#at the end of the day everyone deals with this how they see fit

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

NSFW alphabet challenge (request) pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader premise: the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it. (Janet and Wally are dating to increase their social value. meanwhile, Wally wants to get closer to her step-sister. you.) warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'. all oneshots for this collection will be linked as they come out.

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A is for the addiction Wally develops once he sets his sights on you. He's feral with it. Can't get enough of your skin under his fingertips; your shapes fitted against his; the sounds you make when he takes you apart with his teeth and his tongue and his dirty fucken mouth. So different from the public persona he sheds the second you're behind closed doors.

B is for bad ideas. Like the one that crept in behind his eyelids the instant he noticed you, cute and soft and sweet as a kitten. God, he wanted to do something about it right there. In front of the roomful of people between you, no fucks given. Wally's impulsive on a good day and reckless on a bad day, and you inspire too many fantasies that he can't not want to live out.

C is for competency, control; the single-minded intensity Wally has for every task. How he moves with a perfect combination of aggression and grace on the field, catching the ball from the QB. Touchdown. How he folds over the hood of your car and fiddles with cables and tightens bolts and fixes the rattle in the engine. How he holds his own desire at bay to bring you to the edge, over and over and over again until you sob. How he makes you come as soon as he slides home, grinds in, measured and slow, making it last as long as he wants before taking pity on you and fucking you into the mattress.

D is for Wally's dirty mouth. The things he rasps at you as he takes you apart with his fingers, his mouth, his cock. "You feel so good, baby,"—"fuck, I love the way you taste,"—"I want you to come on my tongue,"—"that's it, fuck, yeah, don't stop, baby, just like that, so good for me, such a good girl..." His fingers dig into your hips as he guides you in his lap, up-down-grind-repeat; his lips on your throat, teeth in your skin, marking you up so everyone knows you belong to someone. Belong to him.

E is for the effort Wally finds himself making to see you smile. It's stupid, he thinks, because it's not like he loves you. He's horny and putting out isn't part of the deal he and Janet made at the end of Junior year. But then he sees some jackass try to touch you, making jokes Wally doesn't find funny, drawling that he'll treat you special and make you see God as you shove and kick at him. Then you start crying and Wally sees red. Steps in. Pummels the guy's nose into his skull so hard, Wally's knuckles are scraped and bloody when he caresses your face and kisses your forehead. Promises to drive you home from the party. "Fuck that guy, baby girl, he won't touch you again."

F is for the way Wally shamelessly flirts with you. The back-and-forth you and he have when surrounded by people. Dark and husky, leaning in close with his back to Janet who's too busy with her drones to care what Wally's up to. You're fierce and funny and you flirt right back once you're comfortable enough, but Wally's had a lot of practice and knows how you get you hot with the right inflections. Eyes dark and heavy, lips brushing your ear, breath ghosting your skin while his fingers trail over your hip, "I bet you'd look better on your knees for me, baby."

G is for the God-given talent Wally has. You know the one. That one he weaponizes when he wants you to stop being stubborn, be a good girl, behave. He spreads your legs, kisses down your body, then delivers his bribe; tongue-deep inside you, making out with your pussy like a gourmet dessert de la crème. He could spend hours there if you let him, moaning when you grind your pretty pink kitty against his mouth, so close, Wally, oh God—it's all he needs to sustain himself.

H is for how Wally holds you down against the mattress; up against the wall; in his lap as he sits back on his haunches, one arm banded around your waist, the other braced behind him as he rolls his hips up, sharp thrusts and deep grinds into you, "That's it, baby, keep bouncing on daddy's cock...just like that...fuck." His big hand clasps your thigh when he flips you onto your back, pushing it up as far as your flexibility will allow, spreading you open for him, wanting to get as deep as he can, wanting to make you scream his name and forget your own.

I is for the intensity of Wally's stare as he watches you from across the room, his eyes tracking you as you laugh with your friends. He strips you in his mind, licks his lips as your skirt rides higher on your thigh when you cross your legs. A flash of pink lace, the panties Wally asked you to wear that make his jeans tight and mouth water. He cups himself through the denim, casual, sprawled on the opposite couch, gaze smoothing up your legs to your hips to your collar, fucking you with his eyes until you notice and give your friends an excuse to follow Wally to the bathroom.

J is for the jealousy Wally has to keep tightly contained in his bones whenever he sees another guy approach you. Like Jacob from Pre Cal, who flirts with you as if he doesn't know you belong to someone else. Wally is too obvious, he's aware, glaring daggers at the retinue of possible others who dare step into your space. Careful, collected, Wally has to smile like he doesn't notice them as he struts over and positions himself at your back, hands on your hips to drag you against him, ass fitted into the cradle of his pelvis. He watches in satisfaction as the dipshits take their leave with their tails between their legs.

K is for how Wally kisses you. The variety of ways. Pushy and ruthless when he's agitated; too much energy and no outlet. Or soft and slow when he just wakes up, liquid smile and heavy eyes, hand cupping your jaw like you're something precious. He nips and tugs your lips with his teeth when a teammate makes a comment just this side of not fucking funny, Gary and Wally isn't allowed to do anything about it. Sometimes, his kisses are sharp, honed, exactly what you want to feel so he can get what he wants. Always, his kisses are stolen. Behind locked doors, in dark corners, wherever he can snatch them from you without getting caught.

L is for the feeling Wally is terrified to label. The one that blooms in his chest whenever you touch him, smile at him, say his name, move, breathe, exist. Shit. It's warm and tingly and drives him to distraction because this is just a fun way to pass the time, to make things more interesting; he can't want you like that... But he does.

M is for the mess Wally makes of you when he fucks you in an alley or an empty classroom or behind the stadium. Thick cock slamming into you until you come at least twice, your panties around your ankles, his jeans at his thighs, pounding into you as he grips your hips so hard you bruise. He pulls out just enough to paint your pussy with his come, smearing it through your wetness with the tip of his cock, letting his spend and your juices trickle down your leg. And when you're forced to wipe yourself off with your ruined panties, he pockets them before you can throw them away, smug and satisfied.

N is for the fact that there's nothing Wally won't try with you, do for you, take from you. He wants everything you have to give. Is determined to taste every inch of you, from top to bottom, back to front, he doesn't care, he wants it all. He's never been this consumed by someone, thinks it'll fade the more he fucks it out of his system. It doesn't work. There's always a next time, and a next, and a next. And every time he leaves wanting more.

O is for Wally's inability to be subtle when you're around. Overt, obvious, open stares of lust when you walk into a room regardless of who else is in it. His heartbeat quickens, his breathing shallows, and he feels like a mutt in rut. All dark eyes and desirous smirks, hands grazing your body when you get close enough. He thinks he's slick, secretive, getting away with murder. But the truth is, he couldn't hide how he feels about you if someone put a gun to his head.

P is for the pleasure Wally takes in pampering you. He's a gentleman like that. What makes you happy makes him happy and, fuck, he loves to dote on you. From opening car doors to surprising you with your favorite Starbucks order. Showering you in presents he thinks you'll fill out perfectly for him. His pretty little passenger princess; a precious paper doll that he dresses up like a gift just to unwrap immediately with greedy fingers.

Q is for the question Wally wants to ask but can't. The one that makes things official. That ties him to commitment and expectation. Ignoring that you're the only place he's getting his dick wet, he's not ready for that. Until he catches himself smiling—soft and fond and affectionate—when you send a text that has nothing to do with where you want him to fuck you next. And, ah hell, maybe he does want to ask. Too bad he doesn't have the nerve.

R is for how riveted, rapturous, fucking obsessed Wally is when you ride him. No matter what he claims—"your turn to do all the work, baby"—he can't hold back, always fucks up into you, flushed, panting, hands clenching your hips and stroking your thighs and squeezing your ass. He watches your body, sweet liquid movements as you ride his cock like a goddess, and comes faster than he otherwise would. But that's fine because Wally has the refractory period of a fucking nympho.

S is for those soft, sweet, silly moments that you share. The ones he coaxes out of you during the domestic lulls between fucks. He invited you over for the weekend, Janet at some friend's lake house and Wally's parents visiting his aunt one state over. Perfect timing. And it is all hard thrusts and pinned wrists and love bites on your thighs, but then it's jokes over pancakes. Forehead kisses as he holds you in the shower. Hand-holding while you walk to the gas station for snacks, his thumb sweeping the back of your hand like he loves you. Sentimental.

T is for the toys Wally loves to tease you with. He's not afraid to introduce other means of stimulation into the mix. He'll do anything if it makes you shake apart for him; if it'll make you whimper and beg for more before you plead for him to stop, too much, Wally, it's too much, I can't as he presses the vibrator against your clit. He never listens, too enraptured by the expression of pleasure on your face, the way your body responds for him, fuck, yes, "that's it, baby, come for me again, show daddy how good you feel."

U is for how uncharacteristic, unpredictable, underutilized Wally's control has become since he started this with you. He was the image of dark and dominant behind closed doors, but, three months in, he can't keep himself in check. If he has you—against a wall, in the backseat of his car, in bed, in the shower, in. on. against—his control snaps as soon as you make a single sound of wanting pleasure. He goes feral for those noises. They're his complete undoing. And he'd surrender everything you asked for just to hear them one more time.

V is for the voice notes you and Wally swap when you and he aren't together. When he hasn't had a chance to sneak away from Janet or football practice or homework in too long and he's desperate for release. He strokes himself to the tempo of your whimpers and sighs, fucks his fist when he gets to the edge before slowing down and switching voice to video. He loves to show you what you do to him, how heavy and flushed and thirsty he is for you. "Your pussy sounds so nice and wet...now show me how you want me to fuck you, baby."

W is for every whim and want Wally indulges. Of yours. Of his. Mostly of his. Gluttonous and gourmand. You want to taste caramel on his cock? Go for it, baby. He wants to get messy with whipped cream? Okay, daddy. He wants to tease you with vibrating panties while you're trying to eat at that new place on Lasher? Okay, daddy. He wants to tie you up and spank you because you came before he said you could? Fuck, yes, daddy! ... Good girl.

X marks the spot Wally hammers into at exactly the right angle when he's feeling generous. And he always feels generous with you. He's addicted to the way you look when you come. Because he did that. He made that happen. It's empowering and euphoric and he can't get enough even though he should've by now.

Y is a word followed by 'not'. A question you ask when Wally hoists you into his arms and pins you to the wall with his hips after one of the leads in the school play asks you out. He grinds against you, cock throbbing, head angry, and reminds you who you belong to; why you can't say yes to Alex Greenberg even though it's all pot kettle black. Still, as he tears your panties at the seam and fucks you with abandon, desperate and aggressive, he makes a convincing argument.

