#maybe he/it? but the label doesn't settle with me i think

[wertpq]

hmmm. weird thoughts about gender have been happening again. oaugh

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Don't Want the Heroine || Ruggie Bucchi

You get isekai’d into what could only be described as an affront to literature, as the second male lead.

So you decide to cut all ties with the heroine and live a peaceful (wealthy) life with your secretary, Ruggie Bucchi. Except life doesn't go as planned as you get more chaos than you signed up for

Series Masterlist

You knew you were in for a ride the moment your so-called "friends" forced you to read the lowest-rated web novel of the year as punishment for losing a bet. And not just any bad web novel—no, this was the Mount Everest of literary disasters. A true champion of trash.

Some reviews said their IQ points dropped by atleast 20 points. Others swore their vision blurred after reading it. One particularly scathing reviewer said, “This book is responsible for my grandma’s untimely passing. She read it and gave up on life.”

So, armed with a drink (or three), you settled in to read. And oh, you were not ready.

The heroine is engaged to the Second Male Lead, a duke with infinite money, charisma, and love to give. He’s the human equivalent of a weighted blanket. And what does she do? She cheats on him with the Male Lead, Duke of the North, who is basically a human icicle.

The Male Lead, by the way, has the personality of a damp rock. His dialogue alternates between monosyllabic grunts and poetic nonsense like, “You remind me of a cloudy winter’s moon.” Sir, what does that even mean?

The villainess? Not even a villainess. Just the duke’s childhood best friend, who’s labeled as "mean to the heroine" because she has the audacity to call out her cheating. Somehow, this makes her evil.

Then there’s the business subplot. The heroine convinces the Second Male Lead to invest in a clearly terrible idea. He pours his entire fortune into it because she fluttered her eyelashes at him, and surprise, it fails. He loses his estate, his reputation, everything.

And does she apologize? Nope. She runs off with the Male Lead to frolic in snowy landscapes while the Second Male Lead becomes a “villain” and, of course, dies tragically.

And Ruggie. Poor, loyal Ruggie. The second male lead believed in him, gave him a job, and supported his family. Ruggie sticks by him until the bitter end, only to die too because this author hates happiness.

You finish the book in stunned silence. “What the actual hell?” you whisper, clutching your head. “Who gave this author access to the internet? Who greenlit this abomination?”

You need to breathe. You grab your coat and storm outside, still ranting under your breath. “If I ever meet the author of this garbage, I’m fighting them on sight. This is a hate crime. This book probably caused global warming. It—”

Suddenly, there’s a low rumble. You glance up, and your blood runs cold.

It’s a rogue truck. Carrying a full mariachi band. And it’s heading straight for you.

“Are you serious right now?” you shout at the universe.

The last thing you hear is a trumpet playing a very off-key version of Despacito before impact.

Your final thought as darkness takes you: I better not get isekai’d.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, and for a blissful, fleeting moment, you think, Maybe the mariachi band killed me for good. Maybe I'm in heaven.

But then you see the gilded furniture, the obnoxiously large bed, and a wardrobe so stuffed with capes that you feel personally attacked. The truth hits you like a slap in the face: I got isekai’d. Of course. Because the universe hates me.

Then, you see the mirror. And what stares back at you isn’t your face. Oh no. It’s his face. The face of the poor, tragic Second Male Lead. The man destined to be scammed, betrayed, and emotionally wrecked by the most obnoxious heroine in existence.

You scream internally. Then externally. For a while.

You stumble out of the room, still in a haze of existential despair, and there’s Ruggie. Your loyal secretary, who looks like he’s had years shaved off his lifespan dealing with this nonsense.

“Good morning, boss.” Ruggie says, giving you a half-smirk. “Heroine’s asking about that investment again. You wanna reconsider?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Cancel it. Pull out everything.”

Ruggie freezes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you repeat. Then, because you’re feeling generous (and also guilt-ridden because you know what’s coming for this man), you add, “Take 20% for yourself and your grandma. Put the rest back in the bank.”

Ruggie’s jaw drops. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He stares at you for a second, then breaks into a grin so wide it could blind the sun. “Finally! I’ve been waiting years for you to wake up!”

Next, you sit down to write.

The first letter is to the heroine’s family: Dear Sirs, I regret to inform you that I am breaking off the engagement with your daughter, as she has the personality of a wet towel. Kind regards, Duke Idiot.

The second letter is to the Emperor: Your Imperial Majesty, please annul my engagement before I have a nervous breakdown. I am begging you. Also, I can bake cookies. Let me know if you’d like some. Yours in desperation, Duke Idiot.

By the time you’re done, you’re sweating, but it’s a cathartic kind of sweat. The kind that comes from breaking free of your chains—or in this case, an incredibly stupid plot.

Ruggie walks back in, still riding the high of not having to bankroll the heroine’s disastrous ideas. “What’s with the letters?”

“I’m saving myself,” you say dramatically.

He snorts. “Took you long enough.”

The first thing you do after finishing your letters is write one more—to the villainess.

It’s short and to the point: Come over. ASAP. I’m done enabling the heroine. Engagement's over.

When she arrives, it’s with the energy of someone who just won the lottery. She squeals, shakes you so hard you see stars, and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “FINALLY! You’ve woken up from the dumbest coma in history!”

You’re rubbing your temples and trying not to pass out from the intensity. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Now stop shaking me or I’m going to puke on these ridiculously expensive boots.”

She laughs, but finally lets go, sitting across from you as you explain your plan to stop everything from becoming an unhinged dumpster fire. You’re mid-sentence when it happens.

First, the door bursts open, and the heroine comes storming in like a banshee, crying, screaming, and flailing.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” she shrieks, tears flowing down her cheeks like she’s auditioning for a telenovela.

“Do what?” you deadpan. “Not ruin my life for you? Sorry, I’m on a self-care journey.”

Before she can retort, there’s a second, even louder commotion. You look up, and it’s the Emperor himself. The actual Emperor.

“Oh, wonderful,” you mutter.

The Emperor strides in, looking equal parts amused and concerned. “I heard about your engagement breaking off. Thought you might’ve been possessed. I had to see this circus for myself.”

He’s barely seated when—because the universe hates you—the heroine drags in him: the Male Lead, aka the Duke of the North, aka Brick-Wall-With-a-Sword.

“This is unfair,” the heroine sobs, dramatically clutching the Male Lead’s arm. “He can’t do this to me! You’ll defend me, won’t you?”

The Duke grunts like a sentient tree stump. You guess that’s his version of “yes.”

What happens next is a symphony of chaos.

The heroine screams about betrayal. The Duke grunts out periodic agreements, like a caveman backup singer. The villainess is shrieking threats of peeling their skin off and making it into a fashionable handbag. You’re yelling at everyone to shut up, but no one listens.

Meanwhile, Ruggie peeks in, takes one look at the situation, and immediately decides he’s not paid enough for this. But, because he’s Ruggie, he grabs tea and cookies for the Emperor, who is thriving.

The Emperor pats the seat next to him. “Ruggie, my boy, sit. This is better than court drama. I wish the Empress could see this.”

They sip tea and munch on cookies while you slowly lose your mind.

Finally, you manage to silence the room. You glare at the heroine, who’s still sniffling like you personally ripped up her diary.

“It’s not your choice,” you say flatly. “I don’t like you anymore. Get over it.”

Her jaw drops. The Duke of the North lets out an indignant grunt.

You turn to him. “And you. Take her and leave before I dump water on her and she melts like the wicked witch she is.”

The villainess, not one to miss a petty opportunity, sticks her tongue out at them. You don’t stop her.

The Emperor finally finishes cackling and waves a hand. “Alright, alright. Annulment granted. Good luck cleaning up this mess.”

You turn to Ruggie, and without a word, you both high-five. It’s a perfect, satisfying smack.

