never found it so difficult to pay attention in class. He really hopes that his friends don’t notice him scanning the room and ask him what he’s looking for. Still intrigued. He wasn’t sure if this intrigue was developing into something more. Interest. More than interest. He felt a need to get to know you better. To get you to like him. You were a dog person after all. You should like him. 

After class, rather than heading straight to his next lesson, he looks around the corridors a bit. He’s looking for you, but if anyone dared to ask, he would claim to be looking for a dropped quill or something. Is a quill a believable thing to be searching for? If he dropped an ink pot, that would break. Maybe a misplaced textbook? He’s still thinking of possible excuses for what he was looking for when he spots the real thing: you. Your hair seems to glow in the sunlight from the window where you’re sitting, book in hand and cat in lap. Of course you had an animal with you.

“Ah, there you are!” Sirius exclaims, strolling toward you. “You missed Charms!”

You tilt your head, looking up at the voice. 

“Have you come to give me your notes?”

“Do I look like I take notes?”

“No, but looks can be deceiving.”

A crooked smile appears on his face. 

“And how do I look, darling?” He strikes a pose, earning an eye roll from you.

“Like a pompous arse who doesn’t have notes to offer me?”

“Hmm, not the answer I was going for.”

You snort a laugh, which slightly disturbs the cat still sleeping in your lap but it adjusts and falls right back asleep.

“What do you want to hear? Oh, Sirius, you’re so dreamy and fit and charming and dashing,” you say in your falsetto.

Sirius laughs and leans against the wall near your feet. 

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Then go find your fan club. They’ll tell you that.”

You turn back to your book, hoping he’ll leave. He doesn’t.

“Are you not in my fan club?” he asks, tapping your shoe with his finger. 

“No. Never have been,” you say. Your eyes are glued to the pages of your book. 

“It’s always accepting new members.”

You look up at Sirius with an annoyed look, which softens quickly when you see Regulus approaching from behind him. 

“Reggie!” you call with a wave.

Sirius spins around, coming face to face with his brother.

“Sirius,” Regulus greets his brother coldly. His tone warms when he looks back to you. “I have bad news for you.”

You groan. “It’s formal?”

He nods and Sirius looks confused.

“What’s formal?”

“You’re still coming, right?” Regulus asks you, his eyes pleading you to say yes. “Please?”

“Yes, I’m still coming,” you say and his face lights up. “But! You’re coming dress shopping with me.”

His face falls. “Why?”

“Because I’m not taking Dorcas or Pandora.”

“What do you need a dress for?” Sirius asks. 

His interest in whatever his brother has invited you to is growing. What event was Regulus taking you to that you needed to wear a dress? He was amused that you would be dragging his brother shopping for said event. That unnerving feeling that he had in his stomach a few days ago outside returned as he thought of you twirling in a dress in front of Regulus for his opinion. 

Regulus shot Sirius an annoyed look, as if saying it wasn’t any of his business. 

“Just a Slug Club thing,” you say, waving your hand dismissively at Sirius. “So, Reg, we’ll go to Hogsmeade this weekend, yeah?”

Sirius didn’t wait for Regulus’ answer. He left you two with his mind spinning on how he could be invited to this Slub Club thing. Who did he know that was in Slug Club and would likely not already have a date picked out? 

“Yeah, this weekend works,” Regulus says. He pauses as he turns to see how far away Sirius had gone. “Why was he here?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. Thought he was maybe going to offer me notes for Charms, but no.”

“You were here all period, weren’t you?” he asks, eying the sleeping cat.

“Little thing is just so comfortable. You can’t blame me!”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that, right?”

“It was just Charms!” you exclaim. 

“And you skipped it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you have next?”

“Transfiguration…”

Regulus gives you a small smile before he scoops up the cat. It chirps with wide eyes at the sudden movement. He gently places it on the ground and it runs away. 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hands. “Let’s get you to Transfiguration.”

“But!”

“No buts! As your friend, I can’t let you skip classes all day because a cat was sleeping.”

“Regulus,” you whine.

“I won’t hear it,” he says definitively. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Doubtful,” you grumble but now that you’re standing, you let Regulus lead you to your next class. 

---

It hits Sirius after dinner when he’s in the Gryffindor Common Room. Lily is in Slug Club. Despite all of James’ attempts, she is very single and likely needs a date to the party. She could be his way in. He was fairly certain he hadn’t seen her buddying up to any guy recently. He approaches the table where she’s sitting with Mary and Marlene. He puts a genuine smile, hoping it helps his cause.  

“Evans! You know how we’re best friends, yeah?” 

“Words never used to describe us, but go on,” Lily laughs as she looks up from her homework. 

“I’ve decided that I’ll be your date to Slughorn’s party.”

She looks at him with a confused expression.

“You’ve decided?”

“Yes.” 

“And you want to go to that?”

“Yes.” 

“Do I want to know why? Usually people not in Slug Club are more than glad not to go,” she says.

He presses his hands on the table and leans forward. “I just need to be there.”

“Need to, huh? Would you behave?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you, Black.”

“What would I even do?”

“I don’t know. Prank Severus or something stupid.”

“I thought you didn’t like him anymore,” Sirius says, his brows scrunching together in confusion.

“I don’t,” Lily says pointedly. “But that doesn’t mean I want my guest at Slughorn’s party to be causing a scene. It’s my image on the line.”

“I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior.” SIrius looks around the common room. “I swear it on Remus’ books, James’ broom, Peter’s wizards’ chess and my hair.”

“You almost have to say yes now,” Mary says with a giggle. “He swore on his hair and I want to see what happens when he fucks it up.”

“I won’t!” he asserts. 

“I suppose it saves me from actually asking someone… Alright, Black. You can come.” She pauses and looks Sirius up and down. “You know you have to dress up, right?”

He nods and smiles at her. “That’s part of why I need to go.”

Lily exchanges glances with Marlene and Mary as Sirius returns to where his friends are gathered near the fire. 

“You’ll have to give us a play-by-play. Black needing to go to Sluggy’s party?” Marlene tells Lily. 

“Do you have any idea what that’s about?” Mary asks.

Lily shakes her head with a sigh. “No… I just hope I don’t regret it.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Driven by guilt after abandoning him, you went back to the place where Mairon had been slain. You find out that he is still alive but in the weakest form and shape. You take him in to nurse him back to health in the solitude of your Mirkwood fortress where you are hiding from the Valar, disguised as an ordinary human.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The smut part is not with goo!Sauron although I'm sure some of your freaks would probably want that. 😂 I know that the fortress in Mirkwood was built by Sauron much later in canon but I wanted to use it in this fic, although I didn't use its name, so it doesn't have to be the exact same one anyway. Once again I want to thank @dinsbeskar & @olchr-1 💚 Special mention to the queen of Sauron fics @just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace and her fanfic Remade where the iconic evil!Reader is nursing goo!Sauron back to health as well. 🥺

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), mentions of domestic abuse (with Morgoth) & of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, goo!Sauron, murder, SMUT, dom!Sauron (with sub undertones)

WORD COUNT — 3,830

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (II)

Perhaps it was embarrassing for a Vala to feel so enamoured with a Maia but you could not help it – Mairon was all you could think of after your departure.

