#i have memories of moments like when i wrote this. it makes me happy that my source makes so many people happy

[panlight]

have you ever noticed that bella's montage of happy thoughts/memories she shows edward at the end of breaking dawn (at least in the book) skips over the entirety of new moon and eclipse? almost like...... none of that was ever supposed to happen........

Oooh, yeah, good catch!

Some of the memories were not clear – dim human memories, seen through weak eyes and heard through weak ears: the first time I'd seen his face… the way it felt when he'd held me in the meadow… the sound of his voice through the darkness of my faltering consciousness when he'd saved me from James… his face as he waited under a canopy of flowers to marry me… every precious moment from the island… his cold hands touching our baby through my skin… And the sharp memories, perfectly recalled: his face when I'd opened my eyes to my new life, to the endless dawn of immortality… that first kiss… that first night…

And like, sure. No one was having a Good Time in New Moon and you can probably handwave it as her not wanting to accidently dredge up something ~unpleasant for her E/B Fanvid. But Eclipse? When he proposed? The infamous leg hitch scene? That stuff didn't make the cut?

Just further evidence, I think, of how the books were written out of order. Any of this stuff could be from Forever Dawn since it's just the wedding, the honeymoon, and pregnancy. It's entirely possible she wrote this part before she wrote New Moon and Eclipse and never changed it.

[kinvicted]

...

[queenofwands89]

Quiet Affections

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Pilot!reader

Summary: After her friends tease her about Jake having a crush on her, Y/N reflects on certain memories that make her question whether there might be some truth to their playful jabs.

Warnings: Teasing, pining, Jake being a sweetheart, Y/N being oblivious, insults aimed at Y/N, protective Jake, mention and description of injury, anxiety, doubts, fluff.

Notes: Happy Friday, everyone! We made it! 🎉 I just hit 2,500 likes on here and wanted to thank each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, or commented on my works. It means the world to me. I’m down bad for Jake, and need him badly so I wrote this. Enjoy byeeee

You find yourself deep in the heart of the Hard Deck, the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses forming a comforting backdrop. Rooster, Natasha, Javy, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey are clustered around the pool table, laughter spilling freely as they take turns making shots and throwing jabs. Jake had just excused himself to go to the restroom, but not before brushing a lingering hand against your shoulder and whispering something that made you smile. This action set off a chain reaction of teasing directed at you.

"Y/N, you know Hangman’s got a huge crush on you, right?" Rooster's mustache twitches with a sly smile as he lines up for his shot.

You laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh please, Bradley. Jake? No way. He's just... nice."

Rooster and Natasha exchange glances before Natasha cocks an eyebrow at you. "Nice? Hangman is many things, but nice isn't the first word I'd use. Unless he’s talking to you," she remarks, tapping her cue stick against her palm.

Bob, always the quiet observer, chimes in. "He's got a point though, Y/N. I've seen how he looks at you."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm just completely unaware of it," you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "You guys are ridiculous."

Mickey grins, his boyish charm lighting up his face. "Maybe, but can you really deny the way he's always got your back?" he asks, leaning casually against the pool table.

Your first instinct is to rebut, but as their words settle in, you start to think about some of the things Jake had done for you. Not just the grand gestures like saving your hide in aerial combat, but the small, everyday things. The way he'd always save you a seat, bring you coffee exactly how you like it, offer subtle words of encouragement when you doubted yourself.

Javy steps forward, his competitive spirit twinkling in his eyes. "You're telling me you haven't noticed how he always goes out of his way to make sure you're okay?"

Reuben, good-natured but always vigilant, nods in agreement. "Hangman's not exactly an altruistic guy, Y/N. But for you? He'd go to lengths he wouldn't for anyone else."

You crack a wry smile, determined to stay firm in your denial. "He's just protective. We're teammates."

Natasha had already joined in, her voice warm yet teasing. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. It’s not just about being teammates. He genuinely cares.”

In the ensuing silence, you can't help but ponder on their words. Jake "Hangman" Seresin is charismatic and assertive, traits forged from his exceptional flying skills and competitive nature. But beneath that cocky exterior, there lies a heart incredibly loving and caring, willing to sacrifice anything for his loved ones. Slowly, you find yourself drifting into a vivid memory, reliving the countless cherished moments and experiences you've shared with Jake.

You recall that evening at the Hard Deck vividly. The bar was buzzing with the usual chatter and laughter, the hum of camaraderie filling the air. You were amidst your friends, enjoying the rare downtime when an unfamiliar voice cut through the noise—this stranger making an offhand but cruel remark about you. The comment was subtle, yet it stung deeply, rooting you in place with a mix of shock and mortification. Your cheeks burned under the weight of the ridicule, words lodged in your throat.

Before you could muster a response, you felt Jake's presence beside you, solid and reassuring. He stepped forward, placing himself between you and the offender. His usual easy going demeanor was replaced by a steely resolve, his eyes dark with anger. "Do us all a favor and think before you speak," he said, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge.

The bar fell into an uneasy silence as Jake’s glare pinned the offender in place. "If you've got a problem with Y/N," he continued, his voice low and unwavering, "you’ll be dealing with me."

The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable. The offender, unable to match Jake's intensity, muttered an apology and slunk away, deflated. The moment passed, but the impact lingered. Jake remained there a moment longer, ensuring the threat had fully dissipated before turning back to you.

As he met your gaze, the hardness in his features softened, replaced by a gentle concern. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a tenderness reserved just for you.

You felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude, the initial embarrassment giving way to a profound sense of relief. Jake had stood up for you without a second thought, his protective instinct leaving no room for compromise. In that moment, you knew you were safe, not just physically but emotionally, knowing Jake had your back. His touch and the concern in his eyes reassured you even more, providing a solace that words alone could not.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Then there was the night when you couldn’t sleep, tormented by insecurities that gnawed at the edges of your mind. It was long past midnight, and you found yourself seated on the deck of the aircraft carrier, trying to get some fresh air to clear your head before the mission. The vast expanse of the ocean and the cool night breeze did little to quiet the whirlwind of self-doubt swirling inside you.

The stars dotted the sky like tiny beacons, and the waves below gently lapped against the ship's hull, but none of it brought you peace. You wrapped your arms around yourself, tense and lost in thought, barely noticing the sound of footsteps approaching.

Jake emerged from the shadows, his silhouette becoming clearer in the soft glow of the ship's lights. He paused when he saw you, his brow furrowing with concern. He looked around, ensuring no one else was around, before walking over to you with determined but careful strides.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice breaking the solitude with an edge of worry.

You hesitated, feeling foolish for bothering him. "I…I just can't stop thinking about everything that's been going wrong. I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Jake."

Jake's eyes softened, and he lowered himself to sit beside you on the cold metal deck. "Tell me more," he said gently, coaxing you to open up. His voice was so steady, so soothing, that you found yourself pouring out all your fears and anxieties—the relentless pressure, the fear of failure, the nagging feeling that you weren't good enough. With each word, you felt a weight lifting from your chest.

Jake listened without interrupting, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an unwavering focus on you. His eyes never left your face, and his expression remained kind and attentive. "You know what I see when I look at you?" he said quietly once you had finished. "I see someone who's brave, who fights every day to be better, who cares deeply about others. You're stronger than you think, Y/N. Don't let those doubts control you."

His words felt like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your insecurities. When he reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes melted away your remaining doubts, leaving you wrapped in a cocoon of reassurance. Sitting there on the deck, under the endless sky, you felt profoundly grateful for Jake's unwavering support and the strength he helped you find within yourself.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

You also remember the time when you injured your ankle during a training exercise. You had insisted on limping back to your quarters, trying to maintain your independence. But Jake wouldn't hear of it. He had scooped you up without a second thought, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The entire trek back, he kept you engaged in light-hearted banter, ensuring your mind stayed off the pain.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

And how could you forget the morning he had brought you coffee? Not just any coffee, but a complex, personalized concoction—an oat milk latte with a shot of caramel, a pinch of cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg, and no foam. You hadn’t even mentioned it to him before. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up," he had said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But you knew the effort he had put into remembering such a detailed order, and it made your heart swell with an unfamiliar warmth.

These memories play in your mind like a cherished montage, each moment a testament to the man beneath the bravado. Jake "Hangman" Seresin wasn’t just the cocky pilot everyone else saw. He was a protector, a confidant, a friend who cared deeply for you, even if you had been too blind to see it before.

Returning back to the present moment amidst the lively ambiance of the Hard Deck, surrounded by the warmth of friends and laughter, you notice Jake returning from the restroom. As your eyes meet, his familiar smirk emerges, but this time there’s a tender softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps, hadn't allowed yourself to see.

“Miss me?” he jokes, sliding back into the chaos of pool cues and friendly banter.

You chuckle, shaking off the speculative thoughts. “Like a bad habit, Seresin.”

But later, as the night winds down and the camaraderie ebbs into a quieter hum, you catch yourself glancing his way more often. The teasing remarks of your friends aren’t so easily dismissed anymore. And as Jake catches your gaze across the room, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might be onto something.

Because sometimes, the most significant realizations are the ones that had been right in front of you all along, masked by the comfort of friendship and the chaos of duty.

You smile to yourself, feeling an inexplicable warmth. Maybe it was time to see what was beyond the camaraderie, to delve into the possibilities of what if. The thought lingers, like an unopened letter, waiting for the right moment.

For now, you return to the laughter and games, but with a new awareness, a curiosity that couldn’t be easily shaken. One thing was for sure—things were going to get interesting.

-

Text divider credits: @bunnysrph

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[luvtak]

depollute me, gentle angel -`✮´- ljn

the feeling of falling in love has never been so sweet <3

genre/tw jeno x reader!! fluff so sweet it’ll rot your teeth! baby & honey used as petnames, jeno being shy and wonderful and in love, minor dreamies features, kissing, the honeymoon phase personified, gender neutral reader! mostly unedited.

w/c 1217

a/n well its been a minute since i’ve written for one of my dreamies, but i hope you like this one <3 i wrote it quick in the middle of the night, and i hope you can tell, its just the tone this love needs 🫀 please enjoy and let me know if you liked it!!

Jeno has never been in love.

When he was younger he thought he might be, a distant memory of a smile, a slight graze of cold hands. Butterflies in his belly and pink cheeks… but those feelings were always fleeting, a quick rush before the fluttering went away.