The first thing you do after all the chaos is roll up your sleeves and confront the mess that was once "your" beautiful mansion. It’s cluttered with an assortment of hideous gowns, gaudy trinkets, and utterly pointless items the heroine insisted you buy.

A gold fan catches your eye—not because you like it, but because Ruggie is staring at it with the intensity of a starving man at a buffet.

“Take it,” you sigh, fondly exasperated.

Ruggie lights up like you’ve just handed him a winning lottery ticket. He mock salutes you and declares, “My eternal loyalty to you, my lord!” with the kind of dramatic flair that would make the villainess proud.

You almost laugh, but then you remember how fiercely loyal he is. You soften, ruffle his hair, and say, “Just promise me, if you ever get the chance, you’ll run for the hills.”

He frowns, mock offended. “What? And leave your kitchen un-raided? Never! You’re stuck with me.”

Your smile grows wider as you shake your head. “Fine, fine. Stay, then. But only if you keep making coffee the way I like.”

Later, as you’re tossing a truly horrifying pink lace monstrosity into the donation pile, the villainess strolls in like she owns the place.

“You know,” she says, eyeing the mess with an amused smirk, “we should throw a party.”

“A party?” you echo, already suspicious.

“Yes, a party!” she pauses, a wicked gleam in her eye, “To celebrate your freedom from Miss Overinflated Ego and her personal brick wall.”

You bark out a laugh, unable to help yourself. “You know what? Why not? Let’s celebrate. I deserve it.”

The villainess claps her hands in delight. “Perfect! I’ll handle the guest list.”

And, because she’s the villainess and can’t resist stirring the pot, she makes sure to send invitations to everyone: the heroine, the male lead, the Emperor, the Empress, and even the crown prince and the princess.

“It’s always nice to add a dash of drama,” she says, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

You just shake your head. “You’re unhinged, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out?” she quips, already halfway out the door.

As she leaves, you sigh and glance at Ruggie, who’s now holding an ornate vase like he’s trying to figure out if it’s worth pawning.

“This party’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Ruggie grins. “Oh, absolutely. But hey, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

The rustling in the dead of night was faint, almost like the sound of a guilty conscience, but louder and significantly more annoying. Naturally, you reached for your sword, because what kind of noble sleeps without a weapon under their pillow? Amateurs, that’s who.

Tiptoeing through your dark mansion, you followed the suspicious noise, squinting in confusion as it led you... to the kitchen. The kitchen. Not the vaults, not the study with all the expensive heirlooms, but the place where snacks lived.

You paused in disbelief. Who the hell raids a kitchen? Am I getting robbed by a starving possum?

Creeping closer, you peered around the doorframe, sword raised and ready for battle, only to find—

“Ruggie,” you said flatly, and he jumped so hard he nearly hit the ceiling.

“GAH—! Don’t sneak up on people with a sword, you psychopath!” he yelped, clutching his chest like he was the victim here.

“I wasn’t sneaking, you were sneaking! In my kitchen!” you shot back, lowering your weapon.

Ruggie froze mid-cookie bite, looking every bit like a raccoon caught rifling through a trash can. “...Uh, you weren’t using this stuff?” he said, gesturing at the counter full of pilfered baked goods.

You rolled your eyes and plopped onto the floor next to him, plucking the cookie right out of his hand and taking a bite. “Well, I’m using it now.”

“Hey! That’s mine!” he protested, clutching the rest of his stash protectively.

“Is it, though? Is it really?” you countered, grinning as you chewed. He gasped dramatically, as if you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Wow. Unbelievable. First you almost skewer me like I’m some thief in the night—”

“You are a thief in the night.”

“—and now you’re stealing my snacks?! You’re a menace.”

You laughed, getting up to grab some milk, because who raids a kitchen at 2 a.m. and doesn’t have milk with their cookies? While your back was turned, Ruggie sat there blinking, flustered as hell.

He’d been expecting a lecture, or at least some sarcastic comment about his “hyena instincts,” but you’d just… joined him. Like it was normal. Like you hadn’t caught him mid-cookie heist.

When you returned with two glasses of milk, you sat back down and offered him one. “You could’ve just asked, you know. I would’ve had the cook make you something.”

Ruggie stared at the glass, then at you, his ears twitching slightly. “...Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he said with a grin, but it lacked his usual confidence.

“Fair enough,” you said, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. The two of you sat there in companionable silence, munching on cookies like a pair of delinquents at a midnight picnic.

And while you were busy enjoying your snack, Ruggie was busy trying not to spontaneously combust. The way you were so chill about catching him red-handed, the way you shared your stolen spoils without a second thought—it wasn’t fair. You treated him like an equal, like a friend, and he liked it far more than he should.

Later, when you finally left, yawning and telling him to “try not to eat the entire kitchen,” Ruggie just sat there for a while, staring at the empty glass of milk like it had all the answers.

He was doomed. So, so doomed.

The state of your estate’s finances is beyond a joke—it’s a full-blown circus, complete with clown shoes and a unicycle on fire. You’re sitting at your desk late into the night with Ruggie by your side, trying to untangle the mess left behind by the original second male lead’s truly impressive levels of idiocy.

“Why,” you groan, slamming your head onto the table, “is 12% of the regional budget allocated to the heroine’s imported perfume?”

Ruggie snorts, peeking over your shoulder at the ledger. “Wait, what? Oh, no, this gets better. Look here—3% for ‘heroine’s nails.’”

You stare at him, unblinking, as your soul slowly leaves your body. “Her. Nails.”

“Oh, but my favorite,” Ruggie says, barely suppressing his laughter, “is this one: monthly support sent to the male lead’s territory. Why? The man’s got a literal fortress of gold up north. What kind of simp were you?”

“A professional simp,” you reply dryly, shaking your head in disgust. “I’m cutting all of this. Every last drop. No more perfume fund, no more nail allowance, and definitely no more donations to the male lead’s Scrooge McDuck vault.”

By the time you’re done, the heroine’s absurd luxuries have been replaced with something actually useful. The funds are reallocated to schools for commoners, infrastructure, and most importantly, your own staff.

When you announce the changes, the staff look at you like you’ve descended from the heavens. One of the maids starts tearing up when she hears about her raise. The head butler—usually so reserved—bows so deeply you think his back might give out.

You should feel accomplished, but the ledger on your desk is still screaming chaos incarnate, and you’re barely halfway through.

It’s nearly midnight when Ruggie silently slides a cup of coffee onto the desk in front of you. He pats your shoulder, his usual teasing smile replaced with something softer.

“You’re doing good, boss,” he says quietly, almost like he’s trying not to spook you.

You’re too sleep-deprived to respond with your usual wit. Instead, you lean into his touch without thinking, resting your head against his side. Your arms wrap around his middle in a tired hug.

Ruggie freezes, a hand hovering awkwardly over your head like he’s not sure what to do. After a moment, he gives in, patting your head gently.

“You okay there?” he asks, voice tinged with a rare gentleness.

“Exhausted,” you mumble, not bothering to move.

You don’t notice the way Ruggie’s ears twitch, or how his grin softens into something almost shy.

“Well, get some rest when you can,” he murmurs, still patting your head like he’s afraid to stop.

You don’t see it, but he looks utterly smitten, like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter.

It’s supposed to be a quick shopping trip—in and out, you told yourself. Just something small to thank Ruggie for all his hard work. You’re scanning the shelves, debating between a sleek gold pen and a bottle of spiced honey, when you hear a low, amused voice behind you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the drama queen himself.”

You turn to find Leona, Grand Duke of Sleep Deprivation, lounging against the nearest shelf like he’s modeling for a Royalty Weekly cover.

“Leona,” you say. “What are you doing here? Buying Cheka another excuse to follow you around?”