Z is for how it ends. With her, not with you, because Wally's too far into the addiction and wouldn't last a day without getting his fix. He needs you. Wants you. Fucking shit, he loves you. So it's goodbye Queen Bee Janet and hello to her silly, sexy bombshell of a step-sister. Wally has no regrets, his hand on your ass as he walks you into Homecoming, fist-bumping his friends and saluting the principal. He loses his crown and doesn't care at all, too wrapped up in you to notice. Hands on your hips, brow against his, fitted perfectly against him like a puzzle piece.

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above and below are the links to the complete collection of Alphabet Soup. you can also find all related content HERE as well as reformatted chapters on AO3.

~ 🩵👻

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[arikihalloween]

https://www.tumblr.com/chocolategothwolfhorse/746206481269030912/authors-note

Aight I've been filled in

So people are really just pissy about the lore change ?

God damn, I have nothing else to say but "grow up" ( as bitchy as it sounds)

Choco admitted the mistake of not setting proper boundaries and feeling unhappy about what the direction of their characters, that happens, it's not the end of the world

Characters are litterally a bunch of lines and words, it can move, change, stretch, and sometimes the creator wants to change the direction, and that's okay, it's their choice

Yes, it affects the lore of others, that's unconvinient, but ( and I may sound bitchy again here), good lore writing should allow you to always move forward despite the change in characters, especially in roleplay.

I'm all for Glitch changing if it makes their mod and creators feel more comfortable with it

Calling it a drama and involving me is taking things so out of proportions about something that at the end of the way, doesn't matter that much

Again, it's just a story, there are plenty more !

Also, the haters should really stop coming to me as if I'm some sort of autority here.

I'm just a gremlin that caught on the trend at the right time to make awesome friends, and I'm happy to see that more cool characters were born out of the multiverse concept too

[erinwantstowrite]

Halloween AU!!!

hey so. i put SOOOOO much effort into this au and for what? at least it ended up looking cool? anyways Halloween is my favorite holiday and i just HAD to make something for them!

i had a LOT of ideas for what everyone would be, but i really wanted to stick to a certain theme cause it's based around Halloween. i knew i had to have a vampire, werewolf, and a witch. cause like... obviously. iconic Halloween stuff!! but i took some liberties with everyone else and i think they turned out pretty cool!!

Jason was originally a fox shifter (which i still love and might draw art for some day) but i went with a bear in the end. is that because i thought about tiny bear cub Jaybin and wanted to cry? yeah. yeah it is. i KNEW Steph was going to be my werewolf though i started doubting myself when i went to draw her. turned out to be my favorite drawing on here which makes sense cause she is my light my love my daughter my will to live and all that jazz

Tim was actually gonna be a harpy but thank god i didn't go for that in the end. Duke was the one that was a bitch and a half trying to figure out BUT!! comments on the post asking what y'all thought led me towards Psychic so THANK YOUUUU everybody that commented!! (specifically those who thought of ghost!! Duke and Tim ended up being a perfect duo in this au)

Babs was pretty easy to figure out what I wanted for her. I read somewhere that they are seen as protectors of forests/ are considered spiritual authority figures and also.... she looks cool as fuck. Did not expect how easy it was to find a ref for a deer in a wheelchair though? I can never find the right hand or face angle reference but that was super easy???

For Bruce there was literally no question he HAD to be human. it's literally so funny that everyone who knows Batman thinks he's a spooky vampire but he's human. his first son, however?????? THAT'S the vampire. I knew Dick had to be a vampire too. A little nod towards that one comic run but in my au nothing bad happens ever 🥰 Damian also being a bat shifter is very on purpose because how funny is it that he's a bat man. Literally not a single person in the League thinks that Bruce is telling the truth about being human. Bruce you are NOT beating the secretly a vampire allegations.

adding in Jay's hilarious joke it's so fucking funny:

Alfred is actually a demon. I CAN NOT remember who made this post so if someone can help me find it, it would be appreciated!! because this was inspired by them!!! but somewhere i saw someone talk about Alfred being a demon that Thomas and Martha made a deal with (i think it was for an au idea?) and I just HAD to put it here. Alfred looks so human and everyone expects it, but he's definitely not. I put the ??? because it's so fucking funny. see if you can spot the 1 hint i put on his drawing that something is amiss!!

Peter is from an alternate dimension still, but it is not a world of creatures like him, it's just the same as LoF canon except Peter grew some extra limbs and eyes. He finds that it's actually pretty easy to fit in with the Waynes. Hard to feel like a freak when a guy can turn into a fucking bear, or your dad is a vampire, and the teenagers in the family are trying to summon ghosts or make potions.

additional doodles for this au:

i am still debating whether i am going to draw something for this au or write a oneshot, but i DO want to do something with these for Halloween

[steveslevis]

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 

But they don’t. 

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[supernatural-bias]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐗-𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: charles xavier, erik lehnsherr, logan howlett, marie lebeau, and peter maximoff

↳ warnings: x-man type violence maybe? nothing much

↳ notes: just some self indulgent headcanons about how the gang would deal with someone who hates skin on skin contact. this is based on my own personal experiences, so it might not cater to everyone. charles and erik are written to be more of themselves around the first class era, peter is himself as seen in apocalypse, and marie & logan are more set in the first movie's portrayal of them

↳ song: heavy metal lover—lady gaga

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 [𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐗]

• Oh this is not one bit of a problem for Charles

• He's never needed physical contact to connect with people. Whether that's because of his powers, or his 'natural charm' as he calls it, you aren't sure, but your strange request for no contact never seemed to put him off his friendship with you

• Charles has his own ways of bonding with you, no hugs or handshakes required. Instead of nudges used to alert the other of a particularly funny joke, he'd just send you flashes in your mind regarding the situation. The end result was always the same; with the both of you grinning at each other while the rest of the room was left to make their own assumptions as to what you were thinking about

• "Seriously, it's creepy when they do that. They could be talking about anything." Alex whispered to Hank one day as you and Charles stood across the room from each other, not caring if the Professor was able to hear him or not. The only sign that you were even talking was the occasional huff of laughter Charles would let out as you scrunched your nose up in a toothy grin

• "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Hanks eyes gleam from behind his glasses as he watches the two of his friends. "Charles tells me most of it is just really bad jokes, if you want to know."

• As if on cue, the spell between you and Charles breaks as you delve into a laughing fit, and Alex and Hank can't help but shake their heads at each other in slight amusement as they watch

• He does an excellent job at speaking for you when you can't quite explain to new people why you are the way you are—as long as you'll let him, of course

• Maybe it's because he's been in your head, or just because he knows you so well that he can say exactly what you're thinking before you even know it. And sometimes, he doesn't even need to explain much at all. One carefully worded sentence backed with that steady tone of his is enough to make even the most ignorant of people understand

• "No handshakes for them, please." Charles had found himself saying that sentence more times than he could count since getting to know you, but he never found himself growing tired of it; even when you eventually found the awkward courage to start speaking on your behalf. Especially when you started speaking on your behalf

• Charles is a very patient man, and he couldn't be happier than to wait for you to open up to the world like you had done for him, even if it does take a while

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 [𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐨]

• I'm going to be completely honest with you. At first, Erik finds your habit of avoiding touch annoying

• It's a weakness in his eyes that you have every opportunity to avoid acquiring. He doesn't see the point in being afraid of something so miniscule

• When he first meets you, he's probably an asshole about it. Erik doesn't go out of his way to touch you on purpose, but he won't take extra steps to stop himself from doing so. If the back of his hand brushes against yours as he storms away from another one of Charles' annoying lectures? Then so be it. Who cares if you pull back from him like you've been burned, clutching your skin tightly as you glare at his retreating form

• It will take a while for Erik to begin to understand you, much like it does for him to understand a lot of things about the rest of the world. I won't say that he ever officially apologizes for his past behavior toward you, but he definitely drops hints that he does regret it

• "Never thought I'd live to hear the Erik Lehnsherr himself say sorry for something he did. Next you'll be telling me you've always liked humans." Your eyes were wide in faux surprise as you stared at him one day, looking like you had just heard the best news of your life. It was a good thing you and Erik had a much better relationship than when you had first met, otherwise he wouldn't have had a second thought about shutting you up

• "All I said was that maybe I maybe could have been a bit nicer to you." He sighed, already regretting this entire interaction

• "Oh, you're not getting off that easy." You were already scrambling for the door, completely missing the way Erik rolled his eyes and flicked his hand up in preparation. "Charles! Charles, you'll never believe what just happened—"

• He ended up using your belt buckle to drag you across the room before you could embarrass him any further

• Once he's warmed up to you, I'd like to think that he's definitely used the fact that lots of people wear rings and bracelets to his advantage to stop people from touching you at bars or in crowds

• He swears up and down he doesn't get attached to anyone, and especially not someone that associates with the X-Men of all groups, but you've definitely have had a few people look at their hands around you in confusion while he's around. Almost as if someone else had a say in their actions

• "Big softie."

• "You do know I could kill you if I wanted to."

• "I'd like to retract my last statement, please and thank you."

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 [𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

• Logan doesn't give two shits about your strange request

• Not in the way that he ignores it like Erik, but rather in the way that he literally doesn't give a fuck if you want to be touched or not. He wasn't planning on touching you anyways, so it's not like he really has to think about it

• If anything, Logan is one of the only people who can even begin to understand your mindset. He's never been too fond of people just outright touching him without a warning first, especially if they were strangers, but that's what you get after being experimented on for years

• He'll have to get to both know and like you before he starts taking your words more seriously. Otherwise, all you're getting from him is a gruff noise of disinterest and a roll of his shoulders as he blows past you

• Or ar least that's what he'd like you to think

• "Watch it, pal." You barely had time to process what that noise was next to your ear before Logan was standing dangerously close to you. You were about to ask him to back away before you saw his hand up, and when you looked at his hand you saw it was closed around a strangers wrist; the likes of which was outreached in your direction and just about to make contact with you

• Logans rough tone and sharp glare had sent the fellow stumbling away with an apology, and left you standing there with a bewildered look on your face. It only grew larger when he refused to look at you afterward

• "Don't let it get to your head." Was all he huffed out in your general direction before walking off to continue the mission the both of you were on. Through the com's in your ears, you could hear the rest of the team asking you what was going on, and with a slow upward tick of your lip you finally answered

• "I think Wolverine here has gone a bit soft on my end guys."

• You were given the cold shoulder for the rest of the week by Logan, and every time he glared at you, you couldn't help but try to hold in laughter

• "See, this is why I'm not nice."