And after finding out that he had been slain during his coronation after your departure, you could not help a pang of guilt filling what was left of your heart. You had abandoned him and left him all alone at the mercy of all those dark and rotten creatures your husband had created and lured. Of course your sweet Mairon would never handle them on his own, without your support.

You missed him, too – your devoted servant who had worshipped you like nobody else before. When you were being an object of his desires, it was as if you were no longer Varda’s rival because Mairon could make you feel like the most important goddess in the whole world.

Therefore, after many years of being tormented with guilt and yearning, you decided to go back North and inspect the fortress where he had been slain. You could easily trace the very floor where he had laid dead because a black stain remained there. And you tilted your head while examining the cracks between which his blood had to be streaming down.

Your instincts led you underground where you found yourself in a cold and damp cave filled with sinister, ominous presence. There was no doubt that whatever was left of your servant still lived there.

And then, as if it was drawn to you, you spotted an odd, small form creeping towards you on the floor. It was not humanoid but visibly alive although its breath was barely present. The way it moved caused your heart to clench inside your chest out of pity. When it found itself by your feet, it wailed pathetically and whined.

You had a new form now as you were disguising yourself as a young woman of the human kind but his spirit would recognise Mother of Flames everywhere and in every form. Just like yours would always recognise him.

“My poor, sweet Mairon…” You crouched down to touch the malicious substance gently. “I am so sorry for abandoning you,” you whispered as you opened your hands and watched him struggle to slide onto them. “Just a little, my darling, you can do it. And once you’re with me, I will take care of you,” you promised. “I will nurse you back to health, my Mairon,” you encouraged him as he eventually managed to crawl up to lay in your hands. He sighed out of exhaustion and you chuckled softly.

You stood up and brought him closer to your face. He was like a little, gruesome pet and you found it adorable in a way as your godly instincts to take care over weaklings awakened.

“I shall take you away from here, my sweet spirit. Rest now, darling, you are safe now,” you cooed to him.

And inside your hands you took him safely back to the place where you had been living in hiding these days – in the southwest of Mirkwood where Hill of Sorcery was and you spent your days there alone in a fortress long-abandoned, away from everyone, trying not to attract any attention.

Having Mairon with you in his odd shape was merely counting as a companion although you were speaking to him all the time and he would answer with squeals, whines or sighs. You prepared him a cosy spot near the fireplace, which was always lit up due to your control over that destructive element.

As a fallen Vala, you had no power anymore to create life – not in the same, pure way as the others at least. Therefore, you did not want to risk bringing him back to life with your will because it could end up badly. You’d rather the process of his healing take centuries than to bring him back twisted and deformed in any way.

You felt bad for not being able to help him more, so you devoted your days to finding him wild animals to feed on and sometimes you would allow him to feed off of your own godly energy to gain strength as you would caress his foul form and coo to him.

As time passed, slowly but progressively, his shape was growing in size and getting more and more humanoid. He was even more gruesome now because he no longer resembled a pet but became a dark shadow that was creeping around the fortress as he kept following you around obediently.

Oftentimes, he would exhaust his weak form by doing so and you would turn around with a soft sigh and a smile at the sight of him breathing heavily on the floor.

“My sweet, Mairon, you should rest,” you crouched down to help him move back to his usual spot by the fireplace. “I am not going anywhere, do not worry, my dear. I shall never abandon you ever again, you have my word,” you caressed him.

He reached out his limb towards you and you smiled lovingly at the gesture.

“You seem to be quite ready, don’t you think, my dear? Should I fetch you a bigger meal?” You asked him.

You were excited to finally bring him back fully but on the other hand you had grown so used to this shadow following you around for the past few centuries that you were not sure if real, bratty Mairon was someone you wanted to handle again. However, you did not want him to suffer anymore.

The dark shape nodded, eagerly and you leaned in to place some sort of a kiss upon where his forehead would be.

“Be patient, dear. Soon, you will be back with me. And now, regain your strength,” you assured him and watched him fall asleep.

When he did so, you left the fortress and hunted for a human or an Elf who would walk around unguarded. Not that you would not handle someone of this sort – you were a goddess, after all. You simply did not want any witnesses. The woods were dark and mysterious, therefore one disappearance would not alarm anyone but to have a rumour going around that there was some dark spirit living amongst the humans and the Elves of Mirkwood – that you did not want.

Therefore, using your craft of deception and luring, you teased a young lumberjack into your fortress. He was in a trance but once you locked him inside the same chambers where Mairon’s shadow laid, he screamed out loud with terror. However, he was too far away from the nearest village for anyone to hear him.

You smirked to yourself as you paced around impatiently, waiting for Mairon to deal with his prey. The sounds coming out of the room were concerning but you knew that an act of rebirth required lots of dirty work.

Finally, the doors creaked as someone opened them slowly and you turned your head around rapidly.

There he stood in front of you – your Mairon. He chose a new form for himself this time, a little shorter, with curly brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He was in a human shape but you assumed he was not strong enough yet to create a form as pure as Elven. In fact, he looked like a commoner – him wearing his victim’s clothes was not helping the impression.

He was smiling proudly and taking deep breaths in as you watched him with widened eyes.

“You… You look different,” you pointed out, taken aback.

“So do you,” he answered and you cracked a smile at the sound of his new voice. What a privilege it seemed to be now to be able to hear his voice. “My Lady,” he added and bowed his head slightly. “I am yet too weak to take more noble form but in this one we both look the same. I would never dare to take a form higher than yours. I know you need your disguise but so do I. I hope you do not mind this choice.”

“Not at all,” you shook your head and approached him. “I have nursed you when you were a… A shadow. How can you think I would ever be able to cast you away because of your shape or form?” You cupped his cheeks as his stubble scratched your hands.

Short silence occurred, in which you two were staring at each other intensely. You were the one to make the first move as you pulled his face towards yours to plant dozens of tiny kisses all over his face while your hands brushed his curls.

Filled with joy to be in your arms and to be greeted by you this way, he wrapped his new, strong arms around you and made an attempt to give back at least half of those hasty and desperate kisses.

“My Lady, my Queen,” he whispered between them, “my saviour, my Goddess.”

His kisses grew more hungry and passionate as his lips moved down to your neck, kissing it eagerly and sucking on the sensitive skin. His hands, shaky from anticipation, worked on the lacing of your gown. He was too desperate to ask if he could stain you with his touch but you would never reject him.

Whatever was between you two now had differed greatly from whatever you two had back in the day. After all those centuries of taking care of him in his weakest state while you two were hiding away from the outside world, you felt that the connection between you two was as strong as ever. Perhaps even stronger than the one you had once had with Melkor.

“Mairon…” You gasped when his hands finally untied the corset of your gown and he tore it off of you like a wild animal in heat, pushing you down onto the floor.

This time it was you underneath him, at the mercy of his will and his desire. And you should mind that but you did not – in fact, you craved it. It had been ages since he had a body and now his flesh was filled with uncontrollable desires. You wanted to be the only subject of them as you would never allow him to fulfil them with anyone else.

“You are mine,” you reminded him when he grabbed your wrists and crossed them above your head, pinning you down.