He scoffs. “As if. I’m just here for—” He pauses, like he can’t bring himself to admit the truth. “…Supplies.”

“Supplies?” you echo, grinning. “You mean you’re buying Cheka a treat because you’re a softie and love him?”

Leona glares, but his cheeks betray him by flushing. “Keep running your mouth and see what happens.”

You laugh, elbowing him lightly. “Relax, I think it’s cute. A Grand Duke doting on his nephew? Adorable.”

You bumped into Jack not long after, and the three of you somehow ended up making a day of it, wandering between stalls and laughing at Leona’s muttered commentary about overpriced trinkets and Jack’s earnest attempts to justify why buying locally was a good investment.

Then you saw it—a brooch glinting in the sunlight, its design simple yet elegant. It wasn’t flashy, but it reminded you of Ruggie—sharp, understated, and unexpectedly striking. Without hesitation, you bought it.

By the time you returned to your estate and handed the gift to Ruggie, you were grinning ear to ear, excited to see his reaction. He unwrapped it carefully, his eyes widening as he held the brooch up to the light.

“This… is for me?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“Of course,” you said, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve done so much. It’s just a small thank-you.”

Ruggie turned the brooch over in his hands before looking back at you. “Can you… pin it on me?”

You blinked. “Uh, sure.”

You moved closer, carefully attaching the brooch to his lapel while hyper-focusing on not stabbing your fingers. Meanwhile, Ruggie was not focused on the brooch.

No, his attention was entirely on you—on the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your lips pursed slightly as you worked. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to wonder if this was what it felt like to lose all sense of self-preservation.

You finally stepped back, admiring your handiwork. “There. Looks good.”

Ruggie just nodded, his throat too dry to say anything coherent. He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his chest, and it was taking everything in him not to burst into flames on the spot.

You didn’t notice his predicament, thankfully. “Well, back to work,” you said brightly, walking off.

As soon as you were out of sight, Ruggie let out a shaky breath and muttered to himself, “I’m so doomed.”

The villainess was already three glasses of wine in and laughing so hard at her own audacity, she could barely stand. “A rented lion!” she cackled, pointing dramatically at the majestic creature pacing near the garden fountains. “For the aesthetic!”

You, on the other hand, were seriously contemplating your life choices. The massive banner that screamed INDEPENDENCE DAY was hanging crookedly over the ballroom, and the air was thick with the unmistakable aroma of petty vengeance.

“I can’t believe you actually rented a lion,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“Oh, please,” the villainess scoffed, swirling her wine like she was the protagonist of a soap opera. “This is art. You think I’m going to let those clowns think they’ve won?”

To her credit, the guests were loving it. The Emperor himself had already burst into laughter upon arrival and was gleefully elbowing the Empress, who seemed equally entertained. The Crown Prince looked ready to dig his own grave, while the Princess had stationed herself with a perfect view, sipping wine and munching on what you suspected was popcorn.

Things were going well. Too well.

The heroine and her brick wall—er, male lead—were nowhere in sight, and for the first time in your newly isekai’d existence, you allowed yourself to relax. You leaned against the wine table, sipping from your glass while watching Ruggie shamelessly stuff his pockets with sweets.

“You know, I would save you some for later,” you began, raising a brow, “at this rate, you’re going to look like a human vending machine.”

Ruggie grinned, unapologetic. “Hey, free food’s free food. You’re lucky I haven’t swiped the centerpiece yet.”

You were about to retort when the sound of clicking heels sent a chill down your spine.

The heroine had arrived.

And, oh. Oh no.

She was wearing a dress so hideous, it was almost a work of art—a monstrous blend of every fashion crime known to mankind. Glitter? Check. Feathers? Double check. A color palette that looked like someone microwaved a rainbow? You bet.

Trailing behind her was the male lead, as stoic and emotionless as ever. You half-expected someone to prop a potted plant next to him just to see if anyone could tell the difference.

The heroine took one look at the massive INDEPENDENCE DAY banner and visibly trembled with rage. For a second, you thought she was going to scream, but instead, she plastered on a disturbingly sweet smile and marched straight over to you.

“Good evening,” she greeted, her voice dripping with false politeness.

You stared at her, torn between running for your life and bursting out laughing. Before you could respond, you caught sight of the Emperor out of the corner of your eye. He was openly pointing at you now, whispering something to the Empress, who was struggling to contain her laughter.

The villainess chose this exact moment to loudly announce, “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the Duke's independence from the worst fate in history!”

The heroine’s smile twitched. You swore you heard her teeth crack under the pressure.

You were just starting to think you might survive the evening when it happened.

The male lead, previously silent, suddenly stomped forward, grabbed a glove from his pocket, and chucked it square at your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you blurted, rubbing your nose.

“I challenge you to a duel,” he growled, his first full sentence of the night.

The room went silent. Somewhere in the back, the Emperor let out a delighted laugh. The villainess looked ready to commit several felonies.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, face-palming. “I guess I have to do it now.”

As the ballroom descended into chaos, Ruggie shot you a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“You better not get hurt,” he hissed under his breath, clinging to your sleeve like a particularly annoyed cat. “I swear, if you let that walking brick wall land even one hit on you—”

“Relax, Ruggie,” you said, patting his hand. “Not only will I win, I’ll make him crawl back and return every penny I sent to his estate.”

Ruggie didn’t look convinced, but he let go, muttering something about how this whole thing was “stupid as hell.”

What you didn’t see was the way his eyes softened as he watched you step forward, or how his hands clenched into fists as the male lead unsheathed his sword.

All Ruggie knew was that he hated this—hated the way the heroine acted like she still owned you, hated the way the male lead had the audacity to challenge you, and most of all, hated the knot of fear twisting in his chest.

He refused to think about why.

The moment the male lead flung his glove at you, the atmosphere in the ballroom turned tense with excitement—or in the Emperor’s case, barely restrained glee. But just as you were resigning yourself to this absurd duel, Leona sauntered over, looking as though this entire situation was a personal insult to his time.

“Real swords? For this?” Leona gestured lazily at the male lead, his lip curling in a smirk. “You’re wasting everyone’s energy. Let’s not pretend this is anything more than a glorified temper tantrum.”

The male lead bristled but didn’t dare argue against the Grand Duke. “Then… wooden swords, if you insist,” he muttered, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

You tried to stifle a laugh as Leona smirked and clapped you on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, herbivore. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

By the time you all reached the garden, the tension had more or less deflated, and the Emperor had officially declared this the greatest event of the year. He was lounging on a cushioned seat with a glass of wine, while the Princess had claimed the spot next to him, now munching on a small pie she’d somehow procured.

The male lead, as always, had the charisma of a doorstop, stomping forward with all the grace of a falling tree. You picked up your wooden sword, internally thanking the heavens that Leona had stepped in because you weren’t in the mood to lose a limb for someone this dumb.

But just as the male lead was taking his place, he suddenly slipped.

There was a resounding thud as he fell face-first onto the ground.

“...No way,” you muttered, blinking in disbelief.

The heroine shrieked, rushing to his side. “My love! Are you hurt? Speak to me!”

He didn’t. Because the man fainted. From falling.

You froze, staring at the unmoving figure on the ground. The villainess was trying—and failing—not to burst into hysterics, while Leona let out a bark of laughter so loud it startled the lion still lounging by the fountain.

“Seriously?” you said aloud, half to yourself, half to the universe. You weren’t sure if you were horrified, embarrassed, or just... done.

You crouched down to help the heroine lift the unconscious man, despite every fiber of your being screaming not to. “Fine,” you grumbled. “Let’s get him to the carriage.”

As you heaved him up, you happened to catch a glimpse of Ruggie, standing casually by the garden path with his arms crossed. He had an innocent expression on his face—too innocent. And then, just as the heroine fussed over her fainted fiancé, you saw it: Ruggie’s foot subtly nudging a small marble out of sight, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You froze mid-step.