• "No no no I take it all back, I swear. You're so mean. You're the meanest, toughest person here, never done a good deed in your life—"

• "Shut the fuck up."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮 [𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

• She doesn't understand why you'd choose to have people not touch you

• For Marie, not being able to hug someone— to even so much as hold hands with the people she loved —is a curse. She wasn't such a fool to think that her mutation itself was the curse, Charles had managed to drill that thought out of her head a long while ago, but the side-effect that came with it would forever haunt her

• So when she found out that you actively took strides to make sure no one ever touched you (if possible), she was in disbelief

• "I just don't get it." She'd confessed to you out of the blue once. "How can you stand it? If I were you—"

• "But you're not." You cut her off and shrugged, voice devoid of any meanness or annoyance at the turn of conversation. "I get it. I must seem crazy to you. I'd imagine that you'd jump at the chance to be able to touch someone again. But that just isn't me. I can't stand the feeling of being touched. Makes me feel gross; inside and out. I don't ask you to understand it, just that you respect it. Yeah?"

• She had nodded slowly at you, not expecting the sudden explanation. It wasn't unwelcome, however. Quite the contrary. She'd rather understand you than stew in quiet confusion

• From that moment on, even if Marie thinks you're a little crazy in the head, she does her best to make sure that both herself and others take your wishes to heart

• You have to admit, it's nice having her look out for you. And it helps that she's one of the most powerful mutants on campus; one sideways look from her, and she could send anyone in the opposite direction from you if you need

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 [𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫]

• You're constantly having to remind him that you don't like people touching you

• It's not Peter's fault he forgets sometime. His brain is always going going going from one thing to the next. Thinking about the next mission, the quickest way to get from one end of the country to the other, how to beat that stupid kid at the arcade that keeps leaving him and his high scores in the dust—

• Okay so maybe he could do a bit of a better job of trying to listen

• "Peter, reach for the back of my neck again and I'm gonna break both of your legs." You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was itching to latch onto your neck, most likely to take you on a surprise trip a few states over. Or maybe just to the mall. He was spontaneous like that

• When you did manage to look up from your notebook and back at him, you found that Peter was already a good few feet away from you, holding up his hands with a deceivingly innocent smile; but respecting your wishes all the same

• "You sure you're not a secret nun or something?" He poked fun at the way you refused to let anyone touch you, even going as far to squint at you in an unconvinced manner. You ignored his clear misunderstanding of nuns to snort in amusement

• "No."

• "Could have fooled me, babe."

• He sped away before you had the chance to throw your papers at his head

• Peter's probably the kind of guy to constantly tease you to your face, but the moment you're not in sight and someone's ragging on you, he'll shut them down. He's done it many times to stray students in the hallways of the school who talk just a little too loud about your personal boundaries

• "I'm just saying, man, they're a little weird. The other day, I asked to borrow a pencil, and they threw it at me. While standing less than a foot away. It's just strange—"

• Less than a second later, the student was sent falling to the floor over his shoelaces, which were suspiciously tied together in contrast to moments ago when they had been placed in neat little bows

• The only sign that this hadn't been a freak accident was the telltale burst of wind that sped by the student and their friend, a faint laugh following in its wake

[vifilms]

tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it. 

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand. 

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before. 

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers. 

“i know what you’re gonna say.” 

“and what’s that?” 

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.” 

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue. 

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.” 

“this is not, um, i didn’t—” 

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”  

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath. 

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her. 

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach. 

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake? 

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

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[nerdygirlramblings]

Christmas Quickie

poly!141 x fem!reader

cw: unprotected PiV, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering

abrupt ending

MDNI

You love visiting the MacTavish property, nestled up between Caringorms and the Highlands. Mrs. MacTavish Pat Mum was always cooking something, so the sweet smell of sugar, herbs, or spices permeated the air.

The first time up, you were shocked at how accepting she and the others were of Johnny's relationships. Most people you knew didn't fully know the extent of your love life. Explaining polyamory seemed to require a PhD and the patience of a saint, so you usually didn't bother. You weren't close to your dad or brother and your mom passed before you'd met the 141. Any time a friend asked, you brushed off your closeness with the men as friendship only. Sure some of your friends joked about a threesome with Johnny and Kyle (young and fit and pretty) or the appeal of an older man (John), but they'd never imagine all five of together.

But apparently these very Catholic Scots not only knew but didn't mind Johnny being intimately involved with his task force.

However, there was acceptance and then there was having a quickie with each of your lovers on Christmas day.

It starts during your shower. Cold air behind you is the only warning you have before a large hand covers your mouth to quiet your moans. You feel the size of the man behind you and know that bulk can only be Simon. He slides his large cock in and breathes against the side of your neck, panting, "Happy Christmas." He pushes you against the tile wall and snaps his hips in quick succession. The hand not over your mouth paws at your breasts before slipping down to your clit. You feel a finger press at the little bundle of nerves as he says, "Gotta be quick, lovie. Mum's making a fry-up. Can't keep her waiting."

The idea of getting off in time to make breakfast is just taboo enough to spur your orgasm. Your pussy walls clamp down on Simon, and you hear him grunt as he pistons into you twice more before momentarily dropping his weight against you and pinning you to the wall. You feel him kiss down your neck as he pulls out, cum dripping down your legs and washing away with the water.

When you enter the main bedroom to dress, you see John pushed up against the wall beside the door, Kyle on his knees. John's head is thrown back, and he's biting down hard on his fist. He has a Henley on but nothing else. You can tell one of Kyle's hands is wrapped around the base of John's cock, and his other hand snakes behind John's thigh, probably knuckle deep in John's ass, pressing on his prostate.

You quickly pull clothes on and hurry out the door, ready to make excuses to Mum MacTavish about why John and Kyle are delayed.

You find her in the kitchen, putting a full spread out. You take a seat beside Johnny and across from Simon whom you notice has a purplish bruise peaking out from the collar of his hoodie. It wasn't there last night, and you suspect the lover next to you got a little bite before breakfast.

Mum and Mr. MacTavish Gordon Da, along with Johnny's sister Amelia who, like you, is staying at the house over the holidays, are sat at the table as first John then Kyle make their way in. Mum asks how the trip up was while Da questions you all on what unclass information you can share about your work. Amelia fills you in on the family gossip in preparation for everyone being at the house later. As you eat, Mum makes a comment about making sure the fire in the large hearth in the family room stays burning nicely all day. You don't see the face he makes, but you see Kyle's eyes widen as Johnny casually says, "Gaz an' I'll deal with the wood."

You see a flash in Simon's eye, and John briefly stiffens beside you. You know Johnny has something planned, and your job will be to help distract the rest of the MacTavish clan to not notice a longer than average trip to the wood pile while Johnny and Kyle have some private time.

There's a lull between cleaning up breakfast and getting into full-blown dinner preparations, so Da suggests watching footie. You are sat next to John, curled against the arm rest of the smaller loveseat.

As Da and Simon take up places on other furniture, even Ma and Amelia join for a little. Your feet are tucked under John's leg, a large blanket draped over your lap; you're chilled despite the roaring fire. The blanket serves as the perfect cover for John's wandering hand.

During a penalty which has Da on his feet, roaring at the screen, you feel a large hand slip below the waistband of your joggers. You hear the hitch in John's breath when he realizes you're not wearing knickers. He quickly slides two fingers into your slick hole and you try to breathe normally. Again, the taboo of getting off with the MacTavishs in the room heightens your arousal. All it takes is a few strong pumps of his hand and a harsh thumb against your clit has you seeing stars right as Mum calls your name.

"Sorry," you stammer, "mind was stuck on something."

She tells you it's time to start dinner, so John quickly pulls his hand out of you, wiping your cum off on the inside of your trousers. You carefully stand up and join Amelia and Kyle, who came back with an armload of wood and a misbuttoned shirt, in the kitchen. Mum puts you all to work, and when she finds herself low on nutmeg, John offers to head to the shops, tapping Simon shoulder to have him tag along. You look at Kyle and smirk, knowing John and Simon will spend a few minutes in the back of the truck before they're back with what Mum needs.

Mum sets you and Amelia to the baking: biscuits, shortbread, and trifle. When you're done, you're covered in flour and whipped cream and need another shower. Kyle slipped out of the kitchen while you were finishing, so he's in the room when you get there.

"Look good enough to eat, darling," he says, guiding you to the bed. You're flat on your back and stripped naked in moments, and before you can pull a sentence together, Kyle's mouth is on you, sucking hickies onto your thighs for the others to find later. His long tongue runs up your slit, collecting the wetness there. He moans as he swallows your slick. "God you taste good." He latches onto your clit and shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt. You know you're both supposed to be getting ready for the rest of the family coming over, so Kyle starts humming, knowing how quickly it sets you off even without multiple orgasms. Soon enough, you're clenching around his fingers and the lewd sounds of slurping reach your ears as he cleans you up.

You speed shower to get the last of the flour out of your hair. You come into the room to find a lovely dress, one you know you didn't pack, with the MacTavish tartan colours across the skirt. You smile. A surprise gift from Johnny you know will have the family talking.

Heads turn when you come into the room. Mum tears up, and Da nods in approval. Amelia simply rolls her eyes and turns to Johnny, "Really? Like we didn't know she's yours? You need to wrap her in your colours to claim her?"

Johnny reaches his hand to you and pulls you close. He whispers, "Ye look good, bon. Meet me in the hall bath in 10." Then he wanders off, greeting his sister Fiona and her family at the door. Simon offers to hang their coats, and Kyle follows with the coats from Auntie Isla's family. You know the coat closet is big enough to fit you and Kyle, and you hope it isn't too tight a fit for him and Simon.

Slightly more than ten minutes later, you make an excuse to slip out of the room. Johnny comes in a minute after you and locks the door. He grips your waist, thrusting his tongue into your mouth as he hikes your skirt up to rail you against the door. He fucks you hard and fast, circling your clit with a finger as he ruts into you, panting "mine, mine, mine" into your ear. It doesn't take long until you're both coming.

As the night winds down, you finally find yourself alone in the company of all your lovers. Everyone's too tired, and afraid of waking Mum, to try anything, so you fall into bed in a naked tangle of limbs.

When you join everyone else, it's in time to help Mum put dishes on the table. The meal passes with lively chatter. John and Johnny carry load after load of dishes to the kitchen, telling everyone they'll clean up. You, Simon, and Kyle urge the family into the family room where all the presents are waiting to be opened.

[primofate]

You, Wriothesley's therapist.

TW: mentions of murder, depression, trauma

Sigewinne takes care of the physical injuries in the Fortress...but that place must have a lot of mental instabilities, trauma, depressive states as well, right?

Enter you who is hired by the Iudex to take frequent visits to the fortress and check on a list of people's well-beings.

The Iudex hired you, not the duke, though it WAS the duke's idea, he didn't think he was fit to choose and hire a "therapist", Neuvillette was probably more adept at that.

On the first day of your job, the list or people to check on is rather extensive and you talk and meet with a lot of new people just on the first day.

That guy who killed his best friend and is haunted by dreams of the scene.

That young lady who has spiralled into depression because she's separated from and unable to see her daughter.

That old man who has anger issues because he just didn't think he had done anything wrong.