He looked deep into your eyes as his pupils widened and nearly overtook the beautiful green colour completely. He growled and leaned in to give you yet another hungry kiss and you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You could feel his erection already because the clothes he had taken from the commoner were thin and loosely put on.

“You belong to me,” you whined between one hungry kiss and another while he took both of your wrists into one of his hands now to be able to remove his clothes with the other. He was chaotic while doing so, desperate to get rid of anything between your bodies. “Tell me, Mairon. Do you serve me still?” You asked.

There was a new energy about him in this form. He was still only a Maia but you were a very weakened Vala and he was no longer a pathetic spirit you had remembered. He reminded you of your husband in a way that you were now anxious about.

“I am yours,” he breathed out and held onto your hip with his free hand as he buried himself inside of you and groaned out of pleasure. You shivered as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips bucked up as your walls throbbed around his length, welcoming him in by greedily sucking him in deeper. “I am your servant and yours only. There is nothing holy to me except for you,” he confessed and let go of your wrists to squeeze your cheeks, which caused your hazy eyes to open and look deep into his.

They were no longer green; not even black. He was too driven by desire to be able to control his form and his eyes were terrifying and animalistic as if he was a serpent and not a human. Yet, the sight only made you throb around him some more.

“In your name I shall heal this realm and you will have your temple like I have promised,” he hissed out. “But if you ever abandon me again, I shall give up on you, too. Like I have given up on all the other gods,” he threatened and perhaps he had earned a reprimand for that but you couldn’t help a moan at his words as your hips bucked once more and he began to thrust into you.

His rhythm was far from steady; it was chaotic and desperate, rough and fast. He groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, assaulting your skin with kisses and bites as his big and strong hands held onto your hips to be able to fuck you even deeper.

You tangled your fingers in his brown curls and pulled on them, which only spurred him on and with your other hand you scratched the flexed muscles of his back. Your moans and whines filled the whole fortress and lucky were the habitants of the near villages to live far away enough to not be able to hear you.

Like two desperate animals with your clothes scattered around and torn, fucking on the floor. There was nothing holy about you two at that moment and nothing noble either. Even your forms were human, therefore you had to resemble two primal and primitive creatures instead of the regal and holy spirits that you had originally been.

“I will never abandon you again, sweet Mairon. Have I not promised you already?” You whispered. “Whatever path you want to take, I shall take with you. Reunite all the dark creatures of this realm for you again, command your armies, I shall do it. Stay here forever and get lost in each other’s embrace for the whole eternity instead? I shall do it, too,” you confessed.

Your devotion – the loyalty of the one he had been worshipping ever since his creation – was enough to make him spill himself inside of you with a groan of pleasure and relief after such a long time of yearning. He moved up to look at your face and he caressed your sweaty cheeks while he kept thrusting in and out of you to make you reach your peak, too.

“Once we heal and take over this realm, I will defile you on every altar built for you,” Mairon promised you in a raspy voice, his eyes back to normal now but still foggy from his orgasm. “There will be no more Valar for our subjects, there will be only you. The only goddess. Any form of worship of the other Valar will be considered blasphemy,” he whispered sweetly and you moaned, feeling the muscles of your abdomen tightening as your walls clenched hard around him but he kept on fucking you. In fact, he picked up his pace. “Such a goddess you are and look at you, so humbled underneath me. How humiliating it must be for you, my Queen,” he teased, cruelly and instead of getting angry or ashamed, you finally came all around his cock, shivering and moaning as he watched in awe with a smirk, fucking you throughout your orgasm.

He was slowing down alongside your breath going back to normal and his rough human hands were caressing your cheeks now, brushing out the hair strands away from your sweaty face. 

“You forget yourself,” you breathed out eventually.

“You liked it,” Mairon pointed out. “And I shall do everything to please my Queen,” he chuckled with a sparkle dancing in his eye. “I bet you would like to do it again, my Lady.”

“I do,” you grinned but he shook his head as he laughed.

“Work before play,” he leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead. “And we have a lot of work to do,” he pointed out and moved away as you whined at the sudden emptiness.

“What are you talking about? You have just regained your form back,” you sat up and tilted your head at him.

“I have had centuries to come up with a scheme and I do not wish to waste more time,” Mairon told you, gathering the scattered clothes from the floor to put them back on.

You sighed and rolled your eyes before laying back on the ground.

“What is it, my Lady?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“Nothing, my sweet,” you chuckled. “You’re back at it, are you not? You cannot ever just let it happen or have fun. You must always work and be a perfectionist about it.”

“I might have a new form and a new will but some things never change,” he answered.

“I wonder sometimes why the Valar have not found me yet,” you sat up again to look at him and he froze at the mention of the other gods. “I mean, they are not searching for me hard enough because I am not that well disguised. Yet, they have not come for me yet and I know that in their eyes I deserve a punishment.”

“Do you have any theories about it, my Queen?” Mairon asked, curiously.

“You are my punishment, I reckon,” you told him. “I am humbled to be enamoured with a servant and I have to endure your annoying ways,” you added but with a playful smile that signalled your affection.

Mairon smirked nervously. He had once fantasised about something similar when his heart had still been pure and he had been Aulë’s disciple in Valinor. In what a twisted way his dream turned out to be real. He pitied you at that moment.

He crouched down next to you and caressed your cheek gently before leaning in to place a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I wish to perfect myself as much as it is allowed for me to but I will never be your equal, which I am aware of and it will forever be my biggest regret,” he confessed. “If only I could… All I want is to be worthy of you like he was. My master.”

You flinched at the mention of your husband. Melkor was immortal like you were, therefore he was not dead but locked away instead. You were still his wife because of that and you would forever remain in the eyes of many but at that moment, you would not mind to break the tradition and become Mairon’s bride. Even if it would be considered a great humiliation.

“I wonder what he thinks of us,” you mumbled out. “But I care not,” you looked up to meet Mairon’s concerned gaze.

“Even if he comes back by any chance, I shall not allow him to hurt you or take you away from me. No matter what it takes,” he promised with all seriousness and you batted your eyelashes to dry out your fresh tears.

“If he comes back by any chance,” you chuckled sadly, “it will be me having to protect you from his wrath, my sweet Mairon,” you caressed his cheek and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips.

You would never leave his side and you would always watch over him, take care of him and nurse him back to health whenever he would need it again. 

He was your lesson in humility but you were a very eager student.

You were sitting by the fire amongst all those poor villagers who had lost their homes. Mairon had his arm wrapped around you as you clinged to his chest as if you were cold, pretending to shiver slightly. The old man named Diarmid who had taken you both alongside with him squinted his eyes at the two of you and decided to join you by sitting next to you after a while of hesitation.

You moved slightly to make more space for him and he smiled.

“Halbrand and Brynn,” he addressed you by your new and fake human names. “How much have you lost there if I might ask?” He asked but there was no rudeness about it, only genuine concern.

“Everything,” you answered, refusing to look him in the eye as you watched the flames dance. It was the very element you had full control of but now you just allowed it to burn naturally as you smiled at the memory of casting the very first fire that had ever existed in Arda. Mairon leaned in to kiss your temple and he was the one to look at the old man.