“...Ruggie.”

He blinked at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “Yeah, boss?”

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you loaded the male lead into the carriage with the heroine trailing after him. When you turned back, Ruggie was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Once you were out of earshot of the heroine, you flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi!” he yelped, rubbing the spot with a pout. “What was that for?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why’d you do it?”

Ruggie grinned again, completely unapologetic. “Well, I am your right-hand man, aren’t I? Gotta look out for you.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “One day, your schemes are going to get us both killed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s a small price to pay for seeing that guy face-plant into the dirt.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head as you waved him off. “Fine. Just… no more schemes, okay?”

“No promises, boss.”

The morning was unnervingly quiet. No bustling sounds of Ruggie banging on your door, no sly remarks about how you were sleeping in like royalty—just silence. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

It wasn’t until you asked the head butler about his whereabouts that the unsettling calm made sense.

“He is unwell,” the butler said with a somber tone. “He has a fever and requested the day off to rest.”

Ruggie… sick? Something about that didn’t sit right with you.

You found yourself standing in front of his door with a tray of soup in hand. The thought of someone as vibrant and energetic as Ruggie being bedridden made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to address. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

Ruggie looked wrecked. His usually sharp eyes were glazed over, and his hair was messier than usual, plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gaze met yours hazily, and the way his lips curled into the faintest semblance of a smile sent a pang through your chest.

“Boss?” he croaked out, voice scratchy.

You didn’t answer right away, just moving to his bedside and placing the tray on the table. “You look terrible,” you said softly, helping him sit up. “Eat this.”

It took some coaxing, but eventually, he let you spoon-feed him. He was quiet for once, too tired to banter, but the way he leaned into your touch as you adjusted his blanket spoke volumes.

When the soup was finished, you fussed over him—checking his temperature, brushing his hair out of his face, making sure he was comfortable.

And then, without warning, Ruggie slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder. You stiffened in surprise, but before you could ask if he was okay, his hand gripped your sleeve weakly.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His words were slurred with exhaustion, but there was a vulnerability in them that made your heart clench.

You didn’t have the heart to refuse. Carefully, you adjusted him so he was lying more comfortably, his head still resting against your shoulder as you held him close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered into his ear, voice softer than you thought yourself capable of. “Not until you want me to.”

When Ruggie woke up in the evening, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm and oddly comfortable. The second thing he noticed was you.

You were still holding him, sitting beside him with your back against the headboard. Your eyes were closed, head tilted slightly, but it was clear you hadn’t left his side.

Ruggie’s face turned an impressive shade of red as he tried to process the fact that it wasn’t a fever dream. He had clung to you, and you had stayed.

You stirred as he moved slightly, your eyes fluttering open. “You’re awake,” you said, voice soft and laced with sleep. “Feeling better?”

Ruggie nodded, his cheeks still burning. “Yeah… uh, thanks for… y’know. All this.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s nothing. Just… don’t get used to it, okay?”

He let out a weak chuckle, though his heart was racing. “Right. Won’t happen again.”

You stood up, suddenly eager to escape the room. “Rest up,” you said, heading for the door. “Don’t make me come back.”

As soon as the door shut behind you, Ruggie buried his face in his hands, groaning. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, still hear the soft way you’d whispered that you’d stay as long as he wanted. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and he didn’t know what to do with the newfound realization that he was in way too deep.

Meanwhile, you were in your own room, face buried in your pillow as you screamed silently. Your heart was fluttering uncontrollably, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how warm he felt against you, or the way he’d looked at you so trustingly.

“What was that?” you mumbled into your pillow, kicking your legs in frustration. “What is this? Why does it feel like this?”

The questions swirled in your mind, unresolved, until you eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion, still clutching your pillow like it could answer the million questions in your heart.

The aftermath of The Incident—as you had now dubbed it in the privacy of your screaming brain—was unbearable. If you thought working with Ruggie before had its awkward moments (like the time you accidentally said, “Goodnight, love you,” at the end of a meeting), it was nothing compared to the soul-crushing embarrassment you now lived in.

The atmosphere between you and Ruggie had changed. It wasn’t just awkward—it was the kind of awkward that could suffocate an entire room. If awkwardness could be weaponized, you and Ruggie would have already leveled three kingdoms.

Every time his hand brushed yours when passing papers, your brain short-circuited like a faulty crystal ball. Every time he brought you coffee, your chest felt warm and fuzzy, and not in the “cozy” way, but in the “I think I’m having a heart attack” way.

Just being in the same room as him turned your once-functional body into a mess of sweaty palms and wildly beating heartbeats. When did the genre of this book change from fantasy to survival horror?

And Ruggie? Oh, he wasn’t doing any better. In fact, he might have been worse.

This man had survived the slums, terrifying loan sharks, and whatever unholy concoction the heroine called “breakfast,” but this? This was a new level of torment. Every time you smiled at him, he wanted to kiss you so badly he thought his brain might explode.

Every time you thanked him for doing something as basic as his job, he had to clench his fists to stop himself from blurting out, “Marry me right now, I’ll sign a prenup, I don’t care.”

The worst part? He knew this was a one-way ticket to Heartbreak City. You were a duke—practically royalty. He was… a secretary. A secretary with zero noble lineage and a past so humble it made the word “humble” look luxurious.

His job description did not include being in love with his employer, and yet, here he was, a walking violation of the workplace etiquette handbook.

So, Ruggie pined. He pined so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t sprouted roots. He burned quietly, like a cheap candle from a market stall that melted down into a pathetic puddle of wax.

And you? You weren’t doing much better. Every night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and whisper-yelling at yourself. “Why am I like this? Why is he like this? What is happening to me? Am I dying?”

Ruggie, on the other hand, stayed awake at night dramatically sighing into his pillow. “Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered to no one in particular, clutching the imaginary vision of your face. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

The tension was so thick that even the staff noticed. The head butler had started placing bets with the gardener and the knights about who would crack first. The maids whispered conspiratorially about how long it would take before the Duke accidentally proposed during a budget meeting. The chef had taken to leaving heart-shaped biscuits in the break room just to mess with you both.

You both thought you were suffering in silence.

You weren’t.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew. And everyone was waiting for the day this slow-burn disaster finally combusted.

The garden party had started so peacefully. You’d been standing off to the side, sipping on juice and chatting with Jack and Leona, trying to ignore the usual nonsense that came with these noble gatherings. For a blissful five minutes, everything was… fine.

And then chaos erupted.

One second, you were laughing at one of Leona’s grumbled comments about the Emperor's ridiculous hat. The next, you spotted the male lead grabbing Ruggie by the collar, his expression an infuriating mixture of smugness and anger.

You didn’t think you’d ever moved so fast in your life.

Leona and Jack followed closely as you stormed across the garden, your juice long forgotten, your mind set on one thing: getting Ruggie out of that pompous idiot’s grip.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the male lead’s hand and yanked it off Ruggie with more force than strictly necessary. Your other hand automatically went to Ruggie’s shoulder, checking on him. His cheeks were flushed—whether from embarrassment, anger, or both—and he looked like he was about to say something, probably telling you to let it go. But you weren’t in the mood to let anything go.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the polite chatter of the party.

The male lead opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, the heroine appeared, her voice grating like nails on a chalkboard.

“He needs to learn his place,” she said, crossing her arms with an air of entitlement so thick it made your teeth grind. “He’s just a secretary. He refused to fetch drinks for us. He only works for you.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your blood boil. Your hands shook, and you barely noticed Jack placing a calming hand on one of them—or the fact that your other hand had already reached for the hilt of your sword.

“I’ll show you knowing your place,” you muttered, and started to unsheathe your sword.

Jack, ever the voice of reason, gave your arm a small squeeze and shook his head, silently pleading with you to reconsider committing murder at a garden party. For now.