No Jeno has never been in love, but he think he might be. Two months ago, you walked up to him in the park, pretty lips drawing up; your smile so dashing he had to return it. That smile turned to a phone number, a phone number to a shared cup of coffee—He can’t believe a question about directions have led you here…

You look so sweet under the streetlight, skin aglow and eyes alight.

The pavement is isolated, no one else but the two of you breathing. His hand urges to hold yours, but he can’t trust his palms not to be clammy; He can’t trust his fingers not to shake or the blood not to rush to his face. He wonders if this is being in love, if the feeling always causes discomfort… he wonders if you feel this way too, if the pads of your fingers ache with the need to touch him, the way his do.

Earlier in the night you’d met his friends, grinning the whole time and telling jokes like you’d known them forever. So beautiful, he thought, like a picture that wasn’t finished until you were painted in.

Jeno knows he probably looked silly and love struck, so obvious in his affection that Hyuck made annoying whipping sounds, and Mark pinched his red hot face.

He couldn’t help but smile thinking about it, his lips lifting so high his eyes become crescents—a perfect picture of joy, so alluring you can’t help but ask,

“What’s got you so happy, baby?”

“Nothing, just glad you liked them is all.”

And you did, you liked Jaemin and his quiet chaos, Jisung and his hesitant happiness at the older boys mischief. Yes, you like them, and how could you not when you see Jeno in them all.

He’s there in their laughter and their harmless jokes, you can hear him in them, and you love them for it.

“Well, you love them, Jen… so how could I not?” You see the impact this has on him, the shaky breath he releases into the cold air and the way his strong hand clenches with nerves. He hasn’t touched you all night, too shy and too infatuated, so you reach out to him. Your hands coming to grasp at his arms, rubbing gently at his shoulder blades. He wraps himself around you so quickly, almost like he was waiting for you to say it was okay—such a sweet boy he is, waiting for permission even when it’s always a yes.

You met him in a moment quite like this, quiet and intimate… strangers then but not now.

You thought he was handsome and when he asked for your phone number you were convinced it was a joke. How could someone as lovely as him want to know you? but he did, and now he’s here with you: his face in your neck, and you love him you really do.

You feel his lips first, pressing the sweetest kisses behind your ear and smiling into your hair. Every touch a confession, every caress a promise from a devotee to his deity.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

“You make me so shy, honey…” He says, “so so shy, it’s like I could forget my own name.

“You don’t make me shy… you make me feel alive.” You tell him, and you mean it.

Every moment with Jeno is like accelerating on an empty freeway, like you might just fly if you drive fast enough.

He’s silent after you speak, the passing cars being the only sound around for miles. A quiet so deep, you’d be scared if it wasn’t for Jeno’s strong arms around your waist.

He isn’t scared of your confession; his silence is not fear, it's not doubt, but he needs to do this right. He needs you to understand that he’s new to this, that he’s busy and imperfect, but he loves you. He loves your laugh, the way it’s not pretty or sexy, but loud and silly and so wholly you. He loves the little scars on your hands—marks so old you don’t know where they came from. He loves your smile, your eyes, the way you love his friends and they loved you…

When you went to the bathroom at the restaurant, the boys all smiled at him, but it was Jaemin—Jaemin who’d been quiet all evening—who grabbed his hand and said, good job, puppy , you really did it!

He really did it, he thinks, he found you…

When he speaks again, its with an assurance that's unfamiliar under a streetlight at midnight. So strong with his conviction, your body draws impossibly closer to him.

“I’m so grateful you came up to me that day, y’know. I remember the whole thing, your blue coat and your yellow umbrella… I needed you then, I knew it, I can’t believe how badly I needed you.” He keeps shaking his head, and his hand is weaving its way closer to the back of your head… fingers reaching out to clutch the point your spinal cord meets your skull. “I’m so glad the boys liked you, I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t…”

“Why wouldn’t they like me, baby?” You ask, “I love you too much for them not too.”

His smile is electric, 80 miles per hour down a dirt road… a smile that makes you feel like flying.

Jeno’s eyes close, laughter so happy it hurts you, and then he’s kissing you. Lips in your hair, reaching down to swipe against the slope of your neck. Butterfly kisses on your jaw, kisses so tender it fills your heart with an pain so sweet, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

When his kiss reaches your mouth, hovering against you and breathing in the carbon your body’s releasing, you wish you could paint this moment—trap it in canvas and hang it above your couch.

“I love you so much, honey, so so much.”

And then his lips are on yours. It’s like he wants to bruise, his kiss taking and taking, breathing you in like it’s all he needs to survive. Every cell, every vein, every muscle and every bone in his body needs you. His heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t know if his arteries can keep up, if he has enough strength to keep standing.

Your blood sings with want, a hunger for his affection that is foreign under this pocket of light.

You love him, you think, you love him and he loves you…

How wonderful a concept, to love and be loved, to have and to hold and whatever nonsense people promise to each other.

You love him and he loves you.

He pulls away from you with a resistance you can relate to, a soft smile gracing his handsome face, as pretty as the stars blotted out around you.

He takes your hand as says,

“Let's go home, huh, wanna love you where it’s warm.”

And you can’t think of anything better.

luvtak 2024

[pathologicalreid]

always, i'll wait | s.r.

in which spencer dedicates himself to pulling you out of your depressive state

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: severe depressive episode, dissociation, medication, reader not taking care of herself, not eating, death, corporeal mark word count: 2.16k a/n: if even one person understands what i was doing when i wrote this then i can die happy. based on this request! i hope you enjoy!

The cushion beneath you was slowly becoming displaced. Your body descends into the cavernous no man’s land that is the crevice of your couch as you stare straight ahead. The TV screen went dark moments ago. The blackness following the Are you still there? screen of your show.

Tugging the knit blanket you had curled up with last night under your chin, you close your eyes, the tears that were welling falling sideways down your face until they land on your flattened pillow. The blanket still smells like Spencer, and you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before the scent of his tea tree shampoo fades away entirely.

You could lay on the couch for the rest of your life, and you’d still never be able to understand your actions from the past few days. Distracting yourself from the ache in your heart by wondering if your decomposing body would leave a corporeal mark on your couch.

When you open your eyes and find all too familiar ones staring back at you, the only reasonable explanation is that you’re already dead. You’re dead and your punishment is having Spencer Reid give you puppy dog eyes for the rest of your eternal damnation.

And you’d deserve it.

“How long have you been lying here?” Spencer asks you, using the coffee table for support as he shifts from a squat to a kneel. Tentatively, his hand rests on the couch cushion, just in front of yours.

You blink absently in response. Not only are you being forced to look at the man whose heart you broke, but he’s seemingly intent on making you face the fact that you’ve been on the couch since last night.

The concern deepens on Spencer’s face when you don’t respond, “Can you hear me?”

In the back of your mind, you wonder how he managed to get into your apartment without a key, but you don’t air this concern to him, you just look at him.

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket, typing out a quick message on his phone before leaving the device face down on your coffee table. “Honey, will you talk to me?”

Wanting to avoid the visage of your ex-boyfriend in front of you, you let your eyes fall shut again, grunting when your punishment grows sentient and gently shakes your shoulder.

“Hey, uh uh, eyes open,” he chides, revealing himself as the real version of Spencer.

You frown at him, partially in disbelief and partially in distaste, “What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice garbled from lack of use.

His concern softens slightly at the sound of your voice, “No one’s heard from you in two days.”

Lifting your head from the pillow, your eyes widen slightly, “Days?”

Spencer nods in confirmation, “Have you been on the couch this whole time?”

Furrowing your brows, you rest your head back on the pillow, “No, I’ve been… It was… what?”

Gently, he reached out and rested a hand on your head, gently using the pad of his thumb to gently smooth hairs from your forehead, “What’s the last thing you remember?” His question holds no accusation, the honey-sweet tone nearly enough to make your bottom lip quiver.

“Breaking up with you,” you breathed. The text that you had sent in a flurry of tears being the only thing that resurfaced in your memory.

Hi, we’ve gotta break up. Sorry.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the most eloquent text message that you have ever written, but at the time, you weren’t yourself. At least now you knew that you were in the early stages of a dissociative episode. “I broke up with you,” you repeated, more for yourself than for him. “What are you doing here?”

Softly, Spencer smiled at you, cupping your cheek before standing up and grabbing your TV remote, switching the screen from the muted black of standby mode to the pitch black of being completely off. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, “That won’t work for me.”

Peering up at him, you prop your head up in your hand, “What do you mean?” Confusion ruminated through your already troubled mind.

He raised his eyebrows, went over to the curtains, and opened them, allowing rays of light to stream into your living room, the daylight made you cringe, but eventually, your eyes would adjust. “You do not get to drop off the face of the Earth. I won’t let you get lost like that,” he told you, his sugar-coated tone cracking as he grew sterner.

Spencer never minded the way you sank to the bottom of your brain, he was always willing to make the trek to rescue you, but you didn’t want that anymore. “Well, I’m up now,” your body was beginning to settle into your skin once again, “You don’t have to stay.”

Your boyfriend—the jury was still out on that one—scoffed in response, sitting himself down on the corner of your coffee table, “Fine, I’ll just wait here until you can give me a valid explanation for ending our relationship via text message.”

Parting your lips, you hauled yourself to a sitting position, “I thought… I didn’t—” No, he completely had you there. You owed him more than a text message, but you didn’t have the dignity to face him. You knew he’d talk sense into you.

“What happened two nights ago?” Spencer asked, resting his elbows on his knees and watching you intently. “Did something happen to you that you felt like you couldn’t share with me?”

Shaking your head, you reached up and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, “No, nothing like that.”

His expression softened, looking at you, desperate for an explanation, “Then what was it, baby? You know you can tell me anything.”

Your throat burned with emotion, and holding back tears didn’t take any effort—your body was so devoid of water that none even bothered to form. Even so, you hiccupped a dry sob, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound, “I didn’t want you to have to worry about me.”

Spencer’s face fell. Your heart broke even more than it had when you sent that text, “I tried to text you back. I called you. Everyone called you.”

You hadn’t the slightest idea where your phone was, patting around the couch for any sign of it. “I didn’t hear anything,” you frowned, unsure where it had ended up.

“Are you missing time?” He asked, checking in on where exactly you were mentally.

Nodding, you leaned into the couch cushions. You couldn’t account for anything the night before last, you had sent that text and disappeared into the depths of your own mind. An organ that was necessary for survival playing wicked games with your life.