“This might be a second chance for us,” he said. “I like to think of it as such. We are free now from the burdens of the past. As if we were new people.”

“And that is how you should be perceiving it,” Diarmid pointed out as he nodded. You smirked a little because he was so naive and so oblivious to your Mairon’s malice.

“My husband’s always been the more positive one,” you mumbled out. “I like to perceive things the way they are,” you added.

“That is certainly a useful quality,” the old man smiled at you. “But sometimes we all need a little hope and a little white lie here and there. Such wisdom comes with age that the true purpose of the fairytales is not to entertain the children but to bring hope to grown men and women for the reality of life can get too gloomy to bear faith for a better tomorrow. Yet, we must keep going. No matter what.”

You looked up at that moment and locked your gaze with his as your heart skipped a beat. The man kept smiling at you softly and you would never tell Mairon about it but he was no ordinary human. He was a spirit sent to you – he was one of the Maiar with a task given to him from the Valar.

They knew about you and Mairon and they wished for you both to redeem yourselves and choose goodness this time. Indeed, it made your heart clench deep inside of your chest as you remembered them all, especially your sister – the one you had betrayed the most.

But it was too late for you and too late for Mairon. Melkor’s corruption and darkness were reaching deeper within your souls than the Valar’s lightness ever would. You two were the most exquisite subjects of the Dark Lord’s torment.

Instead of fixing your malice with his love, like Marion had once dreamed of, you both descended into the paths of sin and destruction disguised as the act of healing. Together, at least.

MASTERLIST

[theladyofshalott1989]

"Girls' Night Out" (An HCU One-Shot)

Summary: Matty has organized a Girls' Night Out, and, as an honorary "girlie," Damien, of course, received an invitation. When Sebastian finds out he's been left off the guest list ("NO SEBASTIANS ALLOWED!"), Damien and Sebastian devise a clever plan to sneak him in. Because, well, that's just what they do.

Word Count: 1,521

Matty had invited all the seventh-year girls to what she called a "Girls’ Night Out," scheduled for a month and a few days from now. With everyone deep in their studies for their impending NEWTs, Damien figured Matty thought it would be the perfect way to offer them a much-needed break. Matty was usually right. Damien was included in the invite, of course, because he was an honorary “girlie,” at least according to Matty’s invitation, which was immaculate and beautifully designed—typical of her, really. Damien had always considered Matty practically perfect in every way. Alvin must have thought so too—or at least Damien hoped—considering the two had been inseparable for the past few months. He made a mental note to check in with Alvin, maybe even nudge him to do something romantic for her every now and then, just to be sure. Damien always looked out for his girl friends. 

“What’s this?” Sebastian plucked the invitation from Damien’s outstretched hand. 

“That’s mine!” Damien lunged forward to grab the parchment back but Sebastian darted to the side, laughing. He sprinted to the far end of the Undercroft, Damien on his tail, holding the paper out of reach as his eyes quickly scanned its contents.

“No Sebastians allowed,” he muttered under his breath. “No Sebastians allowed?” The second time was much louder. Damien even had to clap his hands over his ears.

“What did you expect, Bash? You’re not a girl!”

“Neither are you, unless you’ve somehow managed to hide that from me for the past two years.” He raised an unruly eyebrow. “Not that I would mind…” he added, trailing off, likely lost in thought, imagining just what that might entail. 

Damien, who had stomped back to Sebastian’s side, snatched the parchment from Sebastian’s hands with a flourish. He huffed prettily, batting his eyelashes. “You wish.”

Sebastian blinked, visibly thrown, and swallowed like he was trying to regain his composure. 

A triumphant chuckle slipped from Damien’s lips. He loved these moments—when he could rattle Sebastian just enough to steal an unguarded reaction.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “So, how are you going to disguise me so I can join in on the festivities?” How, indeed. 

“Is anyone hungry?” Tori asked, pulling an entire pastry out of her robe pocket. 

"Always!" Damien said. He swiped the offered pastry from her hand and promptly stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. "Thanks, Tori," he mumbled through a mouthful, grinning cheekily as he chewed.

Natty, standing beside him, didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his lack of manners. Damien gave Natty a side-long glance, narrowing his eyes. 

She quickly corrected herself. “Damien! Manners!” Hopefully her delayed reaction wasn’t too suspicious. 

Because Natty, obviously, wasn’t herself. Because Natty was Sebastian. 

Luckily, Sebastian and Damien had just enough time to brew a Polyjuice Potion before the big event. Getting a hair from Natty had been easy enough, since Damien shared half his classes with her, and—naturally—Damien and Natty were best friends. Unfortunately, Damien wasn’t the sneakiest of lads, and she’d caught on to his plan almost immediately. After a hurried explanation and a bit of his trademark persuasion, Natty gave him permission since she couldn’t attend Girls' Night Out herself. Provided, of course, that Damien promised to fill her in on every detail later. He readily agreed.

“I miss Alvin,” Matty said next, startling Damien out of his rumination. 

“You literally just said goodbye to him,” Cassie said, scowling. “Anyway, you were the one that made this a girls-only event.” 

Matty sighed. “I know, I know. Don’t you miss Alex?” Cassie shrugged. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Right, Damien?” She winked.

“Right,” Damien agreed, not looking her in the eye. Natty-Sebastian clapped a hand to her mouth, failing to stifle a laugh.

Cassie, thankfully, didn’t pay Natty’s slip up any mind. “Anyway,” she continued, “Alex and I had an argument this morning and I needed a break from him.” "Oh no, Cassie!" Jo chimed in, grabbing Cassie’s arm and linking it with her own. "I’m sure everything will be fine. What did you argue about?"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "He won’t stop haggling when we shop together. He insists on trying to negotiate everything!"

Jo snorted. 

“How industrious of him,” Natty-Sebastian piped in from beside Damien. “I’d consider that a good thing, wouldn’t you, Damien?” 

Damien mumbled something non-committal, trying to steer Sebastian away from drawing attention to himself, then quickly changed the subject. "So! Val!” He clapped his hands together. “How are you and Cal doing? Still completely head over heels for each other?"

Val, leading the pack, her round glasses catching the soft glow of the purple-pink sunset ahead, swiveled around. “Yes, of course!” she squeaked. 

Well, that was certainly suspicious. Damien sighed. “Is everyone fighting with their significant other?” 

“Not me!” Matty said from behind him. Damien should have amended his question. Matty and Alvin never argued. 

“And you’re not fighting with Sebastian,” Natty-Sebastian said. “At least not that I’m aware of,” she added, smirking. Natty never smirked. Everyone stopped walking to stare. Tori’s jaw dropped. 

“Natty,” Ellie and Alyn said in unison, “Are you alright?” They didn’t wait for her to respond, exchanging a surprised glance when they realized they’d asked the same question at the exact same moment.

Natty-Sebastian schooled her expression. “Oh, erm, yes. I’m just excited to be here with you all. It’s usually just me and Damien. Or, erm, me, off on my own exploring.”

“We’re so happy to have you here!” Jo exclaimed, an exuberant smile gracing her beautiful face. She released her arm from Cassie, and embraced Natty-Sebastian. Natty-Sebastian tensed. Ellie, ever observant, noticed. “Why so tense, Natty?” she asked, raising a perfectly contoured eyebrow.