And that’s when it hit you.

Your fury wasn’t just about the insult. It wasn’t just about the entitlement or the injustice of the situation. It was because they’d grabbed him. Ruggie.

You’d been in love with him all along, hadn’t you? And it wasn’t the quiet kind of love, either—it was the fiery, all-consuming kind that made you want to burn the world down for him.

You turned back to Ruggie, who was standing there looking flustered but defiant, his mouth set in a line of determination even as his ears betrayed his embarrassment by twitching slightly.

You did what any sane person would do in that moment.

You grabbed him by the arm, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

There was a stunned silence for a split second before the garden party exploded into chaos. The Emperor clapped like an overexcited seal, practically shouting his delight. The princess squealed, delightedly whispering to her ladies-in-waiting, who were fanning themselves with excitement. Leona looked entirely unsurprised, like he’d been waiting for this nonsense to resolve itself for months.

Ruggie, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, his face as red as the roses lining the garden, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air like he had no idea what to do with them.

Before he could recover enough to say anything, you turned to the heroine, your voice cold and commanding.

“He’s my lover,” you declared, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I will personally write an official complaint to your family for your insult.”

The heroine’s jaw dropped. The male lead looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. The villainess, who had somehow materialized out of thin air to watch the drama, cackled so hard she spilled wine all over her gown.

You didn’t care. You wrapped an arm around Ruggie’s waist and turned on your heel, marching out of the garden with your still-dazed secretary in tow.

By the time you reached a quiet corner of the estate, Ruggie finally seemed to snap out of it. “What… What was that?” he asked, his voice half a squeak, his face still bright red.

“That,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “was me making it clear to everyone that I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

Ruggie stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words, but none were coming. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Take your time,” you teased. “But just so you know, you’re stuck with me now. Hope you’re okay with that.”

He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “Stuck with you? Boss, I think you’ve got it backward. I’m not going anywhere.”

Later that evening, you found yourself in the quiet glow of your study, seated across from Ruggie. He was fidgeting, avoiding your gaze, his usual sharp wit dulled by the tension hanging between you. You had dragged him here after the chaos of the garden party, determined to finally clear the air.

He finally looked at you, and it was like something cracked open in his expression—raw, vulnerable, terrified. “Boss,” he started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “you don’t… you don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” you asked, leaning forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand trembling slightly. “You’re… you. You’re a duke, you’re incredible, you’re—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “And I’m me. I’ve spent my whole life scraping by, looking out for myself. I’m not… someone people keep. I’m not someone people love.”

“Ruggie—”

“No, listen.” He ran a hand through his hair, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You think you love me now, but you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not enough. That I can’t give you what someone else could. And it’s gonna—” His voice cracked. “It’s gonna shatter me if I let myself believe this could work, and then you leave.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the weight of his fears laid bare. This cunning, resilient hyena, who could outwit anyone and charm his way out of anything, was utterly lost when it came to your love.

“I’m not going to leave,” you said firmly, standing and walking over to him.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now—”

You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “Ruggie,” you said, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings, “do you have any idea how much I ache for you?”

His breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at you like you’d just spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cunning as hell. And you’ve been utterly blind to the fact that I’ve been completely in love with you this entire time,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “You’ve got this idea in your head that you’re not enough, but you are. You’ve been my priority for a long time now, and there’s no one who could ever match me like you do.”

He tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, desperate and full of all the love you hadn’t been able to put into words.

For a moment, he froze. Then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he kissed you back like you were the only thing keeping him alive. It wasn’t graceful—Ruggie never did anything by halves. It was messy and raw and so full of affection it made your knees weak.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath on your skin.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you,” you whispered. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m yours, Ruggie. Completely.”

His laugh was watery, breaking slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Probably,” you said, smiling through the tears that threatened to spill over.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You mean it?”

“With everything I am.”

His lips quirked into a shaky smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming. When he pulled back, he let out a breathless laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“I’m never gonna stop teasing you about this,” he said, his voice trembling but light.

“You’d better not,” you replied, grinning at him.

And for the first time, you saw it—the way he looked at you, like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

The Empress swept into your estate like a regal hurricane, her entourage trailing behind her like obedient leaves in the wind. You barely had time to register her arrival before she was striding up to you, her heels clicking with authority.

“Duke,” she greeted you, her smile warm but her eyes glinting with mischief. “We need to talk.”

Oh no. Those were words that could make even the bravest soul break into a sweat.

She dragged you into a private corner of the drawing room, her grip iron despite the delicate lace gloves she wore. Once you were sufficiently isolated from prying ears, she fixed you with a conspiratorial grin.

“So,” she began, leaning in like she was about to share the kingdom’s deepest secrets. “When’s the wedding?”

You blinked. “...Your Majesty?”

She pouted like a child denied dessert. “Don’t play coy. The whole court saw your little garden party performance. The kiss? The declaration of love? The scandal! It was delightful.” She clasped her hands together dreamily. “I give it five stars. Now, when are you making it official?”

You stared at her, feeling like you’d just been hit by a runaway carriage. “We just confessed to each other two days ago.”

“And?”

“And?!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “Your Majesty, we’ve barely had time to process our feelings, let alone plan a wedding!”

She sighed, clearly unimpressed with your lack of urgency. “Fine, I’ll give you time. But don’t take too long. The court thrives on drama, and you’re the main event right now.”

Before you could respond to that absurdity, she straightened, her expression shifting from playful to businesslike. “Now, on to more pressing matters. I came here to ask if you’d like to file a formal complaint against the heroine.”

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, inspecting her nails. “For the garden party incident, her persistent attempts to undermine your relationship, the time she cheated on you, and, oh yes, the money laundering."

If you were a better person, perhaps you’d have been moved to forgiveness. Maybe you’d have found it in your heart to let bygones be bygones. But alas, you were not that person.

“I want to sue her to the last penny,” you said, your voice flat but resolute.

The Empress’s smile was nothing short of gleeful. “Excellent. Trial will be held next week. My son, the Crown Prince, will preside over the case.”

“Wait,” you said, frowning. “The Crown Prince? Isn’t that a bit—”

“Messy?” She finished for you, her grin widening. “Of course it is. But what’s politics without a little chaos? Besides, he could use the practice.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering how your life had spiraled into such madness.

The Empress patted your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Duke. I’m sure you’ll win. And if not, well, at least the trial will be the most entertaining thing the court has seen in decades.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving you standing there, wondering how suing your ex-fiancée had somehow become a royal spectacle.

The trial was absurd. It had all the seriousness of a court proceeding mixed with the dramatic flair of a poorly written soap opera.

Every time the prince asked the heroine a simple question—“Did you steal the money?”—she would dissolve into a sobbing mess, dramatically wailing about how she “never meant for this to happen.” And every time, the male lead would grunt sympathetically, rubbing her back like a mother comforting a toddler who scraped their knee.

It would’ve been almost sweet if they weren’t both complete imbeciles and if the male lead didn’t still have a massive bump on his forehead from his earlier slip-and-faint incident. The man looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a marble and lost. Spectacularly.

You, sitting there in the gallery, were one sob away from walking out. The princess, who was co-presiding with her brother, looked two seconds away from leaning over and smashing her gavel just to make the crying stop.

Finally, the prince, clearly regretting every life choice that led him here, pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “Do you want the money back?” he asked, his voice deadpan.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you said, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “And also the money I sent to the male lead… on the heroine’s insistence.”

The princess blinked. “You gave him money? Why?”

“Because I’m an idiot with too much patience,” you muttered, throwing a pointed glare at the heroine. She sniffled, clearly offended that you didn’t love being conned like a fool.