His lips parted, readying himself to ask a question that he clearly didn’t want to, “Are you off your medication?”

You flinched at his question, screwing your eyes shut and nodding again. “They’re at the pharmacy,” you told him, “My head hurts.”

“You’re coming back,” he said, watching the way your eyes flittered around the room anxiously. “Have you eaten anything?”

His question was innocent enough, but you found yourself unaware of the answer. Surely you had eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, you hadn’t been truly withering away on your couch—had you? The tremble of your hands told a completely different story, you steepled your fingers together to keep them from shaking.

Taking your silence as a response in and of itself, Spencer nodded, “Do you want breakfast?”

“I don’t want you to take care of this,” you told him, the response coming out harsher than you had initially intended.

Realization washed over Spencer’s features, looking at your situation in a completely new light. “That’s what this is?” Hurt seeped into his voice, cocking his head to the side, “Baby, you’re warping your need for independence into a reason to push me away. Why?”

Taking a ragged breath, you shrugged helplessly at him, “You’ve spent your whole life taking care of people, and I don’t want to add to it anymore.”

“Has it occurred to you that I like taking care of you?” He asked, voice softening as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Go take a shower, I’ll get breakfast going,” he instructed you, tenderly tugging the knit blanket off of your body before helping you to your feet.

You grimaced at the feeling of your feet on the floor, “I don’t want to shower.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Spencer said over his shoulder as he made his way into your kitchen, reaching in the cabinets for your frying pan.

You unceremoniously returned from the shower; strands of damp hair draped over your shoulders. “Are you going to tell me how you got into my apartment in the first place?” Despite the length of your relationship, you’d never given him a key to your apartment. The leasing office had only given you one.

His back was to you, his expression literally unreadable, “Your landlord did.”

“And why did she do that?” You asked, pulling the glass of water that you assumed he poured for you across the granite countertops.

Spencer turned the frying pan on its side, scraping the scrambled eggs off of the Teflon surface and onto a plate. “I told her she was either going to do it for me or for the police when I call for a wellness check,” he informed you, placing the plate in front of you and pushing the saltshaker over to you. He must’ve noticed the face you were making at the eggs on your plate, because he spoke up once more, “You need the protein.”

You recognized that this wasn’t an overreaction to the situation. In fact, Spencer had maintained a completely calm demeanor when speaking with you, but you saw further past his façade. You saw the way the vein on his temple popped when he clenched his jaw, taking the saltshaker into your hand, you added some on top of the eggs before mixing them around, “I scared you.”

While Spencer lived in the district, your address was in Maryland, and you knew he wasn’t above calling Will at MPD to do a wellness check on you, “Yes.”

His answer was simple, and yet, your chest clenched at the brevity of it, “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes,” he answered again, resting his hands on the countertop and leaning over it. He watched as you stirred the eggs around on your plate, steam rising from them as you did. “Do you want to come with me to pick up your prescription?”

You hummed as you shoveled the first bite of eggs into your mouth. “Sure,” you said, watching him dig a carton of blueberries out of your fridge.

Dropping a handful on your plate, careful to make sure they don’t roll into the eggs, Spencer seals the container again, “Antioxidants and vitamins,” he murmured to no one in particular.

“How can you forgive me?” You asked Spencer, watching him endearingly pop a few blueberries into his mouth before placing the container back into your refrigerator.

He shook his head, “It’s not a matter of forgiveness. It wasn’t your fault.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you needed to shoulder the blame, “Then whose fault is it, Spence?”

“There is no fault. At least, there’s not one that falls on either of us. I can’t fault you for your brain. No matter how misguided you might have been, you thought you were acting in both of our best interests,” he admitted, rinsing the pan in the sink.

A beeping sound caught your attention, “Did you start a load of laundry?”

He nodded, scrubbing lightly at the dish in the sink, “Your hamper was full.”

“You’re doing too much,” you told him, pressing your lips in a thin line.

Setting the pan on a drying mat, he dried off his hands before walking over to you, hooking a finger beneath your chin before he murmured, “How is what I’m doing for you right now any different than when you took care of me after I got shot in the leg?”

Your jaw slackened. You had unofficially moved in with Spencer last year when he had been shot in the knee by an UnSub, helping him with everything from walking around the apartment to cooking.

Taking your lack of response as an answer, he nodded to himself, “I am always here for you.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door, “Come on, the sooner we get to the pharmacy the sooner we can start getting your apartment back in order."

He walked around you, pivoting on his heel as he held out a hand for you to take. Eventually, you accepted the hand he had extended, following him outside, into the light.

[sincerelyneo]

sunflower vol 6 | l.hc

“i couldn’t want you anymore, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor”

💿now playing: sunflower vol 6 by harry styles

❯ summary: Let’s make dinner together, he said. I’ll behave, he said. Honestly, you should have known that was a lie because when it comes to you, Haechan is never on his best behaviour. That’s why he’s sneaking sly touches every time you complete a step in your recipe.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive content

❯ words: 1.4k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, kissing, pet names, literally just hyuck being so boyfriend and them dancing in the kitchen together.

an: i’m a firm believer that harry styles wrote this song about haechan

Hyuck bursts through the front door with a sense of urgency, unable to contain his excitement. It's been months since he last saw you, his girlfriend whom he's more than just a little obsessed with, and the door feels like just another barrier in his way. He thought his job, which requires him to tour for half the year, was obstacle enough.

"Baby, I'm home!" he calls out eagerly, scanning the apartment for any sign of you. Disappointment flickers across his face when he doesn't immediately spot you waiting for him with open arms.

The honeyed tone of his voice instead echoes from the living room to your bedroom, drawing you to him like a magnet. Without wasting a moment, you rush down the stairs and wrap your arms around his neck.

You melt into each other effortlessly, as you always do. Your bodies seem custom-made for one another, fitting together perfectly. You've missed his touch, his warmth, in a way that FaceTime calls could never fulfil. Nothing compares to the physical presence of your Hyuck.

You plant a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his cheek before pulling back to meet his gaze. "You weren't supposed to be home for another four hours. What's going on?"

"I got an earlier flight because I missed you so much," he replies with a grin. 

You shake your head, but a smile still tugs at your lips. You've never encountered a man more smitten and in love than him. It's endearing, really. It's the kind of love his friends would tease him about if he didn't take so much pride in it.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to process the fact that he's here in your living room. You're happy, of course, but you had hoped to be all dolled up for his arrival, not standing in old pyjamas after months apart

"Well... are you hungry? We could order takeout if you want. You can tell me all about that tour that's kept you away from me for what feels like forever," you suggest with a smile, and his eyes soften at the invitation

"Babyyy," he whines, catching you off guard a little. His hands slide to your back, pulling you in by your waist as he plants a kiss on top of your head. "Can't we make dinner together?"

You raise an eyebrow, pulling away to look up at him, his hands still wrapped around you. "By 'we,' you mean me?"

"Of course not. You know I make an excellent sous chef. Restaurants should be grateful I chose music instead of culinary arts.” 

You shake your head, with a grin. "We never get anything done when we cook together. Remember last time?"

He smirks, recalling the memory. "It's not my fault you asked me to get something out of the fridge, and when I turned around, you were bent over the counter showing your ass to me. I couldn't help myself."

You give him a deadpan look but he only smirks more.

"And if we're being honest, I remember you loving it." His arms cross over his chest, the satisfaction in him beaming from knowing that you know he's right. You did enjoy those steamy cooking sessions, but not right now; you're hungry.

"Please, baby, I missed your cooking. Nothing any restaurant can make compares to your food," he pleads. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

And although you know better, and you know that there’s no such thing as "best behaviour" with Lee Donghyuck, you still can't resist. And so, you give in. 

Surprisingly, everything goes well. Hyuck isn’t too much of a distraction; instead, he follows your instructions without protest. He grabs ingredients, chops vegetables, and even compliments the head chef— and nothing catches fire.

Progress is being made.

That is until your boyfriend finishes the little tasks you assign him and wraps his arms around your waist while you chop ingredients.

“Hyuck… you promised—”

His plush lips melt against your neck so delicately that you nearly chop off your finger—though Hyuck won’t let that happen, gripping your hands to steady them. He chuckles softly, his lips quirking against your skin.

“I know what I said, Y/N,” he teases. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not trying to help; you’re trying to distract.”

He laughs, “You know… I bought a new record while I was on tour. It has that one song you love.”

You pause, setting the knife down and pressing your hands against the counter as you turn to face him.

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, “I think we should play it while you cook.”

“I thought we were supposed to be cooking together?” 

Hyuck simply chuckles as he heads over to the record player in your kitchen and sets the record spinning. Soft guitar notes fill the space, and despite your need to focus, you can’t help but smile.

You watch as he dances across the cool kitchen tiles, a smirk on his lips, until he stands behind you. His hand finds your elbow, gently pulling you backwards.

The laugh that spills from you is warm and Hyuck matches it as his hands drift down your arms to your hands, fingers threading together before he pulls you back into his broad, solid chest. 

Strong arms cross your own chest, and the two of you start to sway against each other. The music is quiet and grainy and mixed with the sound of your feet creaking on the floor. 

The two of you float back and forth—a stream of sunlight streams in through the high window. You close your eyes and let the light shift across your eyelids. Hyuck’s lips find your ear, singing softly. The sound was gentle and sweet and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll never forget the moment I realised I love you.”

You sink further against him, your voice humming as you ask, “Yeah? When was that?”

“The minute I saw you,” he breathes. “You were dancing so carelessly, and I knew then—you were my person. You’ll always be my person.”

You’re grinning like an idiot despite rolling your eyes as you let go of Hyuck’s hands and turn around in his arms. You slide your palms up his chest to wind around the back of his neck, pressing your foreheads together. 

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he responds easily, smiling with his eyes closed as he continues to sway with you in the tiny kitchen of your tiny apartment. You nod, leaning forward to knock your noses together gently with an exaggerated sigh.

“I do. And I love you. I wouldn’t want to spend a minute loving anybody else.”

Hyuck hums, pulling you in closer and starts walking you backwards slowly until your hips rest against the counter. He dips down, curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and effortlessly hoists you up to sit on the edge. You open your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, twisting a perfect little strand around your finger just the way he likes it.

He looks back at you, eyes filled with patience and love. Then he leans in, drawing you into a soft, lazy kiss—because he’s finally home, because he can, because he loves doing it, because it’s all he ever wants to do from now until forever.  You melt against his chest, pressing up into the contact. When you break apart, Hyuck rests his lips against your temple, swaying gently with you in his arms.