“Erm, uh,” Natty-Sebastian glanced at Damien, floundering, “no reason?”

Damien brought a hand to his forehead. “That’s on me, everyone,” he said, scrambling to come up with an excuse. “Natty and I were playing Summoner’s Court all day because Professor Ronen challenged me to a match next week. I needed practice. She’s just sore. That’s all.”

All the girls nodded.

“How kind of you, Natty,” Alyn said, patting Natty-Sebastian on the shoulder gently. 

Everyone resumed walking and broke back out into scattered conversation. 

Phew, that was a close call. Damien was grateful he could see the Three Broomsticks slightly ahead. Once they all had some Butterbeer in them, he hoped that it would be easier to keep Sebastian’s presence under wraps. 

Boy, oh boy, was Damien mistaken. 

It turned out the boys had decided to drown their uninvited woes at Sirona’s fine establishment. So, what Matty had originally intended to be a girls-only night quickly turned into a gathering for everyone after all.

“Another!” Jaimsen shouted, slamming his empty glass on the counter.

“Another!” Natty-Sebastian echoed, mimicking his motion—but more clumsily. In her enthusiasm, Natty-Sebastian sent her glass tumbling to the floor. A loud crash followed. 

Sirona shouted, “Watch it!” from across the counter as she served another customer. Natty-Sebastian dropped down, picking her glass back up with a sheepish look on her face. She was very obviously drunk. 

Damien groaned and dropped his head into his hands. 

Alyn, who was sitting to his left, laughed. “Are you sure Natty’s alright?”

Ellie tugged at a stray strand of hair as she nodded. “She’s sure acting more…uninhibited than usual.”

“Perhaps she’s been working herself too hard,” Damien tried. “We’re all studying tirelessly, after all.”

“Not me!” Cal interrupted, raking a hand through his hair with his usual cavalier charm, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Not you,” Ale agreed from further down the counter. “Obviously not you,” he spat out, then took another chug of Butterbeer. 

“Whoa, what’s with the attitude?” Natty-Sebastian said, alighting at Damien’s side, holding yet another full glass of Butterbeer. “How many have you had?” Damien said, holding back a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s for me to know and you to…uh…not know,” Natty-Sebastian replied. 

The group had gone totally silent. You could hear a pin drop.

“Something’s not right,” Theo said from beside Tori. Tori abruptly stopped sorting a pile of sweets she had on the counter in front of her. 

“I agree,” she added. “Natty, were you experimenting with any new potions today? One time Poppy accidentally inhaled a drop of Amortentia in class and acted besotted with me all day.”

Florence, who had kept to himself most of the night thus far, laughed. “Poppy’s always besotted with you, Tori. What’s new?” 

Jaimsen gave Florence a high-five, then pecked him—rather adorably—on the cheek. “Oh, are we kissing now?” Natty-Sebastian suddenly said. Then, before Damien could get a word in edgewise, launched herself forward and planted a big, wet kiss on Damien’s lips. 

Damien recoiled, shouting out and tumbling backward off of his stool.

The entire group erupted in shouts of shock and disbelief. Jo, wide-eyed, even yelled, “Merlin’s arse!” which was extremely uncharacteristic of her.

“Oops,” Natty-Sebastian muttered under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. Damien glared up at her from the floor.

“Sebastian Sallow!” Damien growled, giving up the act entirely.

“I knew it!” Matty exclaimed, her grin wide and knowing.

Of course she did.

MCs Mentioned:

Damien (and his Sebastian, aka "Bash") are mine 🤭 

Matty, Theo, and Cal @girl-named-matty

Tori @espressoristretto-patronum

Cassie, Alvin and Alex @acslytherpuff

Jo @ravenwind-75

Val and Ale @savingsallow

Ellie @accio-bagel

Alyn @ps-cactus

Jaimsen and Florence @leaping-toadstool-caps

Thank you to everyone for allowing me to borrow their MCs. This was a blast to write! :)

[void-ink-studios]

Rinse and Spit [Part 6] - A Mouthwashing AU

FINALLY, this chapter is written. Enjoy it y'all, there will be More Development next time.

The dynamics shift on the Tulpar as the crew carries on without a certain shadow. But where does Curly stand in these new dynamics?

And why can't he shake the feeling he's one mistake away from being next?

Content Warning:

PTSD episode is depicted

Word Count: 2,400

Anya had left after tending to his new injuries.  Curly almost found it funny that, by some cursed miracle, he could possibly get more hurt than he already was.

Presumably, she left to speak with Swansea and Daisuke.  That had been a long time ago.  He could hear, even through the heavy metal doors, that they were yelling.  Swansea raising his voice, Anya raising her voice, even Daisuke.

He knew what they were arguing about.

One Captain laid dead.  It was time to decide what happened to the other.

Curly had weighed in his head his chances.  Daisuke seemed to still like him, at the very least.  That’s one vote in his favor.  Swansea, on the other hand, didn’t seem like he’d spit on him if he was on fire.  That’s one vote against him.

That only left Anya.

Anya.  Who he utterly failed every chance he had to be a good leader for.  Who he abandoned to go save her attacker’s hide over protecting her.

He didn’t see the next few hours panning out well for him.

Take responsibility

So all he could do was wait.

And all the while, Jimmy was laying there.  A pool of blood had settled under his head and neck.  The entire room smelled metallic, with the stink of mouthwash mixing unpleasantly with it all.

It was at least easy for Curly to not look at him.  He’d learned to do that very well, not looking at Jimmy.

Instead, he could focus on what he was feeling.  The image of the scalpel so close to his eye burned into his mind.  The feeling of the saw’s teeth in his leg still radiated through his entire body.  The burn of vomit still sat sticky in his throat and mouth.

Maybe he should stop focusing on what he’s feeling.

He couldn’t look at the screen anymore.  He couldn’t listen to its buzzing anymore.

And yet, that’s all he could do.

That’s all he deserved to do.

When had this all gone so wrong?

Was Jimmy always a monster?  Curly didn’t know.  He knew that Anya and Jimmy’s relationship had started to fall apart, even before this hell of a voyage.  He had thought they were just arguing.

“There’s better nurses, you know.”

Jimmy played with the lighter in his hands, flicking it on and off, letting the lid make its little clicking sounds as he stared down at the floor.

“Excuse me,” Curly asked, looking up from the clipboard.  Jimmy had been silent for the entire inspection of the cockpit.  That was okay.  Curly had been doing this for years, he knew what to look for without his help.

“I’m just saying.  There’s gotta be better nurses working for Pony Express, right?  Ones who actually made it into medical school?  I mean, fuck, even school nurses need a degree, don’t they?  How come you don’t request one of those?”

Curly shrugged.  “I mean… It’s Pony.  I don’t think anyone with that much school debt is gonna be working in a dump like this, yeah?”

Curly tried to laugh.  Jimmy didn’t.  Curly clicked the pen uncomfortably.

“Plus, Pony offers medical school courses.  Don’t need a degree if they’re teaching you what you need themselves right?  That’s how you’re a pilot.”

Curly regretted it the second it left his mouth.

“Yeah.  I get it.  I owe it all to you.  Consider me fucking thankful.”