The prince let out a deep sigh, the kind that said he was done. “Fine. You win. Everything will be returned to you. This trial is over.”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, interrupted only by the heroine’s gasp. “That’s it?! You’re just taking their side?” she cried, clutching the male lead’s arm like a lifeline.

“I am taking the side of my own sanity,” the prince snapped, slamming his gavel down. “You, will be assigned to community service for your insensitive comments.”

“Community… service?” she squeaked.

“Yes. Community service. Volunteering, cleaning up public spaces, helping out—actual work for people who aren’t you. It’ll be good for your character,” the princess said, smiling sweetly, which only made it worse.

“And as for you,” the prince continued, turning to the male lead, “you’re being sent on probation. In the North. Until further notice.”

The male lead blinked, his hand frozen mid-rub on the heroine’s back. “I have to go back to the North?”

“Yes. It’s cold, it’s boring, and it’s far away. Enjoy.”

By the time the trial ended, you were practically skipping out of the courtroom, feeling vindicated and maybe a little petty. The heroine, meanwhile, was still sobbing, the male lead looked like he wanted to protest but didn’t have the brain cells to formulate a counterargument, and the prince was rubbing his temples like he’d aged ten years in one afternoon.

Justice? Achieved. And it was glorious.

Ruggie had always been good at acting like nothing flustered him. It was practically a survival skill at this point—quick with a joke, quicker with an excuse, and faster than anyone else when it came to running away from situations he didn’t want to deal with.

But despite your confessions, despite the months that had passed, he still treated you more like a boss than a lover. You didn’t mind, not really—he made sure you were fed, handled your schedule with cutthroat efficiency, and somehow managed to keep both the court and your enemies at bay with nothing but charm and underhanded tactics.

The problem was, he still blushed like a maiden whenever you so much as held his hand.

It was hilarious.

The first time you kissed his cheek in front of some nobles, he nearly choked on air and then tried to play it off like you’d just hit him with an unexpected tactical strike.

The second time, you whispered something sweet in his ear, and he almost dropped the stack of documents he was carrying—almost. His reflexes were too sharp for that, but he still shot you a look like you’d personally thrown him off a cliff.

So naturally, when you cornered him in your office one day and asked, "Ruggie, do you wanna marry me?"—you were prepared for some kind of reaction.

You weren’t prepared for absolute silence.

His ears twitched. His tail flicked. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked like a man staring directly into the sun and realizing, all too late, that he had nowhere to hide.

Your heart sank. You weren’t sure what answer you’d expected, but hesitation wasn’t it.

“…Never mind,” you said, pulling back, smoothing over the moment like it was just another conversation. “Take your time.” And because he still looked like you’d asked him to solve advanced calculus on the spot, you reached up, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and whispered, "I'll see you at dinner."

Then you left, because you weren’t cruel enough to make him answer right away.

Dinner was… tense.

Not outwardly, no—Ruggie still stole extra servings off your plate, still flicked a pea at you when he thought no one was looking, still made a sharp comment about how the nobles were painfully useless for people who wore so much gold.

But his ears kept twitching. His tail was restless. And when you finally—gently—asked, "Alright, what's up?" he looked at you like you’d caught him stealing from your vault.

Then, slowly, he pulled out a ring.

Not just any ring. It was old, worn with time, but polished with care. A deep blue stone sat in the center, catching the light like the sky before a storm.

Ruggie took a breath, then said, "It’s my grandma’s. Been in the family forever." He hesitated, then pushed it towards you, still not quite meeting your eyes. "I want you to have it."

You stared. Your chest tightened. "Ruggie—"

He shifted, ears flattening. "I only hesitated ‘cause—‘cause I didn’t know if you’d even want it. Y’know. Since you got all this—" He gestured vaguely to your wealth, to the ridiculous palace you lived in, to everything he wasn’t.

That was possibly the dumbest thing you’d ever heard.

You slid the ring on immediately.

Then, with zero warning, you grabbed him by the waist, spun him around like you were sweeping him off his feet (because you were), and kissed him.

The yelp he let out was glorious.

“Oi—what the hell—”

“You absolute idiot,” you whispered against his lips, grinning. “You think I’d ever say no to you?”

He was so red. You’d never let him live this down.

But after a moment, he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Guess I'm stuck with ya now, huh?"

"You're the one who proposed, Ruggie," you pointed out, smirking.

"...Tch. You asked me first!"

"And you made me wait."

Ruggie groaned dramatically, but there was no real annoyance in it—just affection.

Hand in hand, still bickering, still laughing, you walked back to your office.

This time, engaged.

Jack was the first to react.

The moment the words left your mouth—"We're engaged."—he nearly knocked over his drink in his rush to stand. "Congratulations!" he said, voice full of genuine warmth, his tail wagging just slightly despite his usual composed demeanor.

Ruggie, ever the smug little menace, leaned back in his chair, lazily draping an arm over yours like this wasn’t the most important announcement of his life. “’Course we are,” he said, grinning. “I mean, who else could put up with him, right?”

The casual act might’ve been more convincing if he hadn’t kept sneaking little glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The Empress, meanwhile, was beyond pleased.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” she declared, practically vibrating with excitement. “Naturally, I shall officiate.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor raised a brow. “Why do you get to officiate?”

“I called it first, obviously,” she said, as if this was an unquestionable truth of the universe.

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is if I win.”

The room watched in fascinated silence as the rulers of the entire empire prepared to settle this with the most sacred of duels: rock, paper, scissors.

The battle was tense. The atmosphere, electric. The stakes, higher than ever.

And in the end—

“Ha! Paper beats rock!” The Empress shot her husband a triumphant look, eyes gleaming. “Looks like I win, darling.”

The Emperor sighed, but he took the loss with grace, muttering something about “marrying them off in spirit” while the rest of the room moved on like this wasn’t the most absurd thing to witness at a royal event.

The princess wasted no time.

She practically lunged across the table, grabbing your hands with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you invite me to the wedding party? Please? Please? I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“…You’re literally a princess,” you said, raising a brow. “You could just be in the wedding party.”

“Yes, but it’s more fun if you invite me yourself.”

The prince, the only normal one here, merely gave you a polite smile and a firm pat on the back—a little too firm. Ruggie snickered when you nearly stumbled forward.

Leona, of course, was the least surprised out of everyone. He just gave you a lazy grin and said, “’Bout time.”

Typical.

And as you sat there, hand in hand with Ruggie, surrounded by friends (and also an unreasonably competitive royal couple), you had a thought.

Reading that trash novel was the best thing you could've ever done.

Complete Masterlist ; Series Masterlist

It's been a while since I did one of these, who do y'all wanna see next in this series?

[inkedinshadows]

For the requests: "I would certainly take all night" with Eris, please. I would be forever indebted to you. Can be smut or not, write it however you want! :)

Held in Firelight

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: Hi! No need to be indebted, don't worry! I just hope you'll like this bc I really liked this idea but I wrote it after six hours of class so it might not be my best work. I also don't know how to label it because it's a bit fluffy with a tiny sprinkle of angst and allusions to smutty bits? Idk idk I really like it tho

Warnings: arranged marriage, cheating (but the parties involved are aware so idk)

Word count: 1k

“I think he has a new lover.”

Your words cut through the comfortable silence that had settled over the sitting room. Eris raised a brow, but you continued to stir the wine in your glass, your eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he asked, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He spent every night out this week. He doesn't do that if he's just sleeping around. He still comes home.”

Eris hummed, as if contemplating your answer.

These were your favorite moments—when Eris didn’t have court duties to attend to and could spend hours talking and drinking with you. It was your favorite way to ease the stress and tension of the life you had been forced into.

“He was out even two nights ago?”

You looked up at him. The firelight flickered on the side of his face, turning his hair into molten copper. You felt a sudden urge to reach across the couch and run your fingers through it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“It was your birthday,” he stated simply.

“So?”