It was probably a week or two after you were appointed that you finally met the person in charge of the place. The Duke, as they call him.

He seemed like a pretty strict guy, but when he thanked you for looking after the people here, you thought he wasn't that bad.

"I'm just doing my job,"

"A really hard one at that," he comments.

The next time you see him is months after, but this time he only passes you a glance, and rather quickly strides off to his office.

The next day, he seeks you out and apologizes for it.

"I was...in a bit of a rush,"

You wonder why he even apologizes. "...It's no big deal,"

"...I hope that you know that you're welcome here. I don't think you quite understand how difficult your job is, trying to shoulder everyone's past and fixing their psyche for their future,"

You look up at him, and tilt your head a little, squinting your eyes and trying to get a good read out of him...then it hits you.

The Duke needs therapy too.

"...I think you're a little stressed, your grace. Is there a quiet place where we can comfortably chat in?"

How were you to know it was going to end up in tea time? Yes the duke had issues, some deep seated ones, but not as much as the common folk that you were trying to work with. And yet you found yourself having tea with him even though it wasn't "work" related anymore.

All the two of you talked about were stories of the past, and shared a laugh or two about some silly or outrageous story he or you shared.

Weeks later there came a time when the angry old man you'd been working on had an outburst. He didn't mean to. None of your patients ever mean to, not when they had such big emotions, such big events to get over, such pent up emotions and such deep, deep regrets.

Old man had thrown a wrench at you, he was surprisingly strong, probably from working in the fortress for a while. You were caught off guard, not to mention you weren't even sitting too far away from him. You managed to shield yourself from it, but your arm bruised hours later.

You didn't think it merited a visit to Sigewinne, besides it was nearly home time for you.

"Done for the day?" You bristled a little at the sudden voice of the Duke, not expecting to see anymore of him today.

"Mmhmm," you simply answered his grin. You also didn't think it was something to hide from him. So your bruised arm was there for him to see in plain sight.

His grin disappearing and his eyes narrowing at the sight alerted you that it was perhaps something that you should've kept from him. "Where'd you get that?" He was 1000% sure you didn't have it when you had tea with him at noontime today.

"This...Well...Corrin was...having a particularly bad day," you moved your arm behind your back with a small smile, wanting to brush it off, but Wriothesley puts his hand out in expectation.

"Let me see it,"

For a moment the two of you just stare each other down. You wondering what the big deal was, him not backing down. When you didn't move an inch he gives in and adds the magic word. "Let me see it, please,"

You lift your arm up towards his head with a sigh and he receives it shockingly gently. He inspects it like it's some kind of puzzle he needs to solve, thorough and detailed. "Did you let Sigewinne see?" before you could even reply he adds "How did this even happen? Why was I not told?"

"It's..." You start. How do you explain? That you were supposed to be your patients' safe space. That nothing is supposed to harm them when in a session with you, that everything was in confidentiality. Working with troubled people, things like this were bound to happen, and it was only the first time.

He catches on to it quite quickly. "...It's your job," he finishes for you.

"...Precisely,"

The big sigh he lets out at the same time as releasing your arm has you wondering, really, why he seemed so stressed all over again. Over you.

Did you really not know the reason? You had an inkling why, you were a therapist after all. You got into people's minds for a living and Wriothesley wasn't exactly being subtle, but... you didn't want to assume.

"...How about I come with you next time?" he offers. You smile a little. "I don't think Corrin would be comfortable enough to talk with you hovering around,"

He grumbles something under his breath, like a defeated, stubborn puppy. "He doesn't have to know... I'll stand outside, or something,"

You laugh a little. "...The Iudex already has terms on my working contract when things like this happen. I'm supposed to drop the patient if "physical disputes" happen a total of three times and after three warnings are given."

Wriothesley huffs, though it sounds more like a scoff. "Leave it to him to think of everything. Doesn't seem fair," he moves so that he stands next to you, and places a hand on your upper back, pushing you the slightest bit to walk with him. You notice he's steering you towards the Fortress' infirmary.

"What doesn't seem fair?" You ask with genuine curiosity, not knowing what he was implying.

He's silent only for a beat more, but he doesn't look at you as he answers, only continues walking forward. "That he gets to protect you and I don't,"

You can't mistake the somersault your heart makes, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling silly.

The Duke needs the occasional therapy.

Or maybe he just needs you.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.2 | MV1

an: guys my time off is coming to an end, i move to france next week and start my job the week after rip me but in the mean time enjoy this badboy i've been sitting on

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 6k

part one

Max pushed open the door to The Rusty Wheel, the familiar creak of its hinges greeting him like an old memory. The low hum of country music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, and the faint smell of spilled beer and worn leather hung in the air. Not much had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in here, years ago—except, maybe, for the fact that now every pair of eyes in the place was on him.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the bar, pausing only long enough to hang his cowboy hat on one of the hooks by the door. He used to come here every weekend, same as the rest of them. He hadn’t expected the town to change much—but somehow, it felt smaller now. Tighter. Like it didn’t quite fit him anymore.

Before he could take a seat, the owner, Earl, stepped out from behind the bar. Earl was a grizzled old cowboy, his flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a white beard flecked with grey. He stopped in his tracks, wiping his hands on a rag, and gave Max a once-over, his face creasing with disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Earl muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t believe it when they told me.”

Max chuckled softly, not missing the edge in Earl’s voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You actually back for good?” Earl asked, still eyeing him like he was trying to decide if he was a mirage.

Max shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Earl grunted, leaning his hands on the bar. “Guess we’ll see how that works out.”

Before Max could reply, a figure appeared beside him, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter. Max glanced up and saw Daniel—his best friend from back in the day—giving him a smirk as he set the beer down. Daniel was leaner now, with a few more lines around his eyes, but he still had the same mischievous glint that had gotten them into trouble as kids.

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he wiped down the bar. “Bold move, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, really bold.”

Max took the beer, the cold glass sweating in his grip. “Figured it was time.”

Daniel leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, half the people in this town think you’ve got some nerve coming back after what you did to her.”

Max’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that topic to come up. “And the other half?” he asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

Daniel snorted. “They’re just in awe of what you’ve done with your career. Hell, I’ll admit it—I followed your rides. Man, some of those bulls you took on… I thought you were insane, but you sure made a name for yourself.”

Max nodded, setting the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Daniel tilted his head, studying him. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were in all the magazines, got sponsors throwing money at you, and about a million followers watching your every move. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

Max sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “It was great for a while. But the thing is, they don’t see the rest of it. The part where you wake up and don’t know where you are half the time. Or when you’re trying to remember which interviews you’ve already done or whose hand you shook at some event you didn’t even want to go to.” He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Everyone thinks they want that life until they get it.”

Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him, the silence between them hanging heavy. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “So why’d you come back? You finally get sick of signing autographs?”

Max’s eyes drifted to the shelves of dusty bottles behind the bar, memories of a simpler life flooding back. The long nights in places like this, where the biggest problem he had was getting enough cash together to fill his tank. Where people knew him as Max, not Max Verstapppen, the famous bull rider plastered on posters across the country.

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I was never cut out for that big city stuff. The lights, the cameras… all of it.” He paused, running a hand along the neck of the beer bottle, feeling the condensation slick against his skin. “I missed home. The quiet. The way things made sense out here.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Home, huh?” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad to see you. Always hoped you’d come back. But you know it’s not going to be easy. People here… they don’t forget.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his grip on the bottle a little firmer. “Yeah, I know.”

Daniel stared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened, some of the teasing edge fading from his voice. “She’s still hurt, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it. You coming back… it’s gonna stir up a lot of things.”

“I figured that,” Max replied, his voice low, almost resigned. “But I had to come back anyway.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes softening. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve got a lot of work to do, man.”

Max took another swig of beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease that had been bubbling in his gut since the moment he’d driven into town. “Trust me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I know.”

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the conversation, and Max glanced over his shoulder to see a group of locals walking in, laughing and chatting as they made their way to a corner booth. He recognised some of them, faces he hadn’t seen in years, but he wasn’t ready for more conversations, more questions.

Turning back to Daniel, he nodded toward the bar. “Mind if I hang here for a while?”

Daniel smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Stay as long as you need. Just don’t expect the town to make it easy on you.”

Max nodded in appreciation, as he sipped his beer, letting the familiar hum of the bar settle around him. The chatter, the music, the faint clink of bottles—it all felt like a song from a time he thought he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d been running from home for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to just stand still. And now that he was back, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—the memories of what he’d lost, or the fear of facing the woman he’d left behind.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Max stepped out of his truck, the early sun casting long shadows across the gravel driveway of High Ride Stables, Austin. The familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses filled the air, stirring memories he hadn’t thought of in years. It was a place he knew well—he’d worked here as a kid, mucking out stalls and helping with the horses. But today, the barn felt different, like the weight of his past was waiting for him inside.

He pushed open the large wooden door, the creak announcing his arrival. Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed from deeper within. He glanced around, spotting the counter near the back where Leslie, the barn’s owner, was talking to one of the stable hands.

Leslie had been running this barn for as long as he could remember. She was tough as nails, with streaks of grey in her otherwise jet-black hair and a sharp gaze that could cut through any excuse. The stable hands called her “Les” when she wasn’t listening—if she caught them at it, they'd regret it.

When she saw him, her conversation trailed off, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him like he’d just tracked mud through her pristine barn.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Leslie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “If it ain’t the hometown hero.”

Max tried to smile, but it fell flat. He took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Morning, Les.”

“Morning,” she replied, her tone flat. “What brings you here?”

“I’m lookin’ for work,” he said, stepping closer, but staying on the other side of the counter like it was a barrier between them. Which, in a way, it was.

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Work?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all that bull riding fame and fortune, you’re back here beggin’ for a job?”

“Not beggin’,” he muttered, his voice low. “Just askin’.”

She pushed herself off the counter, walking around it and standing toe-to-toe with him, hands on her hips. “Same difference.”

“Come on, Les,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it goes. The fame doesn’t last forever. Sponsors move on, injuries pile up… and the money—well, it dwindles. I can’t live off my bull riding winnings for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

Max sighed, glancing around the barn, trying to find the right words. “I grew up here, working in this barn. I know horses, I know the work. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Leslie tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You really expect me to just hand you a job, after everything?”

He frowned, confused. “After everything?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb with me, Max. You know who works here.”

His stomach sank, realising where this conversation was heading. Of course, she worked here—why wouldn’t she? It was her world. She��d never left it, never had a reason to. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble, Les. I just need work,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Stay out of her way? You can’t just waltz back into this town, askin’ for a job, and think you can just avoid her. This is a small town, boy, not some city where you can hide from the people you’ve wronged.”

Max winced at the word “wronged.” It was blunt, but he couldn’t argue with it. He had wronged her. Maybe more than he even realised.

He took a deep breath, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But… I need this job, Les. Please.”