“I’m so in love with you,” He says softly.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and brush your nose back and forth against his neck as you close your eyes and smile.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

You linger in the warmth of his touch until the sharp beeping of the oven interrupts the moment. You pull away slightly, frowning at the oven’s display.

“Ugh, I forgot I put that in there!” you exclaim, glancing over your shoulder to see smoke beginning to curl from the edges.

Hyuck chuckles, but there is no concern creeping into his voice. “Can’t believe my first meal home is going to be charcoal.” 

You rush to the oven, Hyuck close behind. As you open the door, a plume of smoke escapes, and you cough. 

“This is totally your fault! What happened to you not being distracting?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, leaning down to plant another soft kiss on your lips. “What can I say? I’m obsessed with you.”

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Whether in the solitude of his room or surrounded by family, all Azriel can think about is you. He would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after their marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows told him they felt someone winnowing into the townhouse.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

[good-griief]

losing game pt. 3

as promised here's your happy ending (yall would be enraged if i told u how this was originally going to go😸)

part one part two

read me click me

──────────✿───────────

But when you woke up the next morning, she was gone. You had her hoodie and a pair of underwear on, but everything else — her clothes, the warmth of her body beneath you, even her scent on your pillow — was gone.

And her set of keys were left on your nightstand.

──────────✿───────────

Ellie woke up in your arms, you lying on her back and her draped over you as you slept soundly. The night before replayed in her head, images of you and your body flooding her mind; from you hugging her as you cried, to hugging her as you moaned, doing the most intimate thing you’d ever done. From kissing up your arm to you kissing up her thighs — feeling you against her, it all came flooding back along with the sound of her music still playing from your dying laptop. Songs she wrote about you, that she hadn’t even registered you were having sex to, songs that held feelings so private that she couldn’t believe she’d shared with the world when the memories of why she wrote them invaded her mind. 

She couldn’t stop herself from crying when all the feelings of the past year came back to her, running her hands over her face and wiping her eyes to force them away. She wanted, more than anything, for you to be the one to comfort her at that moment, but she didn’t want to wake you. You’d cried so much the night before, and she didn’t want to make you watch her cry. You’d feel awful. She couldn’t do that to you. 

She quietly got up, going into your drawer and pulling on one of your sweaters and a pair of underwear. She looked back at you, clinging to the blanket now that her warmth had left you, and grabbed her sweater from the edge of the bed. She grabbed another pair of underwear and went over to you, carefully pulling on the underwear and sweater before pulling your blanket over you. 

She left to the living room, only intending to sit and calm herself down so you weren’t burdened with her feelings, but she got a call. She quickly wiped her eyes and sniffed as she picked it up, seeing her bassist’s name. 

“Hey, Dina,” she said, voice thick with tears and groggy from just waking up. 

“Where are you? We have to leave,” she said, sounding frantic. Ellie pulled the phone away from her ear, frowning at the time. It was barely six in the morning, where the hell would they be going? “Don’t tell me you forgot about our fucking tour,” Dina said and Ellie brought the phone back to her ear. “What the fuck, Ellie?”

“That doesn’t start until the eighteenth,” she said. 

“Yeah, but we have to get on a plane on the fifteenth. Today. Right now.” Dina sighed. “Where are you? Everyone’s waiting.”

“I…” She looked back at the door to your room. “I at least have to wait until she wakes up. I have to—“

“You’re kidding.” Dina shook her head, she could hear Jesse asking what happened in the background, Dina whispering your name and making him sigh. “The plane boards in forty-five. I have your suitcase… Why don’t you wake her up? You can have, like, fifteen minutes with her — Ellie…” Dina sighed when she heard her sniff. “I’ll come get you. You can call her before we board.”

“I just don’t want to wake her up—“

“I know.” 

“She was upset last night, I want to let her rest—“

“I know… It’ll be fine, El. It’s shit timing, I know, but we have to go.” She sighed, nodding. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

Ellie went back to your room, taking a moment to sit on the bed. She wished she hadn’t left. At least, she would’ve gotten to sit with you for longer — and she felt a pit in her stomach when she remembered — She knew how this would make her look, and she wished she’d just said it back when she had the chance. She wished she’d said it when she first got there, or before she took off your shirt. She should’ve said that instead of saying she was in love with you. Like she wasn’t still. 

She wanted to wake you up and tell you now, but she couldn’t bring herself to. If you saw her like this, a complete wreck, you’d just try to comfort her. She wouldn’t be able to leave if that happened.

And as she got on her jeans, her keys jingling, she looked down at them. She slipped your apartment keys off of the keychain, set it on your nightstand, and placed a very soft kiss on the top of your head. She didn’t think she deserved to keep them. Not when she knew how upset you’d be when you woke up — how you’d think of her. Hell, if any paparazzi caught her at your apartment, coming in, or leaving, you’d probably think she was taking one last jab at humiliating you. 

And it made her feel worse because she knew, after how upset you were, you wouldn’t even blame her. You’d think she hated you, and you wouldn’t even be mad at her. The thought had her sitting in Dina’s passenger seat, crying over everything all over again. After just getting you back, after missing you so much, she felt like she wouldn’t be able to make up for this. 

“Ellie, I can’t watch you like this,” Dina said. “Just call her.”

“She might call me when she wakes up.”

“Call her, so she doesn’t think you left her in the middle of the night like she was some kind of one-night stand,” Dina told her, her tone firm. Ellie sniffed, nodding and dialing your number. It rang and rang, but eventually, it went to your voicemail. “Tell her,” she mouthed, but she just hung up. “Ellie—“

“She’s going to think I hate her, Dina.” She shook her head, looking at your contact picture and clicking the message icon. She typed, then deleted, then typed again. What was she supposed to tell you? You wouldn’t believe her if she said she forgot she had to leave in the morning because she was with you. Who would believe that? “Fuck…” She muttered, a tabloid notification popping up. The news was already spreading that she went over to your apartment. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t talk to her. There’s no need to be this upset.” Ellie just shook her head, typing and deleting over and over. Dina glanced at her phone. “At least tell her you care about her. We both know what she’ll think when she sees the photos.” That just made her cry more. Dina nearly pulled over. Nearly offered to take her back, but they had things to do as soon as they landed. “Text her, Ellie. Please. This is hard to watch.”

“Her manager will delete the message.” She sighed, still sending you a text. It was only three words, but it was enough. 

It was enough to make you pause when you finally checked your phone. You thought, just maybe, she went out to get breakfast for the two of you, or get you coffee like she would before, but the text let you know she wasn’t coming back. You pursed your lips, typing and deleting until you settled on a joke. 

Ellie huffed a laugh, typing a long message. She wanted to explain away the photos, tell you she didn’t mean for any of that to happen, but she wasn’t careful because she just wanted to see you. She wanted to tell you she’d get on a plane another day if you asked her to, skip all the promotions just to be with you, but she knew you would never ask her to do that. Even if you wanted to — even if Dina would turn the car around for her. She retyped it over and over, reluctantly trimming it down.

You waited for her to reply, staring at the bubbles until they disappeared and sighing, tossing your phone aside. The night before had been so perfect, but she couldn’t even wake you up to tell you she had to leave. Knowing Ellie, she probably didn’t want to upset you, but you wished she had. You wished you’d been upset because she was leaving and not because she left. 

Waking up without her, to an empty apartment, her keys left behind, it made you feel sick. You wanted to call, but you felt foolish dialing her number — you felt like an idiot for doing it the night before. You wanted to text, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself, and looking at her text from that night made you even more embarrassed. You just wanted to know why, and now that you did, you couldn’t say you felt any better. 

She called you hours later, once she landed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your stomach dropped as you saw her contact pop up, just like it did when you saw the photos, and when your manager called you about them. Your hands started to sweat as you grabbed your phone, letting out a breath as the call ended. You texted her. 

You knew she wouldn’t reply, and you knew it was because she didn’t know how to talk to you now. That hurt the most — that she didn’t wake you, because she didn’t know how to tell you — because she thought you’d be upset with her, even though you lived such similar lives. It was like you didn’t even know each other anymore. You were on speaking terms, but you couldn’t even speak. 

Over the next weeks, you and Ellie started to text like you were still friends, sending each other things, and asking about each other’s days. You got rid of your manager and unblocked each of your old band members, texting them apologies that they each replied lovingly to. Despite how stupid you felt. 

Ellie called when the news broke. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. You answered the second time she called, feeling bad for ignoring the first when you heard the worry in her voice. “I saw the headlines.”

“I, uh…” You were always close with your manager, she knew that; it was why he was so adamant about looking out for you — why he pushed her away. He was the reason you could hardly speak to Ellie now. “I wish you were here,” you muttered. “I, just, I’m just getting back into my music, and now I don’t know what to do… I guess I could release independently…” 

“You should,” she said, sounding happy just to have a conversation. 

“You think?” She hummed. “Maybe — Maybe I’ll try that, then.” There was a beat of silence. “You have to go, right?”

“We open in a few minutes.”

“And you still called?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” That made you smile. “Hey, we, uh, we have a break in the tour soon — on the twenty-second. I could come home. Maybe we could see each other? I’d only have, like, a few hours, but—“

“You should do something nice, then,” you said glumly. 

“The only reason I’d come back is to see you.”

And she came back, coming up to your apartment without care whether or not paparazzi caught her. Just like last time, all she wanted was to see you, and neither of you cared what was outside of your door. 

You cared that she was there, standing in front of you like it was still a year ago and you were still best friends. But you didn’t know what to say after saying hello. 

“Fuck it,” she muttered before pulling you in. Your lack of verbal communication led to getting it out physically, sweet kisses, and “I missed you’s” being given out haphazardly as you got your clothes off once you made it to your room. 

It became a tradition, almost, each time she had a break. She’d come to see you, you’d have sex, and she’d be gone in the morning when you woke up. There wasn’t a single time she waited, no matter how late her flight was. She’d go out, bring coffee back for you, and leave her keys with the coffee before she went to the airport if there was time enough for that, but she never woke you to say goodbye. She couldn’t bring herself to. 

Because the last time she got to say goodbye to you, she lost you, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. She knew not to say goodbye. 

She knew better. 

“Is this how it is now?” You asked her one night, lying together in your bed. “We barely talk until one of us calls to say ‘I miss you’ and you come home for…” You looked at the clock by your bed. “Six hours?”