He looked startled. “You really don’t care that he forgot?”

You sighed, setting your glass down. “Eris, he hasn't remembered my birthday in years.”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched. You couldn’t tell if the flames in his eyes were just a reflection of the fire or if it was that simmering power of his.

With another sigh, you pressed on. “Let’s say he remembers,” you said. “Then what? You really believe he would spend the whole night with me, taking his sweet time to make me feel cherished, at least on my birthday?” You shook your head, the mere thought making you scoff. “No, I prefer it this way. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, and there's no point in pretending we do.”

Eris remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fireplace, his fingers clutching the stem of his glass so tightly you thought it might break. You knew he cared about you, that he hated your situation as much as you did, but even he couldn’t change it. Maybe once he became High Lord he’d banish arranged marriages and spare others from this fate, but it was too late for you.

Picking up your glass again, you tucked your legs beneath you and settled back against the pillows. You took a sip of wine, hoping that its rich taste might offer an excuse to change the topic, but you came up empty. You’d already commented on the flavor when he opened the bottle.

“I would certainly take all night.”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but when you turned to look at him, he was still facing away from you.

“What?” you blurted out. Surely, you had heard that wrong.

Finally, his eyes met yours, determined and unflinching. “I would take all night with you,” he repeated, “I would cherish you. And not just on your birthday.”

Your breath hitched. There had been a few lingering touches, a brush of fingers, words whispered after one too many glasses of wine. But never like this—so plain and blatant, so unguarded.

“Don't say that,” you murmured.

“Why not?” His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. “We both want it.”

He was right. There was no arguing with that. Yet you still shook your head. “Eris, we can't.”

He moved closer. You didn’t resist when he took your glass and set it on the small table alongside his. An empty bottle stood next to an unopened one.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice gentler now. “Just because you’re married? How many other females has he been with?”

Countless.

Maybe Eris was right about that too. Maybe you didn’t owe loyalty to a husband you had never wanted—a husband who had never been loyal to you. If he could have all the females he wanted, then maybe you could have the one male you wanted. The one person who always understood you, who never judged or mistreated you.

“When was the last time someone made you feel cherished?” Eris’s hand covered yours, his slender fingers intertwining with your own, squeezing once. “Made you feel good?”

You had never thought about your marriage in those terms. You had never wanted that union in the first place, so you had clung to the small things. Time away from your husband was good. You hadn’t shared a bed in a long time, and your conversations were awkward and stiff enough that the thought of intimacy hadn't crossed your mind in years. And you’d told yourself that was good enough.

But deep down, it had never really felt good.

Eris was still looking at you, his expression soft and understanding. As if he could see your every thought.

You looked away, unable to stomach it. “I don't know,” you finally whispered.

“Let me be that person.” He reached out, gently tilting your chin. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your eyes met again, and your resolve wavered. Then he brushed his thumb over your lips and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Let me love you.”

That word.

Love.

Your husband had never uttered it to you, nor had you to him. But hearing it from Eris… you knew he didn't mean just now—a stolen moment to carry in your heart. And that realization was the final push you needed.

You didn't know who moved first. One moment you were staring into each other's eyes. The next, your lips met.

He tasted like a wish come true after years of waiting.

You were done longing and yearning in secret, done pretending you didn't know what you truly wanted.

And as Eris loved you in front of the fireplace, you finally felt good. You felt cherished. And he took all night to make sure of it.

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[joelscurls]

give in to temptation

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

words: 5.5k

summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)

Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.

In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.

Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles. 

This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.

That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.

Javi [2:03am]:  I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.

You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago. 

A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.

Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.

Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.

I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.

Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you. 

Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.

It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time. 

With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.

But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.

The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.

A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.

After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.

And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.

Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.

And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.

As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.

But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.

You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.

Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.

And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.

The first text came later that night.

Are you seeing someone? it’d read.

Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. 

You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.

Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.

To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.

Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.

You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.

You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?

Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.

 Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.

You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.

Not for the third time this week.

But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.

With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.

The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens. 

You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.

You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?

The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.

You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub. 

Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.

Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.

You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.

Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?

You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good. 

Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?

You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.

You [2:16am]: yes

Javi [2:16am]: good girl

The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.

And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.

“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“

“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.

The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.

 “No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”

“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”

You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart. 

With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.

You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.

You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry. 

Javi [2:22am]: ???

Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.

His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.

You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.

“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.

“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”

Pained? Not exactly.

“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.

“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”

The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.

Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.

You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.

You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.

It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.

He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”

You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.

Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.

You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try. 

Try, try, try. You can do it.

Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake. 

In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.

After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.

You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.

You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.

You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.

Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño. 

You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.

Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?

Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.

You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.

Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?

Your eyes flit to Nathan. 

You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.

He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left. 

And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs. 

Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.

Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen. 

In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand. 

You [3:30am]: Fine.

Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.

It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.” 

His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting. 

“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.

He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.

Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor. 

His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.

“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.

He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.

It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.

Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.

You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion? 

And — moreover — why do you care?

You don’t. You definitely don’t.

Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.

“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“

He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw. 

“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”

“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.

And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out. 

But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy. 

You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”

Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.

You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.

“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?” 

You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”

His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.

“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”

Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands. 

You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.

His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.

“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”

And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.

Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart. 

And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.

What are you doing?

“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding. 

“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.

“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”

You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.

“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back. 

“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”

“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan. 

Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

Fuck. 

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself. 

“Cariño-”

“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”

“Please?”

He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me.”

In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open. 

You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.

You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt. 

His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.

“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-” 

He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”

“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you. 

His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.

“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“

The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”

Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”

Suddenly, Javi looks livid.

His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.

“Pendejo,” he murmurs. 

“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”

Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.

He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders. 

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.

Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound. 

When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.

You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.

You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.

He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.

“Impaciente,” he mumbles.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”

“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”

“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.

“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”

“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”

He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move. 

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.

He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him. 

The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago. 

“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”

I am, you want to say. 

“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.

You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.

You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.

He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.

Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.

He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”

“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes. 

“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips. 

He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.

You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.

But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.

“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.

“Up.”

He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.

You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.

“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.

“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.

You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“

“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned. 

“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”

“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”

“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts. 

“I — want you.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“What?”

“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”

He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders. 

“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”

You sink into his touch. His words.

“Javi-“

“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”

You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.

You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.

The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.

But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.

Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.

“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.

You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”

Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.

He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.

Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.

That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.

When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.

Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“

“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”

Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.

You’ll go up in a second.  After you kiss Javier one more time.

He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.

He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.

And then — he abruptly pulls away.

“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.

You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.

“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”

end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)

tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur

[parkerluvsu]

day 9: kink discovery/negotiation <3

despite what you might think, art is quite open to experimentation. the hushed whispers by patrick who would walk in on art during college are enough to tell you that. you're surprised at first, hearing about how patrick gifted art a fleshlight as a joke for his birthday one year and art couldnt be left alone or else he'd cum himself stupid. more embarrassing (to art) was when patrick walked in on him spreading himself open, bending his legs and thrusting his fingers inside himself, too fucked out to realize patrick was standing there.

once in a relationship with you however, he tones it down, afraid of scaring you away like he has done with other partners before. after hearing from patrick about arts sexual escapades, you start looking online for something to surprise him with, settling on a strap-on that had the best reviews. now you just have to play the waiting game, and hope that art doesn't check your expenses and find out what you bought for him.

you're intensely thankful when you get the notification that your package was delivered while you're on your way home, hoping that art hasn't seen it been delivered, but you're pretty sure he's at the gym. you get home and grab your keys, before you notice that the package isn't outside your door. the first thought is that someone stole it, but then a sinking feeling in your stomach accompanies the thought that art might have seen it and brought it in.

opening the door, you see art looking at the package, smiling at you shyly as he sees you. "oh you.. you picked up my package" you say, trying not to be suspicious as you set down your bag and take off your shoes. "yeah i did.. i thought you'd appreciate it but.." art looks down, then glances at you again. "um.. do you mind if i ask what it is?" he asks quietly, turning the package towards you so that you can see the label. it boldly reads, "toys for his pleasure" and you almost have the urge to laugh, thinking back to the promised "discreet packaging" advertised on the website.