He didn’t look at Jimmy, but he could feel the glare burning into his head.  “...Sorry.  But, why bring this up anyway?  I like Anya.”

Jimmy didn’t respond, just huffed and leaned as far back as he could in his pilot’s seat.  Curly heard the click of the lighter, and Jimmy take a dragging breath.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You know there’s no smoking on Pony property.  I’ve told you that a million times now.  It’s my ass they chew for that, you know.”

“You and Pony can bite me.”

Curly sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Look.  I’m sorry for what I said.  My point was Pony gives people chances.  It gave you a chance, and you like being a pilot, right?  So, it’s fair Anya’s got a chance too.  And she’s a damn good nurse.”

Curly finally looked at Jimmy.  He was never really good at reading the man’s expressions.

“I guess.”  Jimmy finally cracked a little bit of a smile.  “I do like being in control for once in my life.”

Curly turned that memory over in his head a lot.  That had to have been a hint.  He should have pushed more.  Should have questioned it more.  It was so obvious.  A red flag he missed.  One of many…

Even lifeless, Curly could feel Jimmy’s gaze burning him.

At least Curly wasn’t alone anymore.

He finally brought himself to look at Jimmy.  The color had completely drained from his face.  His eyes were unseeing, staring at nothing, yet everything at the same time.

He didn’t know how long he sat there until the door opened again.

He couldn’t look.  He wondered how they’d do it.  The ax?  The gun?  Something else?  He didn’t know.  But maybe a selfish part of him is at least glad it’ll all be over soon.

I hope this hurts

“...You got lucky.”

That was Swansea.  There was a sound of a thud, and something dragging over the metal floor.  He finally turned his head to watch Swansea drag Jimmy’s body away.  The older man didn’t look the Captain in the eye.

“Very lucky.”

Curly watched as Swansea dragged the former pilot away, Anya entering soon after.  That’s odd… She already took care of his injuries, didn’t she?  She looked tired.  And sad.

Anya looked at him.  For a very long time.  He looked away.

“...Try to get some sleep, Captain.”

She reached behind Curly’s head, fluffing up the pillow a little before she took her old seat next to him.

Curly didn’t move.  He didn’t look at her.  He tried to breathe as quietly as possible.  Because… Well, if he moved, it might break whatever spell has come over the Med Bay.

Anya was back…

The days carried on like that.  Anya was back at his side.  She wasn’t as chatty with him as she was at the beginning but… She seemed at ease.

You know why.

She carried on with her duties.  She changed Curly’s bandages, cleaned him, and brought him more IV calories… Curly didn’t know how she’d managed that, he had zero faith that Pony would have packed something that helpful. She had something about that, long ago.  Something about how Swansea rigged the fabricator.

She even started chatting with him again.  Just a little bit.  But it was something.  Something to listen to that made Curly feel like he wasn’t just a pile of raw meat on the table.

She even became the one to give him his pain killers.

When she first approached him with a pill bottle, Curly hated how much he flinched.  Anya just looked at him, her eyes full of sadness and regret.

“It’s… It’s okay now, Captain.  I can manage this.”

She was far more gentle in giving him the pills than Jimmy was.  She sat him up, she eased his mouth open, she was careful and delicate with her fingers.  She even gave him a glass of water to help it down.

Curly trusted her.  He knew he shouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve to feel at ease around her, but he did.  She very easily could have made this all more painful than it needed to be, and she’d have the right.

But she never did.

She set him back down as gently as she lifted him up.  Yet Curly still felt ghosts of hands on his neck.  Of fingers probing the back of his throat.  Of nails digging under his bandages.  He watched her for movement.  For signs of vengeance.

But nothing ever came of his watching.

She read her books quietly.  Listened to her music and smiled.  She laughed when Daisuke poked his head into the Med Bay.  She didn’t tense up whenever the door opened anymore.  She looked happier than even before the crash.

Take responsibility

He wished he could feel as at ease as she seemed to.  Curly heard the metal doors slide open, a familiar, gruff voice filling him with dread.

“Anya, please, take some time to rest.”

“Swansea-”  Curly could see Anya standing a bit behind him.  She looked worried.  She was wringing her hands together, her gaze flicking between the older man and the captain.

“I promise.  You know I’m good for it.”  Swansea had his back to Curly.  He wished he could see the expressions on his face.  Or, maybe it was better he didn’t.

She held eye contact with Curly for a very long time before she finally nodded.

“...Okay.”

The door closed again, Swansea taking a deep breath, before finally turning around.

The two men stared at each other for a long time.  Curly was certain he could hear his own heart beat picking up speed.

“...Anya needs sleep.  You need meds.  I’m filling in for her.”

Please no…

Curly watched as Swansea strolled over to the desk with the pain killers.  He looked at the bottle intensely.

“Paracetamol?  This shit is for fevers.  Joint aches.  You can’t be getting much from this, can you?”

Curly waited a few moments.  For what, he wasn’t sure.  Maybe for him to dump the few painkillers he had down the drain.  Or maybe for him to threaten him.

But it didn’t happen.

“Whatever helps, I guess.  That’s what Anya said.”

Swansea turned back around, a pill in his hand.  His expression looked generally bored.  Maybe annoyed.

I hope this hurts

Curly couldn’t help but start to shake.

Swansea hated him.  Granted, for a good reason.  But Swansea hated him, and was now approaching him with a pill.

“You’re real lucky Anya has a soft spot for you right now.”  He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand.  “You got us into this fucking mess.  And now we’re taking care of you.  Isn’t it the Captain’s job to take care of the crew?”

I hope this hurts

Swansea was standing over Curly now.

Curly knew what Swansea looked like.  He’d been looking at that tired face for almost 8 years.  He knew what he looked like.  He knew his receding hairline, his full face and thick neck, his pot belly and stocky limbs.

So why did his hair suddenly look longer?  Why did his face and limbs suddenly look thinner?

“Whatever.”

Why did his eyes look so empty?

“I hope these make you fucking feel better.”

I hope this hurts

Jimmy was standing over him.  He was smiling his empty smile and standing over him, reaching towards him.  Of course.  Of course Anya killing him had to be a dream.  He couldn’t escape it that easily.

He couldn’t dodge responsibility that easily.

Take responsibility.

There were hands on him.  A voice talking to him.

No, no, please no…

He flailed his limbs.  It wouldn’t help, it never did, it only ever made things worse, but he had to do something.  He couldn’t go back to this nightmare.  No matter how much he deserved it.  No matter how much he knew Anya’s gentleness was too good for him.  He couldn’t go back.

“...urly!  Curly!  Stop!”

Suddenly he was being held.  Tightly.  A hug?  Anya?

He could smell something metallic, something like oil and sweat.

Swansea…

Curly froze in Swansea’s grip.  The man was hugging him.  Or maybe he was trying to hold him together.

“Are you done?”

Curly couldn’t see his face.  And he wasn’t about to lift his head to check.

“Stop fucking staring at me.”

He couldn’t place the tone in Swansea’s voice.  He wasn’t sure when he got so bad at reading people.  Then he felt the ghosts of hands on his throat.  Maybe he was never good at reading people.

The captain then realized he was asked a question.