“I don’t have to come back,” she said quietly, half wanting to comfort you because you sounded so disappointed and half hurt that you didn’t seem to care about her coming back for you. 

“Then don’t,” you mumbled, reciprocating what you took as apathy. 

Maybe that was why you didn’t speak; you’d just misunderstand each other. 

“You don’t mean that — hey…” She made you look at her when you tried to turn your head away, block out the conversation. “I love you?” She tried, hoping that would help your mood. You hadn’t been saying it since this started, and she hoped she could remind you why it did. 

But, for some reason, that only worsened your feelings. 

“Don’t bother. You’re not even going to be here tomorrow to act like it.” 

She scoffed, nose reddening immediately. “Okay,” she muttered. “I’ll catch a flight tonight then. That better?” She moved you off of her, standing and putting on her clothes. She always left with some clothing item of yours, but she didn’t take anything this time. All you could think in the moment was that you at least got to see her leave, but the moment continued for far too long, and you started to regret saying anything — feeling anything. 

All you wanted was for her to stay. 

“You don’t want to wait until I’m asleep?” You half-joked, voice drab as you snatched her sweater before she could put it on, pulling it over your head. “Or give me your sweater?” She always did. She never left you like this. She never left you feeling vulnerable, with nothing to remember her by. 

“Do you even want it?” You scoffed at her and she opened her phone, checking for flights. “Whatever. Keep it. I have to go now if I want to catch this.”

And suddenly there was a pit in your stomach as you realized she really was leaving. And upset. She tugged on the shirt she had under her sweater, making sure she had everything as she sniffed. She wiped beneath her eyes and you sighed, “Ellie—“

“You want me to go, I’m going. Keep the fucking sweater.”

“I love you, too,” you said, and she stopped at the tone of your voice, looking at you. “Are you going to come back again?”

“Do you want me to?” You pursed your lips, frowning at her and wondering why she’d even ask that. Why couldn’t she understand that you were upset because you wanted her there? Why couldn’t you just tell her that?

She took your lack of an answer as a “no” and nodded. 

“I don’t want you to leave right now.”

“I asked if you want me to come back.”

“But, right now—“

“Right now, I want to catch this flight.” You shut your mouth, knowing you couldn’t stop her. “So, are you going to give me my sweater? Or should I just go?”

“You can take one of mine.” She huffed, heading for the door. “Why don’t you take your keys,” you suggested quickly, throwing out anything to make her stay. “You can let yourself in next time.” But she was closing the door behind herself, and when you heard the front door close, you felt your throat tighten. “Fuck,” you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest as you looked at the empty spot next to you. 

That was the most you’d talked during any of the times she came home. 

You waited and waited, but the door never opened again, and you had to go to sleep when your eyes got heavy, waking up to a knock at the door and quickly getting on pants before you answered. A delivery driver handed you a bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates. 

You didn’t think you could feel worse about that night when you read the note. Ellie wasn’t one to write long notes to people, maybe long journal entries, but when it came to talking she got straight to the point. She left out the flowery messaging and the sentimental paragraphs to say how she felt without sugarcoating it;

I know this won’t make up for it, but I wish we were spending today together too. I had the whole thing planned in case it worked out. 

Maybe next year? lolll

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love Els ᡣ𐭩

It was no wonder she got defensive so quickly, you thought as you called her, getting her voicemail. There wasn’t anything you could think to say that you hadn’t in your message. You knew she didn’t want to hear you apologize, so you hung up. 

She didn’t come back during her next tour break. You had half a mind to call her, but you didn’t want to come across like you were clinging to her. She didn’t come the next time either. 

When the fourth time rolled around, you’d gotten so used to not seeing her that you were asleep when the buzzer rang. Someone else must’ve buzzed her in, because there was a knock at your door that woke you up and made you open the door sleepily. 

“Oh,” Ellie said. “I didn’t realize you were asleep.” You stepped aside to let her in. “Want me to find a hotel tonight—?”

“No,” you said immediately, walking back to your room and getting in bed. “Just change your clothes and come to bed.”

She quietly did as told, smiling at the teddy bear and flowers on your desk before she got into a sweater and shorts and got beneath the covers. You immediately went to her, arms around her waist and head on her chest, to help yourself back to sleep. “Didn’t think you were coming,” you mumbled, half asleep. “Why’re you here?”

“I missed you…” She sighed, pulling you closer as she ran her hand up and down your back. “I wanted to give you space after acting like that… I was just upset already, and…”

You waited for her to finish, but it seemed like her sentence ended there. “You could’ve told me that.”

“I didn’t know how.” The conversation ended there, Ellie obviously tired and you not knowing how to respond. 

You’d been so close before; you could talk about any and everything, you know every little detail about one another, so how did it get to this? Why couldn’t she just tell you she was upset because she couldn’t spend the next day with you — maybe, she thought you’d be upset, but you would’ve been happy to know she wanted to be with you. 

Ellie had actually woken you up to say goodbye this time, telling you that she was leaving and she’d miss you before you went back to bed. She knew she shouldn’t have. 

She knew better. 

“We’re just holding on to what we used to have,” you said over the phone when she called about coming home again, saying she had a few days between shows and could leave then.

Ellie was quiet on the other end of the line. She knew you were right, but she didn’t want to say it. 

“I just… I just feel like—“

“It’s too late?” She said quietly, telling you she felt the same. “For us, I mean… I know that…”

There was a long moment of silence, both of you wanting to say so much, wishing you’d said so much more, and finding yourself at a loss as your lips pursed. You heard her let out a breath, the sound shaking before she asked, “Do you still want me to come home?”

“More than anything.” You could hear her rustling on the other end of the line. “But it’d only be to say goodbye. I know you hate saying goodbye.”

“You always want me to,” she tried. She just wanted to see you. Even if you were upset, or saying goodbye again. Even if her last memory with you during this period of your relationship would end up being bad, she wanted to see you. 

“Not this time.” But, more than anything, she wanted to see you happy with her. And you hadn’t been. She thought, maybe, giving you what you wanted now would do that. “I don’t want the last memory of this time together to be bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” But you both knew it would end up that way. There was another beat of silence. “Do you, at least, want me to come to give you my keys?” You frowned. “I took them before I left last time…” You could hear her playing with them, fingers fidgeting to try and distract herself. “I could just bring them back. Get a hotel?”

“I wouldn’t want you to stay in a hotel — you wouldn’t stay in a hotel if you brought them back.” She knew that. “Just keep them. It’s not like we’re done being friends.”

But you weren’t even that. Friends spoke more than you did, they cried less, and they didn’t know every intimate part of each other like you did. They didn’t remember every intimate detail, every beauty mark that they could kiss, every spot that when touched made them feel like they could spend the rest of their lives together. 

You weren’t friends. You never were, and you never would be. 

You both knew that, but she still agreed. 

Even though she sat in the airport, waiting for you to text and tell her to come anyway, to say you missed her and you were sorry. Even just to tell her you loved her. 

The texts slowly came to a stop, the calls too — any ask about how the other was doing felt too insensitive to continue. This time, instead of someone coming between you, you drifted apart. And maybe that was how it should’ve been all along, but you hated it. You both did. 

The first thing she wanted when her tour ended was to see you, and the first thing you expected was a call from her — for her to ask to come over and you to say she didn’t have to ask. It never came, and she never did either, but it stayed in the back of your minds until July. 

You’d kickstarted your independent career with a new band just in time for summer, and you’d be seeing each other at festivals. It was nearly every day in June, and oftentimes your set was either right before or right after hers. You’d pass by each other, say a quick hello, and move on because she had to get started and it wasn’t like you would stay. You saw each other at afterparties, but neither of you made the move to go up to each other. 

Even though Ellie started talking about you during shows — even though she let your passing “hello’s” be what they were in June, until July rolled around, and she slipped in small details between announcing songs — let fans go wild. Even though she all but confirmed what happened that past winter, all but confirmed she was still in love with you, and made a point to say that if she had it her way you’d be together now. 

And maybe it was a way to tell you without breaking your unspoken rule of not speaking. Because you saw the headlines, and they made you smile rather than cry. That was how you knew, if the time came, you would be with her. That’s why you started mentioning her between songs, why you did confirm what happened that winter, and why you made sure everyone knew that all she had to do was ask and she’d have it her way. 

But she never did. 

At least, not until August. 

“Shit!” You gasped when your drink spilled down the front of your shirt. Someone was turning around as you were walking around them, your drink tipping back and down your blouse as they walked right into you. 

It was at an afterparty for the last festival you’d be attending for the summer, and you were just heading out to leave. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” The girl had a napkin in her hand that she used to try and get the stain out before it settled, but you were less focused on that and more on her voice. You knew it well enough to know, even in the dim light and the music bouncing off the walls of the venue the party was held in, Ellie was the one drunkenly wiping at your shirt as if the cocktail would come out. 

“It’s okay,” you said, grabbing her hand to stop her from wiping at your chest. “It’s not even my shirt.” She looked up at you, recognizing your voice, then back at the shirt. She recognized it as her own, though it was cropped and distressed for your set. 

“I liked that shirt,” she said, tipsy. 

“I’m not the one that dumped a cocktail on it.”

“I’m not the one that changes into it during every show,” she countered. “You did good today.”

“You saw my set?” 

She nodded. “I always watch the stream.” That made you smile. “And you always have that stupid shirt—“

“It’s not stupid!” You defended, pulling at the hem to look at it. “I mean, now it is — thanks to you,” you laughed, “but I loved this shirt!”

“It's just a white band tee,” she laughed out, but she couldn’t deny how good it felt, for some reason, to hear that. 

“Yeah, but it’s yours.” You rolled your eyes at her when she smiled.

“I’ll get you a new one,” she said simply, sipping her drink. “That sound good?” You smiled, nodding. There was a beat of silence, her looking you up and down, wondering if you’d bring up her shows, before she asked, “How’ve you been?”

“Better,” was your answer, making her frown. “Good,” you changed it. “Just… Music feels weird without you,” you admitted. She nodded like she understood, and maybe she did. Maybe, that was why she watched every show, but couldn’t bring herself to go. “I haven’t watched any of your shows just ‘cause… I don’t know—“

“I miss you, too,” she cut you off, narrowing your statement down before you could start to ramble. Usually, you’d make a joke about her letting you finish talking, but now you just smiled. “I think time apart, after everything, has been good for us though.”