Leslie studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, she turned and walked back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a small notepad. She scribbled something down on it, then tore off the piece of paper and held it out to him.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a job if you go apologise to her. And not just any apology—she has to forgive you.”

Max stared at her, not taking the paper. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “Les, that’s impossible.”

Leslie crossed her arms again, looking at him with the same steel-eyed determination she always had. “Well, if you think it’s impossible, you don’t want this job bad enough.”

His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand, knowing exactly what was written on it. He didn’t need to look to know it was her address.

“You know she’s not gonna forgive me,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the past like a stone in his gut.

Leslie gave him a half-smile, but there was no softness in it. “Well, you better get working, boy.”

Max finally took the paper from her hand, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He looked down at the address, familiar yet distant, as if it belonged to another lifetime.

“I’m serious,” Leslie said, her voice softening just a bit. “You want a job here? You’ve gotta make things right with her. I won’t have you causing more mess in this barn—or in this town. Either she forgives you, or you pack your bags and keep drivin’.”

Max swallowed hard, tucking the paper into his back pocket. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there was no way in hell she’d ever forgive him. But he knew Leslie well enough to know that there was no arguing with her.

He nodded once, stiffly. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Leslie smirked, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As he turned to leave, the barn door creaked open behind him, and for a split second, his heart froze. He half-expected to see her there, standing in the doorway, glaring at him like she had on that road. But it was just another worker, coming in to start the day.

Max let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It had been one thing to face her the first time, in the heat of the moment. But now… now he had to go, hat in hand, and ask her to forgive him. To admit he was wrong. To dig up all the things he’d been trying to bury for years.

He shoved his hat back on his head and walked out of the barn, the piece of paper burning a hole in his pocket. The road ahead of him felt longer than it had ever been.

The next day, Max stood at the front steps of the small house, nerves twisting in his stomach like a coiled rope. He stared at the chipped paint on the door, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. This was the house he’d been avoiding ever since he set foot back in town. And now, here he was—about to knock.

He took a deep breath, raising his fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed in the still morning air, louder than it had any right to be. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer, maybe he could just turn around and—

The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore an old flannel shirt that he recognised—one she stole off of him when they were kids. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked like she’d been expecting him.

“Nope,” she said flatly, her hand already on the door, ready to slam it shut. “Not happening.”

“Wait,” Max said, holding up his hands. “Just… just hear me out for a minute.”

“I don’t think I need to,” she shot back, her voice cold. “I’ve already heard enough.”

“Darling, please—”

“Do not call me ‘darling,’” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Max felt the sting of it, like a whip cracking against his skin. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Max took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” she interrupted, her voice rising, filled with a raw, seething rage that had been simmering for eight long years. “What, Max? You didn’t mean to leave me in a hospital bed without a word? You didn’t mean to disappear without so much as a goddamn goodbye?”

He swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him like it always did when he thought about that day. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him. “So, you just ran? That’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t running,” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow even to him. He’d been running for years—he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been running your whole damn life. When things get hard, you don’t face them—you just pack your bags and leave. That’s what you did to me, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words died in his throat. She wasn’t wrong. He had run. He’d run the second things got complicated, the second he felt like he was losing control.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less sure. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a step forward, her fists balled at her sides. “You really think I could’ve hated you?” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of years of hurt. “You think I wanted you to just leave me behind like I didn’t matter?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you!” Max burst out, the frustration and regret spilling out of him. “You were laid up in a hospital bed because of that fall, and I was getting calls about sponsors and competitions. I was torn in two, and I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as some reminder of what you’d lost, of the future we’d been planning and couldn’t have anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, the anger flickered, replaced by something else—something rawer, more vulnerable. “So, what? You thought I’d hate you? That I wouldn’t want you anymore? Out of pity?” She shook her head, stepping back from him as if the very thought disgusted her. “Is that what you really think of me?”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, hating how badly this conversation was going. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice pleading now. “I didn’t want to be a burden. You’d just lost everything, and I didn’t want to remind you of the future you couldn’t have anymore. You deserved better than a guy who was barely hanging on.”

“Barely hanging on?” She seethed, her fists trembling. “You didn’t give me the chance to decide that! You didn’t even try to talk to me, to ask me what I wanted. You made that choice for me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” Max shouted back, his frustration boiling over. “I thought if I walked away, you’d move on. You’d be better off without me, and I could… I could disappear before you realised I wasn’t enough.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think leaving was easier for me? You think watching you drive off without a word made me better off?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d hurt you more by sticking around. I thought you’d hate me, that you’d look at me and see someone who was staying out of pity.”

“God, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t even get it, do you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing him. “Then tell me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I didn’t see.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. When she opened them again, there was no anger left—just hurt. “You were everything to me. Everything. And you took that away because you were scared. You left me in that hospital bed, and you didn’t even let me fight for us. You made that choice, and I had to live with it.”

Max felt his chest tighten, the guilt and regret almost suffocating. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her lip trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then, just as quickly, she straightened up, hardening herself again. “Sorry doesn’t fix eight years, Max. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

He took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to try. Please, just give me a chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of it still ringing in his ears. The weight of her words, the pain he’d caused, hung heavy in the air around him.

He slipped his hat back on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. As he turned and walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, he realised something: he’d always been running. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, the weight of her words pressing on his chest like a stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—angry, hurt, and accusing. It had been easier when he thought he was protecting her by leaving. Now, after their argument, it was clear that all he’d done was rip open a wound neither of them had been able to heal.

With a frustrated groan, he threw off the blankets and sat up in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming—not tonight. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but it felt like the hours were crawling by, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

His mind wandered to the only place that ever brought him a sense of calm: the rodeo. The old training grounds on the outskirts of town where he’d spent countless nights like this, working out his frustrations with the one thing he understood—bull riding. He hadn’t been back there in years, but tonight, it felt like the only place he could go to clear his head.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his boots, Max grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house, the cool night air hitting his face as he headed to his truck.

The rodeo grounds were quiet when he pulled up, the faint glow of the moon casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The scent of dirt and leather filled his lungs, familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else had been since he’d come back to town. He walked toward the arena, the sounds of his boots crunching on gravel the only thing breaking the silence.

As he got closer, something caught his eye. Movement in the arena. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he saw her.

She was on horseback, weaving through the barrels in the dim moonlight, her movements graceful and precise. It was like watching a memory come to life. She moved with a fluidity that made it look effortless, but Max knew better. He’d seen the hours she used to put in, the work that went into every sharp turn, every quick burst of speed. She hadn’t lost her touch.

He stopped at the edge of the arena, standing just out of sight, not wanting to disturb her. For a moment, he just watched, his chest tightening as he remembered how much she loved this—how much they had loved this world together.

Then, it happened. As she rounded the last barrel, something went wrong. Maybe her horse misstepped, maybe she pushed too hard, but in an instant, she was thrown off, hitting the ground hard. Her horse skittered to the side, startled by the fall.

Before he could stop himself, Max was moving. He vaulted over the fence and ran toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was sitting up by the time he reached her, dusting off her jeans with a wince.

“Who the fuck did I piss off in my past life for you to be the one to find me?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up at him.

Max skidded to a halt, a little breathless, and held up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by. You okay?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Like you care.”

He didn’t argue, just crouched down beside her, unsure of what else to do. “How can I help?”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You really think you can help now, after everything?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice softer than before. “But I’m trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but her usual fire seemed to be dimmed, just a little. “Doctor’s orders,” she said finally, wincing as she shifted her leg. “You wanna help? Raise my leg and keep it elevated for fifteen minutes.”

Max hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was messing with him or not. But the way she was holding her side, the tightness in her face, told him this was real.

He nodded and carefully slid his arm under her leg, lifting it gently and resting it on his knee. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t look at him. They sat there in silence, the tension between them as thick as the night air.

The minutes dragged by, and Max could feel every second of it. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, resisting the urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. But she was the one who spoke first.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the venom it usually held.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t want to. Big difference.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus trained on the darkened arena ahead of them.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her leg. “I missed this place,” he said after a long pause. “Missed the people. Missed… you.”

She scoffed, but there was less bite to it. “You missed me? Is that why you didn’t call for eight years? ‘Cause you missed me?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought you’d moved on. I thought it was easier for you if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Easier?” She let out a humourless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Max? You just disappeared. You didn’t even give me the chance to move on, to deal with any of it. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces.”

He clenched his jaw, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but underneath it was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “You keep saying that like it was some noble thing you did, but all you did was make a decision for both of us. You never even asked me what I wanted.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was right. He hadn’t asked. He’d just assumed.

They fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken things between them pressing down like a heavy fog.

After what felt like forever, she sighed, leaning back against the fence, her leg still resting on his knee. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time when I would’ve given anything to hear you say you missed me. But now… I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Max looked at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, yet so far away. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I know I messed up. I know I can’t fix what I did, but I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the empty arena, her face unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, and Max could feel the weight of it settling in his bones. He wanted to say more, to tell her everything that had been building inside him for years. But the words felt too small, too insignificant for the damage he’d caused.

After a long while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Max’s heart clenched, but he nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She didn’t say anything else, and the two of them sat there in the quiet of the rodeo grounds, with nothing but the stars and the distant sounds of the horses to keep them company.

For the first time in years, it wasn’t the silence that felt unbearable. It was the hope buried somewhere beneath it.

She shifted slightly, wincing a bit as she adjusted her leg on his knee. Max kept his hold steady, though every muscle in him was tense. He was waiting, unsure if she’d kick him out of her life again or keep him suspended in this strange limbo they found themselves in.

“What was it like?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the horizon, as if the answer was out there somewhere in the night sky. “To make it big? To live that life?”

Max glanced at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His instinct was to downplay it, to gloss over the highs and lows like he had so many times before when people asked. But this wasn’t just anyone asking—it was her.

He took a deep breath. “It was everything I thought it’d be,” he started, his voice low. “At first, anyway. The crowds, the money, the fame… it was wild. Everything moved so fast. One minute I was just this kid from nowhere, the next I was on posters, doing interviews, getting invited to places I’d never even dreamed of.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the memories flooded back. “The adrenaline—it’s like nothing else. Every ride, every victory, it felt like I was on top of the world. But the crashes… they’re just as big. Bigger, even.”

She listened quietly, her face unreadable. He wasn’t sure if she cared or if she was just being polite, but he kept going, needing to get it out.

“There were nights when I’d lie awake in a hotel room, hundreds of miles from home, and wonder what the hell I was doing,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I was surrounded by people all the time, but I never felt more alone. It was like… like I was chasing something, and no matter how far I got, I couldn’t catch it. Every high came with a low, and after a while, the lows started outweighing everything else.”

She still didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the stars. He looked down at the ground, the dirt beneath his boots feeling more real than anything had in a long time.