Answer the question, you won’t be hit as hard.

Curly nodded, his body still slightly shaking.

Swansea’s grip gently released, an arm moving to support his back to keep him sitting up.  The engineer seemed to be feeling for something.  His fingers traced along his side, feeling his ribs through the hospital gown.

“Jesus…”

Curly didn’t know if he was meant to respond to him.  He usually had to guess with Jimmy, but he at least knew what to expect from Jimmy.

He didn’t know what Swansea would have in store.

Gently, although not as gently as Anya, Swansea tilted Curly’s head back and opened his mouth.  The captain couldn’t help but flinch again.

“Hey.  Curls.  Look at me.”

Curly shook his head.

“Can you look at me?”

Take responsibility

Curly slowly turned his eye to finally look at Swansea.  The man’s expression was harsh but… something seemed tempered.  Softer than before.  Frustrated, maybe conflicted.

“Look, I don’t know what he did to you.  Fucked up shit, probably, if you were freaking out that badly.  But I’m not him.  Yeah, I’m pissed at you.  But I’m not going to hurt you.”

Curly still didn’t move.  The two looked at each other for a long time.

“Can I give you your medicine now?  It’s probably not doing too much, but hey.  It’s something, right?”

The captain waited for Swansea to move.  Get angry.  Say something about how ungrateful he’s being.  To do… Something. 

“Gotta give me a nod, bub.”

Curly hesitated another moment before nodding.  Swansea sighed, nodding back.  He tilted the captain’s head back, gently feeding the pill down his throat, and helping it down with some water.  Swansea wasn’t as delicate as Anya.  But it was probably due more to his broad and callused fingers than… malice.

Swansea set him back down softly, making sure his head reached the pillow.

“Goodnight.  Get some sleep.  Daisuke’s been working on something for you.  Won’t tell me what it is, but says it’s going to be ‘super important.’  Whatever that means.  So… I guess be ready for that.”

Curly was only half listening.  A part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  For Swansea to say that one last thing to make sure he remembered his place in the pecking order.

But he didn’t.

“...Jimmy’s not here anymore.  You can relax a little.”

And he left.

Curly listened to the static buzz for a long time.  He felt tears stinging the side of his face long before he realized he was crying.

He swallowed the sobs down, even though it hurt his chest.  He clamped his mouth as closed as he could manage, until his teeth hurt.

He had only just gotten this small blessing of peace.

He was not going to ruin it by bothering them anymore.

[nmakii]

AND BRUSH, AND BRUSH MY HAIR

— chigiri hyoma x long haired!reader

alt title: chigiri would be my bff bf!!! sighs me and my waist length hair against the world

well… obviously he loves your long hair. he thinks it frames your face perfectly >_<

one of the best past times to spend tgt as a couple is being in his lap while he brushes your hair out. if your hair is long because it’s a hassle to always get a haircut, he wont let you braid his hair in return. :x only if you love your hair as much as he does teehee

++ if you guys ever share an apartment and bathroom, the shelf is gonna be full of hair products…

also loves to shampoo your hair if you’re too tired to do it… something super intimate about letting him exfoliate your scalp as his finger thread through the tangles in your hair. it’s a simple luxury that only you and he’d know the pleasure of

he luvs trying out hair hacks with you. “babe..! i just saw this hack that says your hair grows healthier and longer faster if you use rosemary oil and rice water..! …where’s the rosemary?”

he thinks ur long hairs perfect… doesnt want you to ever cut it… and if you do end up cutting it, it’s gonna be like that meme “told my girl not to cut her hair. she did it anyway and she looked fine af. this is why women shouldnt listen to their man”

if you ever have an important event going on, and you need to look glammed up, he’s MORE than happy to wake up at 5 AM or whatever to style your hair. he luvs u ofc <3

“it’s not too tight, is it?” chigiri asks as he ties the braid he tied on the side, holding your hair from getting into your face. “yeah, it’s perfect, hyo. thank you.” you hum.

“right. well, good luck at your party, babe. hopefully there isn’t someone who tries to steal you away from me while im not there.” he huffs. “heeh, good luck at your game too, tonight. and don’t worry, ill tell them im taken by a gorgeous man.” you enunciate your words, buttering him up and making his heart turn into jelly.

chigiri abashedly, yet smugly grins. “tch… gorgeous? more like drop-dead charming…”

you scoff, taking your purse as he walks you to the door. “hmm… hyo, what would you do if i wanted to cut my hair?” you ask. of course it was a hypothetical, but it was something you were seriously starting to concern…

“haah? how come? you’re super pretty with it, i won’t like brushing your hair if it’s short..” he huffs, the frown on his pretty lips making him seem adorable. “i know… i like my hair too, but i feel like it’s getting too long… like, there has to be a limit somewhere, right?”

he shakes his head. “well…if you like it, you shouldn’t cut it. when it comes to you, you could have obnoxiously long hair like rapunzel— like, to the point where it’s in my face when we cuddle, and ill still think you should grow it longer.” he hums, a hand unconsciously finding its way to you. “plus, why cut it when it makes your title as ‘world’s prettiest girl’ so much more obvious to everyone else?”

he’s trying to spoil you with compliments. he knows that getting you weak in the head would let him get his way. of course he definitely doesn’t use this power for evil… this was just a desperate occasion. “i mean… once, i dropped my pen, so i bent down to get it… and my hair was on my arm, and i thought it was a lizard and i jumped..!” you recount a story from two weeks ago.

“…pfft… ahaha..!” he laughs. “that just means you should keep your hair out of your face… see? a simple braid like what i did for you right now would be enough.” he rebuts your reasons for cutting your hair.

“…whatever.” you groan. “im still on the fence about whether i should do it anyway.” chigiri nods. “well then, don’t cut it. it’d be like you’re cutting a part of my soul away.”

you scoff. dramatic, much? chigiri rolls his eyes at your disbelief. “you laugh, but i’m serious..! just let me be a little bit selfish… and, don’t cut your hair…” he pleads.

[neptunescore]

I LOVE IT SM 🫶🫶 same anon with the jealous osc. Carlos is like the forbidden word at McLaren with how they miss him sm.

Altho Osc, that’s like straight up murder 😭 I would imagine him being filled with anger every time he sees red, or just seeing Charles in general.

Altho of course his performance goes downhill cause its not carlos speaking anymore. In this universe, will there be a chance of Carlos going back? Cause I think if he didn’t, Oscar would become a wanted man.

The Carlos being a forbidden word thing is so real😭 Also, I can totally imagine random groups of Mclaren team personnel disappearing at times, just for photographs to surface later where you can distinctly see the grainy outlines of them sitting with Carlos in some paddock cafe in the background. Maybe even a few instagram posts on their personal accounts that include him. The way Oscar is driven insanely mad. He is SEETHING.

How come they get to go out and talk to him, and he doesn't? And wasn't Carlos always dragging him along somewhere? Why isn't he doing that now? Why must Oscar just settle with seeing small glimpses of him? Not to mention each and every one of those glimpses is just Carlos being all lovey-dovey with Charles. It's not fair! It's not!