“Me too.” You nodded in agreement. “I mean, clearly — We finally remembered how to talk to each other.”

Ellie chuckled, nodding. “Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t for lack of knowing what to say. Ellie just had to brace herself before she asked, “Do you want to go out sometime?” She’d been waiting to ask since summer started, hoping it’d been enough time. Hoping what you hinted at during shows wasn’t just for the headlines it produced. 

“Like, as friends?” You asked, tilting your head at her. She was always catering to you, but you wanted her to pluck up and say it as boldly as she did on stage. 

“We’ve never been good at being friends.” You laughed, nodding. “But sure, that works too if that’s what you want.” Like always, she agreed with you, but this time she made sure to speak up, “But I was asking you on a date.” You pursed your lips to hide the smile that immediately wanted to come to your face, raising a brow at her. “And somewhere public, and busy, where everyone can see us together, and paparazzi can have a fucking field day.” You laughed at her. “Unless you want it to be private.”

“I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated back to you, making it a point that you said it. “What’ll make you say yes?”

“Ask me when you’re not drunk,” you told her, cupping her cheek very briefly. “It was nice to see you, Els.” You looked over at your band, ready to leave. “Text me.”

You found yourself waiting for a text from Ellie as you drove home with your bandmates, smiling as you thought over the conversation. She wasn’t that drunk, so you knew she’d ask again, but you still wanted an excuse for her to text you. 

She knew that, and she knew you were already saying yes, which was why she was still at the party, taking celebratory shots with Dina before she finally went home. Immediately, she took out her phone to text you. 

You, as promised, got a call from Ellie an hour later. 

You laughed as you answered. She started talking the moment you picked up, and you just listened: she missed you, and she’d been giving you space until the right time came up. She knew she wanted to ask the minute you saw each other again and she knew you wanted her to, and finally, “So, will you go out with me?” 

And of course, “Yes.”

──────────✿───────────

tags: @mikellie @xxylova @bready101 @thekill3randthefinalgirl @sawaagyapong @mila-makes-an-entrance

[harrysfolklore]

Can you write an imagine of Harry inspired by that clip of Taylor playing call it what you want on the guitar in miss americana where he’s recording you as you play him the song you wrote for him plsss 🙏🏼

golden hour - hs

A HARRY FIC OMG??? this is really short but i needed to write a harry fic to get the creative juices flowing so thank youuuu for this request, i hope you like this!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You sat cross-legged on the plush rug of your living room, your acoustic guitar resting comfortably on your lap. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Harry was sprawled on the couch opposite you, looking cozy as ever in a green jumper and joggers.

"Are you ready?" you asked, glancing up at him with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"Absolutely, love," Harry smiled at you, "Why do you always get nervous when you're about to play a song for me. It's just me, love"

"Because," you began, running your fingers through the strings of your guitar, "It's a song I wrote about you, and It's really sappy."

"I love sappy," Harry's smile widened, a soft chuckle leaving his lips, "Especially when it's about us, or just you being a simp over me."

You rolled your eyes with affection, "I'm going to start singing before I completely regret it."

"Wait," Harry said before you could start, "Can I record you? It would be a cute memory."

"Of course you can, but don't leak it to TMZ," you joked and he grabbed his phone from the coffee table in front of him, opening his camera.

"I'll keep it just for us, promise." He adjusted himself on the couch, holding his phone up to get a clear view of you. "Alright, ready when you are, my love."

"Okay this is Golden Hour, take one from our living room," you said looking at the camera, "Let's go."

You took a deep breath and began strumming the opening chords of the song you had written your fingers danced across the strings with ease.

All that I know Is you caught me at the right time Keep me in your glow 'Cause I'm havin' such a good time with you

Baby, don't you know That you're my golden hour The color of my sky You set my world on fire And I know, I know everything's gonna be alright

You sang softly, watching as Harry's eyes beamed with happiness and amusement as he listened to the words pouring from your heart.

You kept on singing and playing your guitar, mouthing an "I love you" to Harry before reaching the final chorus, your smile as wide as his.

And when the song came to an end, you let the final chord hang in the air for a moment, and you looked up to see Harry, his expression one of pure adoration.

"That was... beautiful, love," Harry said and he stopped the recording and sat his phone down "You never cease to amaze me. I don't think I've ever felt this loved."

"Harry, stop," you set the guitar gently on the floor and covered your face, "You're going to make me cry."

Harry chuckled, moving from the couch to sit beside you on the rug.

"No need to hide, love. It's just me, remember?" he gently pulled your hands away from your face, holding them in his.

"I know, but still," you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, you should know that your song made me the happiest man alive," he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "You have no idea how much I love you."

"I might have an idea," you teased, pecking his lips quickly.

"Now, how about we make this a tradition? You play me a song every week. Deal?"

"Only if you promise to write a song for me too. It's only fair," you raised an eyebrow playfully.

"Oh, it's a deal, love. Just you wait. I'll write the sappiest song you've ever heard," he pecked your lips again, "Or what about the horniest song you've ever heard, huh? What do you prefer, sappy or horny?"

"Your horny songs are all about fruit anyway," you teased again, making him laugh, "I'm happy you liked the song, baby."

"I loved it," he said softly, pulling you into a warm embrace. "And I love you."

[juustokaku]

Unzipped - Mingi x f!reader

Summary: Your new boyfriend Mingi wants to prove you he can be as sexy as San.

Genre: fluff, tries to be funny, jealous and insecure Mingi

Pairings: Mingi x f!reader

A/N: My best friend wanted me to write a fanfiction of Mingi, so I thought I'd share it here as well! Not that good, I wrote it in pretty short time, but at least my friend liked it <3 This has a brief mention of OnlyFans and flashers, but nobody in this is one!

Word count: 1 756

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mingi might have not remembered to lock the door when he left his apartment, or to take the food out of the oven, or even pay for the groceries until there were guards running up to him; but those were all insignificant things in life. The important thing was you. Everything else was only useless information in his eyes, but he wouldn’t forget any little detail about you, even if he tried to. 

That’s why he had quite a peculiar outfit on.  

As Mingi checked himself out from the mirror, his mind was tangled in anxious thoughts. Would you like how he looked? Would you think he was your type now? Would you burst out laughing at him? 

At the possibility of you making fun of his outfit, he pulled the leather jacket a little more over his bare chest, feeling insecure. He wasn’t used to dressing this revealingly, but the echo of your words was still clear in the little memory bank of his head. 

“Wow, San looks so sexy,” was what you had said five months ago, when you saw a picture the said man had posted on his Instagram. 

In Mingi’s opinion, San’s pictures seemed like they would fit better on OnlyFans. Or maybe he was just a tad too jealous at you calling San sexy. 

Mingi had deluded himself into thinking your type was sensual men in little to no clothing. Although you had started dating him a few weeks ago, stubbornly, he refused to forget your comment about San and believe he, his unique self, was your type. 

He took off the jacket and flexed his biceps, which were prominent and good-looking, but cringed at himself, noting that San’s muscles were even bigger. Mingi’s plans of showing you, how hard he had worked to be your ideal type, went down the drain; how could he compete against San? 

You wouldn’t like if Mingi arrived to the mall with a discouraged and depressed look on his face, so to get into a more energetic and happy mood for you, he started dancing to the music playing on his speakers while his tight, black pants almost ripped around his butt. Yes, it was that big. His greatest weapon at beating San. 

“I am sexy. I am Y/N’s ideal type. I am better than San and everyone,” Mingi tried to manifest. If he could say those things out loud, it was possible they’d come true as well. 

Apparently, universe hated him, because the moment you saw Mingi, you gasped in horror instead of awe. 

“Mingi! It’s way too cold for you to be out here without a shirt!” 

It was late autumn. Colorful leaves had left the trees long time ago, turned brown on the ground, and given space for the freezing wind to make fools like Mingi, who wanted to impress their girlfriends, shiver. 

The man pouted at your words, “I’m not cold. I was at the gym before this so I still feel hot.” 

Mingi felt a little bad about lying; he was indeed very cold, and he definitely hadn’t been at the gym. Instead of lifting weights he had tried to lift his own spirits up at home. 

“Besides, I have a jacket on,” he continued. 

A little chuckle escaped your lips despite your worry for Mingi’s health, “Hun, that means nothing if you keep the jacket unzipped.” 

“I can take the jacket completely off and show you that I don’t get cold,” Mingi suggested, already starting to take off his garment. A little hope flickered inside his chest, that with this excuse he could show his upper body, and you’d fall head over heels for him. He just couldn’t accept that you already loved him, just as how he was. 

“No, don’t do that! You’ll get sick.” 

You pulled the jacket back on him, the tips of your warm fingers brushing against his cold chest. He may have been freezing but your touch warmed his body, especially cheeks, up instantly. 

He would have rather worn his light pink sweater that would have matched the blush on his cheeks but he had hoped to impress you. But now, he had only managed to impress you with how stupid he had been to go out without a shirt. 

“Come. Let’s go buy you a shirt,” you pulled on the sleeve of Mingi’s jacket, to make him follow you inside the mall you had been standing in front of. Some teenagers had been snickering at the lack of Mingi’s clothing while older people gave him dirty looks. 

Mingi couldn’t care less about other people’s reactions, but when you pulled on the sleeve instead of his hand, he felt devastated. He had known this would happen; you hated his outfit so much, that you didn’t want to touch him anymore! 

He followed you into his favorite clothing store, overjoyed that you remembered what he liked. The love he had for you was so big, that every little thing you did to remind him you loved him too, made him almost want to jump around. He couldn’t do that though or his pants would surely rip. 

“Look at this shirt! This would suit you well,” you took a shirt with a picture of a duck on it out of the clothes rack to show Mingi. 

The shirt was absolutely adorable, but the man just shook his head. Deep in his heart, he wanted to throw the shirt on his body and feel comfortable and warm again, but he was not going to lose to San’s overflowing sexiness you seemed to love so much. Ducks and other cute things would be long gone, when Mingi finally emerged as a butterfly of sultriness from his casing. 

“It’s not sexy enough.” 

You frowned at Mingi’s words, “Is something wrong? You have started dressing in sexy clothes out of the blue, risking your health at the process.” 

Mingi puffed out his chest, “I’ve become a man.” 

“You’re 25 years old. You’ve been a man for quite a long time already.” 