“I got tired of it,” he confessed after a long pause. “Tired of the crowds, the noise, the pressure to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. I missed this place. I missed…” He trailed off, but she didn’t need him to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. “And you think you can just come back?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something bitter, something hurt. “After all of that? Just walk back into this life like nothing happened?”

Max swallowed hard. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. I know I can’t just… fix things. I’m not here to pretend that the past didn’t happen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Why should I trust you?”

He didn’t flinch at the question. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.

“You don’t have to,” he answered honestly, meeting her eyes. “I know I haven’t earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Her jaw clenched, and she turned her gaze back to the arena. “You hurt me, Max. You didn’t just leave—you disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with regret. “And I’m so damn sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to come back after eight years and expect me to forget what that felt like.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’m not asking you to forget. Or even to forgive me right away. I just want a chance to make things right. To prove that I’m not that guy anymore.”

She didn’t respond, just sat there in the silence, her leg still resting on his knee. It was a strange kind of intimacy—one built on years of unresolved hurt, but also on something deeper. Something neither of them wanted to name yet.

After a while, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Nothing ever changed here, you know,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “While you were out there, living that big life, everything just… stayed the same. The same people, the same rodeos, the same barns. It was like I was stuck while you were off becoming someone else.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, to watch the world move on without her, to feel left behind. And worse, to know he was part of the reason she felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to leave you stuck. I thought you’d move on. I thought you’d—”

“Stop thinking,” she cut in, her voice sharp again, though there was a weariness in her eyes. “You keep telling yourself you did what was best for me, but you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided for both of us.”

He nodded, taking the hit. She was right, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

She shifted again, pulling her leg off his knee and standing up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Max stood too, though he kept his distance, unsure of what to do next. The tension between them was still there, heavy and thick, but something had changed. There was a crack in the wall she’d built around herself, just a small one, but it was there.

“Look,” she said after a long pause, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But… I don’t hate you. Not anymore. I thought I did, for a long time. But it’s just… it’s hard to hate someone you used to love that much.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the word “love.” Even though it was in the past tense, it still felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “I just want to be here. Whatever that looks like.”

She gave him a long look, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded, just once. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. But it was something.

She turned and started walking toward her truck, her steps slow, like she was still testing how much she could trust the ground beneath her.

Max watched her go, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the weight of the past still pressing on him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

part three

[blue-jisungs]

partner privilege ♡

a/n. ohmigosh it took so long to write you don’t even know <\\3 but phew okay, let’s go! first svt ot13 thingy!!!

┆彡 SEUNGCHEOL [ 승철 ]

being a leader of 12 manchildren isn’t that hard itself; it’s the fact that he also has to deal with managers. with fml being released, soon they have to start working on their next comeback. and they always make decisions in a group, it’s was his personal choice to talk it all through with their manager. cheol struggled in their early days, often afraid that they will see him as a bad leader. after many years and ups and downs together he knew he can count on them but he never shared his worries. but once he’s home, he’ll plop down next to you; head on your lap. it’s quiet at first, the questions in his head trying to make sense. suddenly, words are flooding out of his mouth as you listen carefully. seungcheol opens up, sharing his worries with you. will carats like the next comeback? isn’t the choreography too hard? will he fit the concept? is the budget enough? you soothingly caress his hair and after he’s finished, seungcheol listens to your voice as you word out your point of view.

┆彡 JEONGHAN [ 정한 ]

you don’t notice it at first because well, there’s nothing to notice. you’re having a wonderful time playing with him and his friends, some kind of a tradition whenever they came over. it’s always fun, laughs echoing in the room when minghao loses his sanity (“those are the side effects of not meditating–!”) over vernon who, somehow, gets richer and richer in monopoly. “be right back, i have to pee!” you announced and skipped to the bathroom, your sudden statement catching them off guard. jeonghan looked around and quickly moved his part of money onto your pile. “yah! what’s that?!” hoshi stood up, pointing at him “you’re cheating!”. and that blows up a whole heated debate how come he doesn’t cheat when you’re playing with them… or rather, he’s helping you win the game. only you. and you’re not even aware, most of the time. jeonghan just smiled softly at you when you came back, failing to notice that strangely there’s an additional house on your possession and hoshi is deeply offended.

┆彡 JOSHUA [ 조슈아 ]

no one knows when this habit of his started, really. as a couple, it was normal between you two to share your food. joshua would feed you a bit of his meal during dates or such. but when it came to dining out with his friends, they noticed how he doesn’t even touch his food. the first bite is always saved for you. “y/nnie, try mine!” he hums on delight, moving his plate closer to you. and as you chew on the delicious meal, nodding in approval, joshua’s face lights up with pure joy and admiration. he’s willing to switch meals if you want to, without hesitation. if you don’t like the food however, he’s giggling and apologising as you dramatically fake a gag. it would take all of his friends’ willpower to prevent from fake gagging as well but in the end, it’s heartwarming to look at you two.

┆彡 JUNHUI [ 文俊辉 ]

it’s normal for both of you to ask for something. you usually hand him his clothes when he forgets to take then to the bathroom or he’ll grab your book and bring it to you. however when you’re with his members you can’t help but notice how jealous they get over it. “junnie, can you hand me a glass of water?” you ask suddenly. they all look at him suspiciously, expecting a snarky comment or plain ignorance. but jun stands up slowly and while walking next to you he boops your nose. “of course, baby” he hums and off he goes to the kitchen to bring it to you. coming back to reading your book, a smile lingers on your lips when their complaints reach your ears (“he didn’t even bring me a single drop of water when i begged him after our comeback practice?!”). he comes back, holding a glass of water and hands it over to you with the most caring expression on his face.

┆彡 SOONYOUNG [ 순영 ]

everyone was ignoring you, just being lovey-dovey in a corner. as soonyoung was loving all the attention, you squished his cheeks with a grin. “you’re so cute…” a hum left your mouth, followed by a giggle. he pulled you even closer, tilting his head “…like a hamster”. the whole room went silent, eyes turning towards you. everyone was expecting a sudden wave of shouts of protest and arguments proving he’s a tiger, not a hamster but… nothing. soonyoung just smiled wider, lips curling upwards. “how is that possible? how did she get away with that?” someone grunted and you chuckled again, placing a quick peck on his lips. because most of the time hoshi was your tiger but in soft moments like this soonyoung was your hamster.

┆彡 WONWOO [ 원우 ]

sharing clothes with his friends (usually mingyu) was something normal for wonwoo so it was only natural that he shared his clothes with you, his significant other, as well. however, things started to change as mingyu noticed wonwoo wasn’t so willing to lend him his clothes anymore. “no, i don’t really… i stopped borrowing others my clothes, i always ended up with lack of necessities” your boyfriend explained with a giggle, mingyu nodding understandably. but things weren’t adding up when mingyu noticed you wearing similar hoodies and t-shirts. “nonu, i’m taking your leather jacket!” you announced on your way out one day, grinning wildly. and suddenly it all made sense. wonwoo only allowed you to still borrow his clothes because of your scent lingering on them afterwards. and honestly, mingyu wasn’t even offended.

┆彡 JIHOON [ 지훈 ]

jihoon isn’t too big on skinship. everyone knows that. he doesn’t fully like it, sometimes it makes him uncomfortable. hoshi still remembers that one time when he got pushed a little too hard by him when he fell asleep on jihoon’s arm. but you… oh, you. he didn’t even notice that you falling asleep on him doesn’t bother him. in fact, he enjoys it. once asleep on his lap, he was trapped on the couch; sure, he could push you off but he didn’t have the heart to do so. whilst playing with your hair the most dramatic gasp reached his ears. “OH WHAT THE–?!” dino yelled out and it took one look from jihoon to make him quiet. the younger one left the room, sprinting to share the unusual gossip while (the gossip itself) woozi put a blanket over you, his heart overtaken by warmth.

┆彡 SEOKMIN [ 석민 ]

it’s no surprise that dokyeom inhales his food. whether it’s because he’s hungry or doesn’t want to share (which is more likely) or he has to be fast because with other twelve hungry men it’s either eat or be eaten. but it comes as a shock when you’re out with them, enjoying the meal and dokyeom suddenly offers you his food. “you want some?” he asks tenderly and when you nod, he’s handing you the plate. with heart in his eyes he’s watching as you munch on the food, a happy smile on your face. “delicious, isn’t it?” your boyfriend hums and you nod, ignoring the whines of but he never shares with us! in the background.

┆彡 MINGYU [ 민규 ]

as you entered the room you could feel the atmosphere was thick. seungcheol was pouting with his arms crossed and others were side eyeing mingyu. “baby, could you drop me off to the convenience store? my favourite snacks are–“ you started, unsure why everyone is now staring at mingyu. he just smiled sweetly and stood up, reaching to his pocket over to grab his car keys. chaos erupted, mostly yells of “but you just turned down to drop off seungcheol!”. mingyu not only gives you rides everywhere but also at any given time, let it be 2am because you’re craving mcdonald’s. you’re also his passenger princess – controlling the aux, opening windows whenever you like, etc etc. as long as you’re not creating any possible dangerous situations, you’re good. albeit, there’s one rule: his hand being attached atop your thigh.

┆彡 MINGHAO [ 徐明浩 ]

it’s not something extraordinary that the members tease him, they do that on daily basis on each other. especially during gose, nowadays that he stopped meditating. sure, it’s fun for his friends to tease and make fun of him but most of the time it ends up with him throwing snarky comments back or even smacking them. “look, look his nostrils are flaring!” seungkwan yelled out, causing a manic laughter from all of them. before minghao looked over at you, laughing too, he sent the younger one a deadly stare. “you look like a bull ready to attack!” you added, giggling. he rose his hand, all of them expecting him to smack you on the arm or push you away but put it on your arm instead he pulled you closer. he broke into a soft smile, gaze softening. “oh what the–“ seungkwan grunted, mouth agape and just like that, a switch has flipped again. with a thundering gaze aimed at seungkwan, hao soothingly rubbed your arm. your teasing never put him in a bad mood, quite the contrary: he found it actually amusing (and adorable, too)

┆彡 SEUNGWAN [ 승관 ]

your boyfriend coming home in the middle of the night was such a normal occurrence lately that once he opened the door at nearly 7pm, you thought it was a intruder. “oh hi kwannie, how was work today?” you ask and the answer is on his face. after a long day of variety shows and cracking jokes, he’s emotionally drained. it’s not like it wasn’t fun but it was exhausting being the entertainer. seungkwan plops down next to you, burying his head in your neck. there’s no need to be loud, yell or talk to the camera when he’s with you… he can loosen up. he allows himself to loosen up in your presence, not being worried about if he’s entering others enough. with your embrace surrounding him and your fingers gently playing with his hair, he even manages to snooze a bit

┆彡 VERNON [ 버논 ]

vernon is rather okay with people borrowing his stuff but it’s not like his friends didn’t want to… their styles differed, that’s all. but one thing he didn’t lend often is his beanies. they just his favourite accessory and besides, who would want to borrow a beanie? well, you apparently. the first time he realised that on a photo you posted on insta you’re wearing his beanie… he couldn’t help but to smile wildly. the thing was, he didn’t confront you about it. he enjoyed the way you sneakily stole his beanies and lately put them back in their place. one time he just bluntly took off his beanie and put it over your head, pulling it down so you wouldn’t see a thing. before you managed to pull it back, vernon was giggling and hiding his phone so you don’t delete the photos he just took. you took it as a sign that your little beanie thievery is okay with him.