(This man remains in denial for a while, and he just deals with it all by pure anger. And the Oscar type anger. Where no one will know, but all of a sudden Charles is just randomly tripping in the paddock all the time, or his suitcase is going missing, or he can't get enough sleep because the room beside him won't stop playing deranged music)

Anyways, in my original work, I don't think Carlos leaves Mclaren in the first place, but in this alternate one, I honestly believe he wouldn't come back.

Oscar just wants Carlos. And when him and Carlos finally work things out, he has him. While I do believe Oscar gets sad and pouty abt Carlos not being his race engineer anymore, he knows it's a little too late. Even more, Carlos seems genuinely happy where he is now (it took him a while to adjust, but he absolutely loves it), and that's all Oscar wants. He'll just settle for hearing that Spanish accent in bed rather than on track, a major upgrade in his books.

Oscar still glares at Charles whenever he sees him, though. Who does this man think he is, stealing Carlos away from him. (Carlos finds it absolutely hilarious)

[mixupmycota]

then there's emmrich

a man whose life is defined by history, by death, by mourning, by wanting his parents to be proud of him. by wanting the respect of his colleagues. by desperately wanting to live.

an impoverished child who was orphaned early and who was adopted into the mourn watch and who learned how to process his own grief through ritual. who whispers to the dead, but never tried to talk to his own parents, for fear that they wouldn't recognize him or, subtextually, that he'd hurt them by showing them who he is now.

"the education makes the man", is an assertion of his own worth, but one he is snappish about, defensive about. An argument he has had before, he says.

emmrich is so kind and considerate and tries never to make anyone feel looked down on, but sometimes does so anyway, and he knows that.

do you think he worries that if he talks to his parents, will they feel like he rejected them? did he reject them, in his own mind? his father was a butcher, emmrich a vegetarian. "every watcher must find where their balance of death falls. what they will, and will not, take a life for." he doesn't wish to be a bother. he can prepare his own meals. he can stand on his own. he can stand apart from all of them.

he stands apart from them as it is, so why not? why not be exceptional.

Emmrich is someone who is able to better relate to the dead than the living, multiple ways over, and yet is terrified of the sudden cessation of life. his parents. his own. the lives of anyone he is close too. like johanna. who he respected, regarded as an equal, a friend. who, once upon a time, he trusted with his vulnerabilities and to be able to be responsible with knowledge of lichdom. he wanted a peer.

he saw what happened, even before learning about the path she's on in the course of the game's narrative. her unethical experiments and approach. he clearly struggled with it.

he's lonely. he's so lonely.

emmrich feels at peace in the memorial gardens, they're very important to him. a place of familiar ritual, the place his parents are buried, a place where life sprouts from death. it's in the memorial gardens that he opens up to us again and again. when asked by, i think harding? where he would take someone who is special to him, he says it would be the memorial gardens.

his relationship with manfred is life out of death. death from life. he makes himself a friend, a companion, someone to guide who sought him out and doesn't reject him.

emmrich's relationship with manfred is mostly about his struggles with himself.

it is an academic relationship - manfred is the object of study and also a student! it is a personal relationship - manfred reminds him of himself, and is also his friend! it is familial - manfred as his son and, as long as he does what he is told (loud comma), a theoretically immortal legacy.

the body is a home in death. a home can collapse.

a collapsing home forces a reckoning, once again, with his own mortality, with the loss of his parents.

gestures at how his quest can go in its last step and the catalyst for the choice he cannot make on his own because he has been trying too his whole life, alone, and he needs a friend to see him and give him advice.

either way, he makes peace with life and with death. his perspective shifts depending on the outcome, in a way i find really interesting!!

emmrich is so fucking messy, i adore him

[kittycat10112004]

Guys I had the best zosan fic idea EVER an I needed to share before I forget. Though maybe it won't leave lol.

Anyways, yall know La siene? Well heres my idea.

Sanji learns the love language of wano while he's there, and is shocked to find out that doing little could mean so much, also the poetic way of saying i love you (the moon is beautiful isn't it?) and that Zoro had cared that much and he never knew, so he wants to make it up to him, by combining his love language with Zoros, he thinks of songs that has to do with the moon and love, then it hits him, La siene would be perfect. (Just switch the her parts to him lol) but he doesn't want the others to know what he's singing and to whom, so he's gonna sing in French, but he's gonna need some help from Robin. (cause Zoro doesn't know French) so events on wano happen and luffy wants another celebration on the ship, (cause why not?) and Sanji comes up with a plan, (and tells Robin too of course) Robin will leave a French book out so Zoro spots it and asks about it, then Robin will tell him about it and translate for him, then later on while the crew is celebrating and singing hed wait for his turn, and sing La siene to Zoro while making sure the others don't notice, and hold onto hope that Zoro accepts his confession. So, thats the plan. Now to put it in place. Robin leaves the book out and as expected Zoro notices and asks, to which Robin translates, (and teaches him how to confess in French too for good measure.) The day goes by and night falls which means the party is happening, time goes by a bit more, Zoro on the railing and watching nearby (at least far enough where the crew doesn't notice him, and checks the lavender rose in his harumaki, then returns to watching the crew) and Sanjis turn comes up, (Zoro expects that he will sing loud and clumsily to the lady's, like an idiot, what he doesn't know is he's about to be very wrong) Sanji steps to the metaphorical stage, starting to sing,

(Idk if its the French ver or not lol) Zoro thinks he's singing to the lady's (like the romantic fool he is) until Sanji looks at him, (I dont know, dont know, so dont ask me why, that's just how we love La Siene and I) (just listen to the song and imagine sanji singing it. and yes I know its a duet, id like to think that he'd sing it by himself to Zoro ok?) Shock is one hell of an understatement to Zoro, but now he sees why Robin was teaching him French earlier (as well as how to confess in French) it was Sanjis plan, of a Love confession to him. That idiot. (Zoros eyes are now completely on Sanji as he sings the rest of the song) and as much as Zoro hates to admit it, that was one hell of a love confession. Sanjis song finishes and the next go up is ussop, so Sanji leaves em be, choosing to walk over to Zoro, being a bit embarrassed, (despite how well it went) "so, what do you say?" (Zoro pulls out the lavender rose) "id say, je t'iame aussi." (I love you too) now its Sanjis turn to be shocked, Robin must have taught him behind his back, still, its such a confession that is still so sweet to him, he didn't have to follow through what Robin said and yet he did, even more so the meaning of the rose, (lavender rose means Enchantment, or "love at first sight") he took the rose and smelled it (he always loved the smell of roses) and, without missing a beat, pulled Zoro in close, and kissed him short, soft, and sweet (Robin watched out of the corner of her eye smiling before turning back to the show) Sanji looks at the strawhats then back at Zoro, "lets go a bit further away hm?" "mh" they go farther away till its a bit quieter, music barely heard in the background. And they stay in eachothers company, enjoying the quiet peaceful night under the moons glow.

(And thats the end, hope yall fellow zosan fans like this idea as much as I did. It was so fun to write.)

[starrysharks]

evilution

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[casualavocados]

Learn from who? Learn from you? You are still a brat. What do you know? You're only three years older. Like you are any better than me. You're 21, and still a virgin. What are you proud of? I think you can't do it.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 06

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Crazy issues that come up when a character is written a little too well