At every word you said, Mingi’s felt himself deflate a little. Couldn’t you see how sexy he was now? He started feeling even more insecure in his choice of outfit. His jacket looked cheap and was way too thin to keep him warm. The pants felt too tight, like the blood circulation on his legs had been cut off, making him dizzy. 

“Can we eat something? My head’s spinning.” 

Your eyes softened at his soft plead, and you agreed. 

But even inside the small cafe at the mall, his behavior was odd. 

Oh, how hard Mingi tried to charm you. He just needed the reassurance that you found him more attractive than San. Any compliment would be better than your total ignorance of his diligent attempts to get your attention. 

"Mingi, stop undressing.” 

Mingi felt like crying at your words. He had just tried to take his jacket off to reveal his chest to you. Thinking it was a good excuse to take the piece of clothing off politely, when he had to sit down, he had been proved wrong. If he got a tattoo of your face on his chest, would that make you want to see him? It would have been actually very romantic in Mingi’s mind. Carrying your beautiful face on his chest, like it was the greatest masterpiece known to man, would be an honor. 

“You’re acting like a flasher. There are children here, you know?” you spoke in a hushed tone. You were both still sitting at the cafe, and it would ruin the atmosphere for everyone if you declared Mingi’s weird actions to the whole world. 

“B-But I just wanted to show you I can be sexy too...” Mingi murmured, looking down in shame. He had completely embarrassed himself in front of everyone, not to speak of the awkward feelings he had definitely caused you. 

The moment of silence, that followed his words, made him just more convinced that you hated his guts. There was no way you wouldn’t leave him right there and then.  

Even your confused voice didn’t make Mingi to raise his head. He didn’t want to see the disgust in your eyes. You surely thought he was repulsive and worst of all – not as sexy as San. 

“What makes you think I don’t see you as that?” 

“Five months ago, you called San’s picture sexy,” Mingi sighed sadly, “But you haven’t called me sexy at all.” 

He was almost offended as you laughed. It was not a mean laugh, but he still felt ridiculed and confused, because he didn’t know if you were amused by the stupidity of his jealousy or the possible inaccuracy of his insecurities. 

“Hun, I thought it was obvious that I think of you as sexy.” 

Mingi raised his head hopefully when he heard your words. 

“You’re the sexiest when you’re comfortable and not on the brink of freezing to death, no matter what clothes you wear,” you assured him, looking straight into his eyes with an amount of love that almost scared Mingi. 

He found new confidence at your words. They excited him, making him suddenly feel like he was the most attractive man on Earth, beating San’s muscles effortlessly. If you thought he was good-looking then surely, he had to be. 

An arrogant look crossed Mingi’s face. The way his other eyebrow raised almost as high as his ego and he smirked made him look like the ultimate chad – which was not as sexy as he probably thought it would be. Nevertheless, you didn’t tell that to him. 

“What if I want to keep using these clothes? They make me feel pretty... scrumptious,” Mingi chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“The pants look nice. They accentuate your butt well,” you decided to ignore his prideful attitude which had suddenly emerged. At least, he was happy now, and that was what mattered the most to you. 

“Oh yeah? You like my butt? I’ll give you a 360 view!” 

As Mingi jumped up from the chair in excitement, ready to turn around and show his body and outfit in all their glory, a loud sound of fabric ripping reached your ears.  

It was the sound of his tight pants having given up. Mingi had hoped to charm you with a revealing outfit, but the new state of his outfit might have been too revealing, as his boxers greeted the outside world happily from the rip on his pants. 

“Do you still want to give me that 360?” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thank you for reading!

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist 

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love’ existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

+

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

[leaawrites]

The Eras Tour

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: in which your boyfriend surprises you with tickets for The Eras Tour.

I kinda wrote this as like a hug of some sort because I didn’t get tickets and am now devastated. (Yes, I did cry about it) (more than once if I'm honest)

Warnings: fluff, a bit of making out, kissing, English isn't my first language

Masterlist

"I hate it here so I will go to / secret gardens in my mind / people need a key to get to / the only one is mine."

Lando heard low humming and whispered words leaving her mouth as he closed the door to her apartment. The scent of pesto and spaghetti lingering in the air, together with the flowers of her shampoo. Walking into the kitchen, he leaned against the doorframe, watching her. Towel wrapped around her hair to dry, pjama pants covering her legs and a bra. A coffee, half empty, was still sitting beside her. She took a sip now and then.

Turning around she grinned at him, stop singing to not embarrass herself.

"Hello there," she said, quoting Obi-Wan.

Lando laughed at her low voice and miserable impression of the Jedi.

"Hi you," he said back, still staring.

A sense of happiness floated around him and she could feel it. The good mood was drowning every other emotion that once was in the room.

"What's got you so happy?" she asked, beginning to move to the new beat.

New Romantics.

She knew how much the almost of every race weightened him down. She could feel it in the way he held her, his sorrow drowning her as well. The possibility of a new win made the second place feel so much worse. He could do it now, he knew that. He just wasn't able to do it. Maybe it would take him another 5 years, he once told her as they laid in bed together. Then I'll wait 5 more years, she answered.

"Pack your bags," Lando answered simply.

"Where are you taking me, Mr Norris?" she asked, finishing up the spaghetti and walking over to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he kissed her.

"Milan," he whispered.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. What could they possibly want in Milan at this moment?

"I know that you were sad when you didn't get Tickets to go to The Eras Tour, so I may have called a few people," he elaborated. Her eyes widen and her mouth stood open in shock.

"You did what?" She asked just to make him repeat his words. Her heart was beating and her eyes were flooded with tears all of a sudden.

"We're going to see T-swizzle, baby," he said, laughing at her reaction.

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, throwing herself on him. Hugging him tightly and kissing his neck, a thousand thank yous falling from her lips on his skin, sinking in and finding their way to his heart where they would be kept in memory.

"Are you sure about this?" Only now did the important part come to her mind. Pulling away she looked at him. She knew how much Lando tried avoiding any public outings, in fear of the fans reaction. He didn’t care about what they said, but he knew she would. And breaking her heart through a third hand coming into their relationship wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to make her happy.

"I'm sure," he said, kissing her. "I was so in fear of other people's perception that I forgot that love is the most normal thing in the world. If I want to love you fully I will. Seeing you happy is what love is to me."

"So we're really going?" She asked again.

"We're really going," he confirmed again.

The girl began jumping up and down, squealing and screaming and laughing.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeated over and over again, taking his hands in hers and holding them against her chest to make him feel her heart.

"I love you too," he said, kissing her. His hands losing hers and grabbing her breasts. His lips traveling down her neck and collarbone. Squeezing her flesh and letting her know that he meant it.

[mononijikayu]

immortal sukuna who — in your third life (2).

immortal sukuna masterlist

immortal sukuna who doesn’t know how to get close to you after all these lifetimes apart.

immortal sukuna who stands silently under the cherry blossoms, their petals falling like the years that have passed between you.

immortal sukuna who hadn’t seen you in a hundred years, and once more, he is till forced to wait.

immortal sukuna knew that it cannot be, not right now. for you were a married woman, a happy one at that. and it was not with him. not in this life.

immortal sukuna who keeps thinking about how he wants to see you again at court, but you were always away if your husband was not there to keep you company.

immortal sukuna who on days you were there at all, could not keep his eyes off you at any moment.

immortal sukuna who even if you are no longer his to have keeps on loving you from afar.

immortal sukuna who hates how the space between you feels vast, even though your bodies are but a few steps apart.

immortal sukuna who he can sense it: the bond that once held you two together has been severed. you belong to someone else now.

immortal sukuna who still wants to be close to you, who aches to bridge the gap between your worlds, watches as you smile, but not for him.

immortal sukuna who with his immortal heart, yearns to for his heart to beat warmly by your side again.

immortal sukuna wonders how he could do it, for you are no longer the person you were, and he is no longer the man you loved.

immortal sukuna who quickly realized that like before you adored the wonder of prose and poems.

immortal sukuna who remembers the tender way your fingers traced the lines of forgotten texts in the temple gardens.

immortal sukuna remembers the way your eyes lit up when you found a new verse to cherish. it was something simple, something human. so he began to write.

"perhaps...." immortal sukuna murmured to himself one night beneath the moonlit sky, "if i give her what she loves, she'll allow me near once more."

immortal sukuna who now spends nights in his quiet temple chamber, penning poems with the hope that they might find their way to you.

immortal sukuna who knows that his words are filled with longing, with the memories of a time when you were both lost in each other’s worlds.

immortal sukuna who writes about the heartache of a god aching from eternity, the weight of time, and how not even immortality could save him from the pain of losing his beloved.

one day, as your lord husband is away serving the emperor, immortal sukuna approaches your garden. you are seated on a bench, the warm afternoon sun casting light upon your face. you look so peaceful, so distant from the life you once shared with him.

immortal sukuna hesitates, unsure of how to begin, but then he speaks, his voice low and almost hesitant. "i wrote this... for you."

you glance up, startled, but you accept the folded piece of parchment immortal sukuna offers.

"i know what it is like to be....lonely." sukuna continues, watching for any sign of recognition in your eyes. "i thought... perhaps this might reach you with some solace, my lady."

you unfold the poem slowly, reading the words immortal sukuna has labored over for so long. his heart races as he watches your reaction, every moment stretched into eternity.

immortal sukuna who still can't stop wanting you, who doesn’t know if his poems will ever be enough to close the chasm between you, stands silently.

immortal sukuna doesn't expect forgiveness for the past. he doesn’t expect love. but maybe, just maybe, he can still offer you something — even if it’s only the words he writes in the quiet of night.

"i don't expect anything in return, my lady." immortal sukuna whispers, his voice barely audible. "i just wanted to give you something that might make you....smile. at least."

for the first time in forever, you smiled softly, but it's a smile for the poem, not for immortal sukuna. and yet, he hopes it is for him. even if that's a lie.

"thank you, lord general." you whisper to him in the most tender voice. "i....i appreciate your kindness towards me. this is the first time i had ever received such a thing."

immortal sukuna's brows furrowed. "does your lord husband not do such a thing for you, my lady?"

you giggle and then become somber. "i may love my husband, my lord general....but he is a serious man. he is not much a man for prose."

immortal sukuna does not know what to say. but all those times when you both would sit together in your lives together, he had always made sure warm, loving words got to you — from him to you.

immortal sukuna who feels the pain of it all, knowing that you love someone else, stands there, watching the way your eyes trace the lines of his poem.

immortal sukuna who can’t help but wonder if the man you married truly knows the depth of your heart, the way your soul craves more than what mere words or fleeting moments can provide.

immortal sukuna who thinks that the thought eats at him, knowing that your husband could not give you all the universe — not the way sukuna wishes he could, with every star and whisper of the wind built from the love he still holds for you. a love he could never fully describe.

immortal sukuna who shifts slightly, the ache in his chest a familiar companion by now, smiles at you, but it is a smile tinged with centuries of regret and longing.