┆彡 CHAN [ 찬 ]

he was pretty excited for the weekend: just him, his friends and you having a fun time at cabin near a lake that seungkwan found. but when on saturday morning, while he was on his way to the meeting point, you called with a raspy voice and sniffing every second his enthusiasm dropped. “i’m sorry channie, i won’t be able to make it. but you better go, have fun–“ you croaked out and didn’t waste a moment to take a sharp turn and go to your place. only after buying needed meds and some ingredients to make you a chicken soup, he called his friends you and him won’t go. they understood, of course, and wished you a speedy recovery. at first you complained he turned down spending his free time in longly awaited place but in the end you can’t stay mad at him. while he’s feeding you soup and throwing away all the used tissues; lee chan shows you that you’re his priority, even if that means sacrificing his spare time. nonetheless, time spend with you is never a wasted time (and he’ll stand by it, despite the sickness you accidentally passed to him)

[ masterlist <3 ]

taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby,, @w3bqrl,, @ddeonudepressions,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @cinnamoroxie,, @kazmura

[heiayen]

this looks like us! gn!reader x various (kaveh, wanderer, zhongli, childe, kazuha, lyney, venti.)

summary: what things do they match with you? keychains, jewelry, clothing? let's take a look!

tags: implied modern au, around 80-100 words per character, just very short headcanons <3 could be ooc because it's my first time writing in a moment, not proofread that much

notes: ehhhh trying to get back into writing with short silly hcs... hello everyone. grand heia comeback 90% will make second part with more characters !!

Kaveh is the kind of person to have matching keychains with you! He has already got a keychain for his keys, a proud lion guarding the keys... that he manages to lose often anyway, so why not get another one? This time matching yours, and instead of attaching it to his keys (because gods forbid he loses them and the keychain!), he attaches it to his bag. And let me tell you, it does not end on a single keychain!

Most of the time, you don't even know that you are matching anything with Wanderer, seriously. If you ask him to get something matching together then, yes, he will agree, although begrudgingly, but also so often he will buy you something (while telling you to not make a big deal out of it, you're his partner, yes, yes, move on), and a few days later you will notice him having a matching pair of that thing. You never call him out for that, just smile to yourself.

As the gentleman he is, Zhongli is the man to give you matching rings or necklaces, all selected by him with utmost care. Every piece he gets for you two is one of the best quality, and he makes sure it fits your preferences, so don't worry if you wear only one kind of metal! He always pays attention to any stones in your jewelry, to ensure they are the best quality available. And sometimes, you find it so hard to bite down the urge to show off your new ring or necklace to all your friends, saying that yes, it's your partner who got it for you.

Childe is the person to see something that reminds him of you two, and get it, no hesitation. A pair of funny socks (with an animal that reminds him of you), keychains (that teddy bear was similar to you)... a scarf in the same pattern as his, because you need to be dressed well during winter, he doesn't want you to get sick– did he just point at those two chestnuts and said that it reminded him of you two? You don't see it, but whatever makes him happy!

Kazuha makes handmade yarn bracelets for you two, and he's quite skilled at it! He always picks your favorite colors, sometimes with matching pedants and pretty patterns, and you never know that he's making one, usually during late night hours, with the lamp's light as his companion, when sleep doesn't want to arrive. You got a few of them already but will happily accept every next one he makes, proudly wearing them on your wrists. It's always a lovely sight, to look at your joined hands adored by the bracelets he makes. Maybe you should learn how to make them too…?

With Lyney, you will more than often find yourself matching outfits... or at least pieces of it, if you can't wear a fully coordinated outfit. A matching shirt? Sure, that sounds great! You two can get some funny print together on it– or not funny, just a normal print. You two can also dress in a similar style if you don't have anything to match, or even match socks out of all things. Additionally, if you enjoy painting your nails... Lyney would happily paint his nails with a polish matching your eyes, and would gladly help you find one matching his, so that you two can match your nails!

Venti, on the other hand, likes to match... yes, hair clips with you. He got a bunch of them at home, all different. Ones with small flowers or stars, animals even, in so many colors and shapes– the point is, he's got them a lot, and he will happily lend you them so you two can have matching hairclips in your hair. He will also happily buy a pair if he sees one and likes it, and give you one of them. Soon, you will have an entire box of hair clips...

[merbear25]

Having a spicy dream about you

You'd crept your way into their minds when they were at their most vulnerable―sound asleep. Your captivating nature seduced them in their dreams, leaving their bodies susceptible to the aftermath in reality.

CW: SFW but very suggestive (wet dreams), gn!reader

Monster trio

Luffy: indulging in a celebratory feast, he imagined you there by his side sharing laughs and fun stories with everyone. Having an abundance of food splayed out for you, stuffing his face with whatever he grabbed, your hand got caught in the crossfire. Nearly shoving your hand into his mouth, the bonk you gave him on the head snapped him out of it. The short fit of bickering that followed somehow morphed the scenery to only the two of you; everyone else was gone and you two were starting to lightly poke at each other’s sides, which led to tickling and eventually had him fully on top of you.

Clanking from the kitchen broke his spell and the seductive aroma of breakfast fully got his attention. Marching into the kitchen with his belly empty and his smile full, his grin was turned upside down when his eyes fell on you. Bits from his dream were hazy, yet those parts at the end with you were the most prominent.

When you greeted him, he simply stared at you, trying to force those remnants of you deep into the crevices of his mind. Taking his seat, you were rightfully confused and taken aback by his coldness but decided to drop it. In doing so, you never found out what his deal was, but even if you had grilled him, he would’ve taken it to his grave.

Zoro: Giving each swing his all against each foe that threw themselves at him, he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Failing to live up to their reputation, the clan cowered, but that was until their leader, who’d scurried off earlier, came back with you in chains. Trying to get the upper hand, they’d sealed their fate, for the wielded blades came crashing down on the empire they’d been building. With you having been terrified for your life, you wanted nothing more than to thank your hero. He was feeling particularly self-indulgent and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasures you were so willing to give.

Seconds before the dream progressed, a large wave crashing against the side of the ship jolted him awake. Wide-eyed at the lude subcontext, he couldn’t do much for a moment other than blink. Shaking off the thoughts of where the dream was heading, he wiped the sleep from his eyes. The sun was blinding, so he didn’t notice you approaching him.

“Hm?” He glared at your muffled yapping.

“I said your back’s all wet!” You laughed off his rigidness, since he looked rather silly sitting with a grumpy face and soaked in sea water.

Brushing off your giggles, he avoided eye contact. He didn’t want to be reminded of how he’d pictured you in his dream. You could expect the rest of the day to play out like this: minimal, mostly one-sided, conversations. He had no intention of telling you about his dream and would rather shove it away, so as not to die of embarrassment.

Sanji: The sea breeze had just picked up as the setting sunlight casted upon your face—your beauty only rivaled by the gods. You'd just pulled out of a steamy kiss, your taste still lingering on his lips. Looking deep into each other's eyes, you motioned your head lower. Vision blurring from your generosity, a loud crash from the kitchen rudely awoke him.

Jolting awake, he was still in a daze. Shouting came from the kitchen, making him roll his eyes at the assumption that Luffy had something to do with the commotion. Peering down, a wet patch had started seeping on the covers. Throwing on the first pair of pants he saw, he waited for the redness in his face to subside before venturing outside his room.

If it were any other day, he’d be thrilled to see your lovely face. You were still as gorgeous as ever, although it was torment to gaze at you with such thoughts of ‘if only’ still stampeding through his fantasies. Feeling as if he’d brought shame to you, he wasn’t the most talkative the first half of the day. When you asked what was wrong, he may or may not tell you…depending solely on how you approached this situation.

[shinestarhwaa]

DEEP DIVE || CHOI SAN

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Tags/Warnings: Famous!AU, Established relationship, idol!San, actress!yn, dirty language, unprotected sex, spanking, breeding kink, riding, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, praise, aftercare, dom!san, sub!yn

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

It's been a while since you've had some time with your boyfriend San. He's been abroad for tour and several events for weeks and you were spending your time filming your new movie Uproar across Europe.

When San facetimed you last week to tell you he'd be seeing you during Fashion Week you were over the moon. Italy was one of your favourite countries in the world so spending time with him there was a true gift.

Over the next few days the news got spread around gossip town that both San - global K-pop star and you - global moviestar would attend the event. It hadn't been long since the public found out about you two being together. Some paparazzi found the two of you snuggling in a park late at night during one of your dates and spread it around.

You felt some relief when it happened, though. You finally didn't have to sneak around as much anymore, now everyone knew. You were more nervous than San was about it. "But what about your career?" You had said to him, but he assured you that you were worth everything. He would give up anything for you. Luckily the hate wasn't that bad to deal with.

It's D-Day and your team is getting you ready, fitting you in a gorgeous Dolce & Gabbana gown, specially created for you. The dress was black and fitted you like a glove, classy and stylish. You got some heels and golden jewelry to match with it.

Your hair got styled down and it was glowing in the warm lights. Your social media team took some pictures before sending you off to the event. You were not sure what San would be wearing tonight. His debut this summer was all over the internet; him wearing the beautifully designed corset piece. You had send him voice messages of you freaking out over how hot he was that night and how badly you wanted him.

You could not help but think about how tonight would end, knowing you're sharing a hotel room together. It's been weeks since you've had the chance to be intimate with San and you knew he's bursting. And truthfully, so are you.

Seeing San enter the room, you feel your heart beat faster. You've been waiting on him, carefully watching the door so you wouldn't miss him. When he finally does enter, the room lit up, but it seems like everyone disappears. He looks so handsome tonight, you fell in love all over again.

He's wearing a black shirt - unbuttoned for a large part, exposing his large, toned chest. He wears the shiny pants gracefully, but your eyes keep on shifting back to his chest, where a cross-necklace lays in the valley of his hard pecs.

You try so hard not to drool all over yourself when he notices you and comes your way. You're in an secluded area right now, where no paparazzi can see you, so you don't hesitate before kissing him on the lips and embracing him in your arms.

"My dear, I've missed you so much. It feels incredible to see you again, feel you again," he whispers in your ear. "I know, I've missed you so much, Sanie."

The rest of the night felt like a warm bundle of joy. The lovely conversations with San and the designers won't be forgotten easily, but the thing you were mostly busy with was pretending you weren't incredibly horny.

When you finally step into your hotelroom you push San against the wall instantly. He laughs and lays his hands on your hips. "Oh?"

"Baby I have no time to seduce you and all that, I've been so incredibly horny tonight and I need you to take care of it right now."

"Okay, okay, you've made yourself clear," he grins, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. He slides down the wall and comes to eyelevel with your hips. You feel San's fingers glide across the back of your ankles to your calves, lifting up your dress along the way. His touch gives you goosebumps and shivers in a way you never experienced before.

"You're wearing the tiniest panties I've ever seen honey, they don't leave much to the imagination," San says as he pressed kisses along your thigh. You squirm underneath his touch, imagination running wild.

San pulls the fabric down and the panties pool around your ankles. You feel his hot breath fan over your exposed cunt. You nearly whimper just at the mere feel of the tip of San's tongue sliding through your folds, just slightly.

"S-San," you breathe out. His strong hands roam across the back of your thighs and your ass, groping it as he slides his tongue over your pussy again. San loves to taste you, he made that clear a thousand times already, but he seemed ten times more hungry than ever before.

"God, you're wet. I love this fucking pussy, my beautiful pussy, just for me," he rambled inbetween licks and strokes of his tongue. He landed on your clit after a few more strokes, putting pressure on the bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

"O-Oh! San!"

"You might wanna keep it down a notch for the neighbours," he grins, his last words before totally devouring you. The way he devours your pussy, savouring every single drop of your wetness, earning the softest and whiniest moans from you.

You held onto his broad shoulders and let your hands roam through his hair, pulling it slightly when he teased your clit. It doesn't take long before your body starts to shake and tremble, coming on his tongue.

San didn't take it as a cue to stop, but continues to eat your pussy like a starved man. Your moans grow louder when you feel his tongue slip inside you. You grow so desperate you start to hump him, ride your cunt on his face. You felt his nose bump into your clit a few times and you just can not bring yourself to stop.

Just as you're about to reach a second climax, San pulls away and manhandles you to bend over the kingbed. You breathe loudly and whine, complaining about he should've let you cum again. Your protests are rejected by a loud and harsh spank on your ass to shut you up.

He spanks you repeatedly, pushing your face into the mattress. You whine and whimper, feeling San's hard smacks on your skin. You know he isn't punishing you for anything, he is spanking you for your pleasure because you love when he's a little rough with you.

You squirm underneath his touch everytime, until he stops. You can hear noises behind you, noises of San taking off his clothes and you cry when he suddenly slips inside. San sighs as he sinks into your warm hole.

"Fuck, angel, you're so warm and tight for me," he groans.

San hovers over you, covering your entire body with his own as he thrusts into you. His movements are sharp and rough, fucking you deep. His left hand grips your left hip, while his right hand is still pushing your face down. It is slightly hard to breathe but it exhilarates you, knowing he has full control over you right now.

Your boyfriend pulls out and orders you to lay on your back, and you follow his instructions. You notice he is still wearing the jewelry from earlier, and you see how good he looks with it. He hovers above you again, lifting your legs and placing them on his broad, muscular shoulders. You loved seeing the contrast of your skin on his. His gorgeous, tan skin, shiny with sweat.

San slides his fat, hard cock into your awaiting pussy again, moaning out your name. You shiver when he bottoms out and his hands roam over the back of your thighs.

"You look so pretty when I stuff your cunt full with my cock."

He picks up his pace and thrusts deep into you, earning the most beautiful moans from you. "Such a pretty mess on my big cock, perfect for taking it. You take it so well, don't you baby?"

"Y-Yes, San, yes I do!"

"You are getting so tight baby, are you gonna come? Gonna come on my big cock like the good girl you are?" He smirks.

"San, please, please!" You plead. San rams his cock into you repeatedly, fucking you the hardest he can, the deepest he can to please you. The pleasure soon becomes so overwhelming you're sure you're seeing stars.

"That's it darling, come for me, come on my cock," he grunts. It only takes one more thrust for you to fall apart, a wave of pleasure washing over your body. Your body tingles, your toes curl and you moan loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"That's it baby, good girl, you're so good, taking my cock like that. I can come now too, hm? You're gonna let me come in your delicious pussy? Fuck it full with my cum?"

You claw at the back of his neck and his shoulders as he nearly folds you, trapping you completely under his strong body.

"Y-Yes San, give it to me, give it to me, please, breed my pussy," you whine, still in a haze from your orgasm. San's moans grow gradually louder, until he bursts, spilling his hot seed into you, groaning loudly with each thrust.

He rides out his orgasm and pulls out, gently placing your legs down on the bed. The both of you pant hard, trying to slow your breathing. San gently kisses the top of your head and your soft lips with a smile.

"God, you're so amazing," he grins against your lips. He lays down next to you and strokes your back, holding you in his arms. "No, you are the amazing one. You truly make me feel like nobody else can."

It's silent for a while, but it's nice, basking in your afterglow. Feeling his skin on yours and hearing his heartbeat as you lay on his chest. You feel so safe and sound, everytime you are with him. It's hard to think straight sometimes, but you loved the feeling he gives you.

"Did you ask me to breed you?" San asks, reminiscing what you just did. He laughs as you blush and get embarrassed, hiding your face in the nape of his neck. "Shut up, San," you groan. "Nah," he says, "if that's what the lady wants, that's what the lady gets." "I like the sound of that," you laugh. Before he can say anything else, you hold him back with a kiss.

[ladsheadcanoncorner]

Yessss feed me the headcanonssssss

Can we get overprotective? Maybe like what they would do if your asshole ex shows up or something like that?

absolutely (gender neutral ex so you can picture as you see fit)! as a girly with a bad ex, i would've loved to have the boys there to defend me. hope anyone out there dealing with this can find some comfort here too <3

rating: sfw cw: bad ex, threats of violence ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

Xavier:

Man is jealous of himself, so you can only imagine how he is when he finally meets your infamous ex at a work mixer

Xavier shakes hands and greets everyone except your ex, who he won’t even look at

He is grabby with you for the rest of the night. Hand in yours, on your back, on your shoulder. He won’t let you out of his sight for even a second

You: “Xav, it’s okay. We broke up a long time ago and -”

Your ex makes the mistake of jumping into the conversation right then. “Could only get someone who’s already trapped with you at work all day, huh?”

Xavier looks calm, but you can see rage flashing in his eyes

He takes a step toward your ex and quietly and calmly says, “Anyone who lost such a prize must be an idiot, and I don’t fight unfair matches.”

Before your ex can say anything else, Xavier is already leading you out of the party, hand on the back of your neck so that everyone, including your ex, can see that you’re his

“Let’s go home so I can show you just how lucky I am to have you.”

Zayne:

You’re at a cafe before work, one of the rare times you and Zayne have matching shifts

While waiting for your coffee to be called, you hear the barista say a familiar name

You and Zayne both whip your heads to look at the pickup counter, and your heart sinks when you see your ex

Zayne knows some details about your ex since you grew up together, but it is enough that he instantly turns on his protective side

The barista calls your name and Zayne’s next, and Zayne squeezes your hand before getting up to get the drinks

Right as your ex is reaching for the drink, Zayne slides in front and picks up the drinks you ordered with ease, cutting your ex off

The coldest delivery of, “It’s polite to say sorry, but I’m really not.”

Your ex starts to get upset but Zayne has already turned his back with your drink

He calls over his shoulder, “The life of a surgeon is busy. If you wanted to go first you should’ve gotten a better job.”

Zayne hands you your coffee with an easy smile and a kiss, making sure your ex is watching the entire exchange

Rafayel:

You and Raf are touring a museum to see the spot where his newest painting will be installed later that month

When you hear a familiar voice at the end of the hall, you freeze

Rafayel: “What’s wrong, cutie?” You: “That voice sounded just like my ex. You know that ex.”

Rafayel merely nods, and then drapes an arm over your shoulder as you keep walking forward, pulling you as close to his body as he can

Rounding the corner, your ex spots you and sneers, “Surprised to see you finally got back out there.”

Rafayel turns to you and says, “Aw cutie, I didn’t know you used to do charity work.”

You don’t know whose jaw drops to the floor faster, you or your ex

Raf looks at your ex and then continues nonchalantly, “I’m putting up a new art piece this month. You should really check out the red paint, I think it’ll match your vibe.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and then the two of you leave the museum, Raf never letting you out from under his arm

You: “You’re not really going to use that paint in the museum, right?” Raf, coldly: “No, but I might make a custom piece if that asshole ever thinks of talking to you again.”

Sylus:

When Sylus gets back to the base one night, he can’t find you in any of your usual spots

Rationally he knows that Mephisto would have told him if you were in any sort of danger, but emotionally Sylus can feel his heart rate starting to speed up

He finally finds you on the terrace, having a rather heated conversation on the phone

He knows you’re completely capable of fighting your own battles, but as soon as he hears that name - the one you told him about, who hurt you - all bets are off

Casually strides over to you and plucks the phone out of your hand with a, “Let me handle this, sweetie.”

His hand is tracing protective circles on your back when he says, “How did you get this number?” Your ex on the other line instantly gets defensive.

“I’m going to stop you right there. Nobody talks to me like that and gets away unscathed, but nobody talks to her like that and lives. If you value that pathetic little life of yours, I’d leave town for a while.”

He hangs up the phone and then blocks the number before handing it back to you

Sylus: “I don’t think your ex will be bothering you anytime soon.” You: “Yeah because you threatened them?” Sylus: “It was more of a promise, kitten.”

He spends the rest of the night being extra romantic. Stealing long kisses whenever you walk by, taking you to his vinyl room to slow dance, and making sure you know just how much you are worth loving 

Caleb:

You’ve been acting weird all night, even though Caleb took you to your favorite restaurant

Caleb: “You’ve barely touched your food. Are you feeling alright?” You: “Yeah everything is fine. I’m just tired.”

As if you could ever actually lie to Caleb, but he doesn’t press the issue further

On the way out of the restaurant, you pass by a table close to the door, where you’re greeted with a, “Is that Y/N?”

As soon as Caleb sees your ex, he is like a different person. He’s squaring his shoulders, his hand is protectively gripping yours, and his eyes are absolutely determined

Of course he knows all about your ex, being on the receiving end of all of the nights you spent crying over this horrible person, but meeting face to face is a different story

Caleb puts on a fake smile and then bends down by the table so as not to cause a scene

“If you even so much as look at her again, I promise it will be the last thing you do. Understand?”

When Caleb stands up, your ex sees just how much he towers over them, and they shrink back in their seat

He then makes a dramatic display of kissing you right in front of them before you leave the restaurant

“Want to go get ice cream to make up for all of that, or should we skip right to the dessert at home?”