"then, my lady..." immortal sukuna's voice is soft, almost a murmur, "let me write you more poems... if you should like them."

you look up at immortal sukuna, surprise flickering in your eyes. the tension between you softens just a little.

as though for a moment, you allow yourself to forget the passage of time, the life you have now, the life immortal sukuna no longer belongs to. you say nothing at first, but he sees something — a small glimmer of acceptance.

"would that please you?" immortal sukuna asks, his voice filled with a quiet yearning he can no longer hide. "even if it's all i can offer, i would give you the world in words if it meant you’d smile for me again."

immortal sukuna who waits in silence, wondering if his words can still reach you, if the poems he writes could ever bridge the unbridgeable.

immortal sukuna who knows you belong to another, yet some part of him clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will welcome the small pieces of himself that he is able to give.

you finally nod and then smiled softly. but then you looked away from sukuna. your focus returned to the poems.

and though it is a small gesture, it is enough to keep immortal sukuna's heart from shattering completely.

immortal sukuna who hides the storm of emotions behind that immortal smile, vows to write you more, even if every word reminds him of what he’s lost — and what he can never have again.

[scarletttries]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Love Languages (Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Request: "hi! i loved reading your baldurs gate companions in love headcanons, i wanted to ask would it be okay if you wrote headcanons for what their love languages would be? or just how they would show love to their partner? thank you!"

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who sent in requests and reblogged my last Baldur's Gate post! Consider me open for any BG3 requests, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Astarion has always had a way with words, and there's no exception in the way he sings his praises of you. He is quick to tell you how you have won his favour, how he prefers you to any of his other travelling companions, how he looks forward to the moment you open your eyes each morning. He will come up with a thousand sweet pet names to lavish you with affection, her purring voice leaving no trace of doubt that he doesn't mean exactly what he says. And he takes a certain sick satisfaction in describing all the things he wants to do for you the moment you are left alone together, and watching the blood rise up to your cheeks, only making you more appetizing.

- After years of what felt like indentured servitude, Astarion always feels himself falling only more deeply in love when you do him little favours and acts of service. He never stops being surprised when you've set up his tent for him because he could tell he was battle-worn this evening, or when you fetch him a cup of wine before he's even realised he was actually quite thirsty. He's never had someone know him well enough to anticipate his needs, let alone selflessly step up to deliver those things wanting nothing in return but to see him happy and at ease. He can feel himself grow more trusting and open of you with every kind task you undertake.

Wyll:

- Wyll has lived a life subject to many stories, and finds himself weaving a new tapestry of tales with his Words whenever he speaks to you. A simple good morning is never enough, he must soliloquise on and on about the way it feels to wake beside you, and how each ray of sunlight captures your beauty in a thousand different ways. He will wax poetic as you stroll through the lands, letting you know exactly what he admires about you, and exactly what your future adventures together would mean to him. He wants nothing more than to tell you the story that he sees the two of you writing together, every sweet word just another reminder that there's never been anything more important to him than you.

- You can show Wyll how much you care about him by just being there and sticking by for all the quality time he needs. This may include a lot of listening to the heartbreaking tale of his father's scorn, and sitting in supportive silence as he tries to let go of some of the weight he has carried on his shoulders thus far. You also need to be willing to put in the time to learn a dance or two, the retracing of steps bringing warmth to Wyll's heart and flooding him with all the brightest memories of his childhood. And when the dances have your bodies twisting closer and closer then Wyll has another idea of how you can spend some quality time together.

Gale:

- While Gale does see himself as a man of adventure, he is first and foremost a scholar of the magical arts and that requires a certain amount of Quality Time spent with his books. As he makes space in his life and heart for you, he views his time with you as equally precious. He loves that you two can sit quietly next to each other reading for hours, or just swapping stories of your adventures. He knows if the gravity of it all is getting on top of him, he can pass an easy day resting his head in your lap while the two of you discuss what the future could hold for you, giving him reason after reason to keep on fighting and never surrender to ache in his chest. On the rare occasions that Gale has to spend the day away from you, prepare yourself for the most dramatic reunion you can imagine when he returns - sweeping you into his arms, ready to cling by your side as he tells you everything you missed while being apart.

- Gale has heard and read a lot of pretty words in his time, knowing they are often not to be trusted in their intended meaning. So rather than telling Gale you care, you find it much more effective to just show him with your touch. He's a needy boy at the best of times anyway, but with a gentle caress of your fingers over the nape of his neck you can render the chatty wizard speechless and completely entranced. It's difficult to overstate how much of Gale's day he spends thinking about when it all grows dark and finally he can retire into your bed roll and feel your skin pressed against his, feeling completely safe and content in your company.

Shadowheart:

- Despite having little to offer and no intrinsic idea of an item's value, Shadowheart finds herself compelled to offer you small gifts and tokens of affection as you travel together. It might be an especially well aged bottle of wine picked up while exploring some abandoned castle, a bottle she hopes the two of you can share as the sun is setting that night. It might be a resilient flower she sees sprouting from a hillside, she can't help but tuck it behind your ear and marvel at the way it draws out the highlights in your eyes. A cup of water from a glistening stream, a smooth pebble plucked from the shore, a sweet handful of berries found deep in a thicket. Her hand is constantly extending out towards you, with some small reminder that you are never far from her thoughts.

- So much of Shadowheart's life has a been shrouded in dishonesty and mystery, so when you speak to her with only kindness and truth she comes to really value those Words of Affirmation. Giving her your honest opinion, and letting her talk through whatever moral quandary is playing on her mind, will strengthen the deep understanding you share and remind her of the way you give her something no one else has before. Let her know you're thinking of her too, that you care about how she's doing, and you like her no matter what version of herself she is becoming, and Shadowheart will continue to open her heart and mind to you again and again.

Karlach:

- Karlach has always been a helpful soul, even if she's been misguided in the past about who she's been helping. So her favourite way to show you she cares is through Acts of Service, doing little tasks for you and reinforcing that your life will just be easier if you keep her around and ideally very close by. She is particularly happy when she gets to do something for you that doubles as an excuse to show off her statuesque build; reaching something off a high shelf, lifting some heavy boulder out of your way, carrying you in her arms when the day has been long and there's still a journey ahead of you. She feels like she needs to improve your life in all these tangible ways in order to let you know just how appreciated you are, even though it would be impossible to ever feel like you were being taken for granted by this loving soldier.

- After decades of burning ultimately hot because of the infernal engine in her chest Karlach has become used to being a certain level of touch-starved. But when you first celebrate her mended heart by throwing your arms over her shoulders, all that need and want come flooding back in a landslide and Karlach is sure she'll never be able to stop squeezing you again. Show Karlach love through physical affection and this fierce warrior will be melting like a puddle into your lap at the slightest touch. Wake her with a hug each morning, let her fingers grip your hand as you explore the treacherous world, squeeze her thigh as you settle round the campfire each evening. Remind her you're there, and let her cling to you in a way she has always craved, and you'll have a very happy Barbarian on your hands.

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend luke headcanons

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!luke!

wc: 568

warnings: fluff!! cute luke, smut 18+. sfw and nsfw!

authors note: hiii guys!! guess whos back...me! i just finished my last final WOOOOHOOO! but i still have to write a 10 page paper final... gulp anyways!! i love writing headcanons recently... they're so fun so write. i wrote for luke, luke might be my fav hughes brother... he's been looking a little too good recently NO SURPRISE! anyways im working on more fics tonight so more things will be coming!! im currently working on a long quinn fic, super excited for that to come out. omg this is so long im so sorry, okay im done yapping now!! like and reblog if you enjoyed it<3 much love as always <3

OH!! my requests are open, send something in or just talk to me:)

happy reading<3

Sfw: 

Bf!luke: luke loves having his hands on you at all times. Cuddling you when you guys are home alone and having an arm and hand on you when you guys are out in public. Always making sure you know that he's always there.

Bf!luke: luke loves to plan cute little dates for you guys, always changing it up. If it's a picnic in the park or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Your favorite dates are the random ones, just getting in the car and doing something, those always make the best memories. 

Bf!luke: Luke is a quiet but attentive boyfriend. He's always there when you need a shoulder to cry on, he always listens to you about everything you want to talk about. Luke is quiet in some momentents but you don't mind it, you love how soft and quiet he is, showing how he cares for you in intimate ways.

Bf!luke: He's such a competitive game player. He hates losing, especially to you. Your favorite moment with him is when guys were playing scrabble and he lost in the last round, flipping the scrabble board with a dramatic sign. Lets just say he was picking up scrabble pieces for 2 hours straight. 

Bf!luke: It's no secret that Luke can't cook, but he tries for you. Waking up before you, his mind set on making you breakfast. Trying to be as quiet as he can in the kitchen, trying to pull something together to impress you with. He always ends up going with things that don't involve him using the stove, as a safe bet. The cereal and yogurt bowls never fail to make your heart burst whenever you see them. Knowing it's not much, but it means so much to you because luke made it for you. 

Nsfw: 

Bf!luke: people wouldn't expect it but luke is one kinky guy. He loves trying new things in the bedroom. Tying you up, trailing ice cubes down your body, you name it he’ll do it.

Bf!luke: shower sex. Luke loves shower sex. Watching the water run down your body, has to be one of his favorite sights. Kissing your neck from behind you, guiding his hands along your waist pulling your body back towards him. He’ll slowly push your body against the shower wall, trapping you body with his arms caging you in as he works his way down you body, as your moans fill up the shower walls. 

Bf!luke: luke loves it when you praise him, he definitely has a praise kink. Pulling on his hair while he eats you out. Looking down at him as he's between your legs, moaning at how good he looks from down there. Urging him on saying “fuck right there” “yes luke oh my god” “you look so pretty between my legs”, and his personal favorite is when you call him “good boy”. 

Bf!luke: luke loves ur thighs, kissing them, laying on them, anything that has to do with your thighs he loves. He loves gripping them while your on top riding him, his large hands gripping your thighs with such force that will definitely leave a bruise the next day.