"well um.." you blush, tapping your fingers on the table in front of you. "maybe it would just be better if you opened it." you suggest, looking at him for support. art is almost more embarrassed than you, but he nods, opening the box easily and removing the wrapping paper around the strap-on, his eyes widening when he sees it. "you.. bought this for.. me? for.. us?" art is clearly having a hard time understanding how you figured out that he was waiting to ask you to fuck him.. but maybe you just know him so well. whatever the reason may be, art is happy about it.

"well yeah.. i mean i was wondering if you were even interested in that stuff but i guess i should've asked you about it before i bought it.." you admit, anxiously looking at him. "i- would you be interested..?" you ask, resisting the urge to cross your fingers for luck. art smiles sweetly at you, like he always does, and nods. "yeah of course i would.. i mean not of course but.. you know what i mean.." he stumbles over his words already having to shift the way he's standing to accommodate the growth in his pants. "can we try it now?" <3

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(ix)

After dinner, you and Jungkook sat on the small balcony of your Airbnb, sipping soda as the city lights flickered in the distance. The cool night air brushed against your skin, and for the first time in a while, things felt… peaceful.

Jungkook stretched his legs out, turning to you with a smug grin. "Alright, be honest. What would you rate the ramen I made for dinner?"

You snorted, taking another sip of your drink. "Three stars."

He gasped. "Three?! That’s barely passing!"

"The noodles were soggy."

Jungkook clutched his chest like you just stabbed him. "I worked hard on that, you know."

"You boiled water and dumped instant ramen into a pot. That’s not exactly Michelin-star level cooking."

"Rude." He clutched his chest dramatically. "You invite me to stay, let me wear a stolen hoodie, forced me to cook dinner and now you’re giving me a mid rating?"

"You chose to stay."

"Because you pouted at me."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the faint sounds of the city. It was nice—almost like how things used to be.

Then Jungkook spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey, Y/N…”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink.

"…Did you ever hate me?"

You blinked, caught off guard. Turning your head, you found Jungkook staring at his can, his fingers absentmindedly peeling the label.

The question lingered between you, heavier than you expected.

You took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer. "No," you admitted. "I never hated you."

Jungkook let out a breath, but before he could feel relieved, you added, "But I did feel like I didn’t matter to you anymore."

He flinched slightly, eyes flickering to you.

"I get it, you were busy. But it felt like…" You paused, choosing your words carefully. "Like I was just… there. A backup friend."

Jungkook winced. "That’s not true."

"Maybe not to you. But that’s how it felt to me." You forced a small smile. "And it hurt. A lot."

Jungkook was quiet for a long time, staring at the railing. His usual playful smirk was nowhere to be found, and you could tell he was actually thinking about what you said.

"…I was an idiot," he muttered.

"You still are."

"Hey." He nudged your arm lightly. "I mean it. I didn’t realize how bad I messed up until you started drifting away. And by the time I did, it felt like…" He let out a humorless chuckle. "Like karma."

You tilted your head. "So you do believe in karma."

"Oh, 100%," Jungkook said, shaking his head. "I ignored you for work and believed Jieun...then after I realized my mistake, you got busy, I suddenly hated it. That’s some cosmic-level punishment right there."

You laughed softly. "Sounds like it."

Another comfortable silence settled between you two.

This time, Jungkook was the one who spoke first. "…Do you think we can ever go back to how we were before?"

You glanced at him, meeting his gaze. His usual cockiness was gone, replaced by something much more raw—hopeful, but afraid of the answer.

You smiled, bumping your shoulder against his. "We’ll see."

Jungkook exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. "That’s not a yes."

"It’s not a no either," You said.

Jungkook groaned, dramatically leaning against your side. "Ugh, you’re making me work for it."

You nudged his arm. "Of course, you can’t force things to be how they used to be."

Jungkook stared at you for a second before letting out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You really don’t make things easy, huh?"

"I’m a high-maintenance friend," you teased.

Jungkook smirked. "I like a challenge."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push him away.

"One more thing." He leaned forward slightly.

"What?"

"Promise me something."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "After tonight, you need to let me know if you’re going out of town for work, okay? I’m sick of showing up at the café only to be told you’re not there. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

You snickered and slapped his arm. "Oh, so this is about your pride?"

"Yes, obviously," he said dramatically. Then, in a softer tone, "Actually because I just want to know where you are."

Your smile faltered slightly, but you quickly recovered. "Fine, fine. I’ll text you next time. Happy?"

"Very." Jungkook grinned, holding out his pinky. "Seal it with a pinky promise?"

You laughed but hooked your pinky with his. "You’re such a kid."

"And yet, you still put up with me."

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right.

[vagabond-umlaut]

toasty

sometimes, it isn't just the weather which is comfortably warm. sometimes, it can be one person, because of another person, as well.

gojo satoru x fem!reader; pre-relationship; gojo is a menace; you're a miniature circuit breaker; gojo calls you 'cookie'; mentions of food; i repeat: gojo is a MENACE; 610 wc; *empties a big container labelled 'fluff' into this fic*

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be treated as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

divider by @/benkeibear; pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this; jjk isn't mine

"do you like that dress?"

you shouldn't look this surprised, no. hell no.

you know gojo's been sitting beside you for the better part of the last fifteen minutes. and you know he has a rather sharp set of eyes, with or without his 'six eyes' activated— yet you do look surprised. terribly so— and the man wonders, what made you think he would not notice you staring at the bright piece of cloth in the shop window.

particularly when you've left your favourite ice cream on the brink of melting and falling on your uniform— not that it'll make it any dirtier though; the curses from before have done a splendid job of it...

stealing a bite from your cone, gojo plops back into his seat. the grin threatening to bloom on his lips wilts when he sees the surprise turn into something shocked, maybe even scandalised in your features— eyes wider, brows higher, lower jaw hanging lower...

he lets the grin form anyway. "what? your ice cream was melting— i cannot let the money i spent to buy it, go to waste now, can i?"

you snap your mouth close in less than an instant. then open it again to take quite a large bite from your ice cream, brows scrunching and eyes screwing close— the brain freeze gojo was in wait for, for you to suffer from, never comes.

you take a second bite, even bigger.

some part of him shrivels, disappointed— before it swells up again, at the narrowed-eye look you send his way— before it dries up a second time, when your gaze returns to the dress from before.

the fabric looks extremely dull to the sorcerer now. he kicks your leg under the table. biting back a grin when you look back at him, lips in an annoyed little frown.

although it doesn't take too long to become a smile. tired, yes. but a fond one all the same— you've always been too soft to him, haven't you?

he repeats his ask, "do you like that dress?"

"i..." your gaze drops to your ice cream for a beat. then rises. a warmth settles into your cheeks, visible and adorable. "i kind of like that dress. it looks pretty." a beat. your lips part in a tentative smile. "what do you think, gojo-san? will i look good in it?"

the addressed man pauses.

but it is not because he has to decide on an answer— the answer is a yes. a resounding yes— still, he doesn't find the voice to say the word, the monosyllable repeated over and over and over again in his brain—

"you always look beautiful to me, cookie. no matter what you wear."

the shocked, scandalised expression makes a return to your face, not a moment later than when the words leave his mouth.

only to be shoved away when you attempt to take such a huge bite of your melting ice cream, the chocolate chip treat ends up caking a big portion of the lower half of your face— from your nose and extending till your chin.

gojo doesn't bother to hold back his laughter this time— its loudness increasing at the resulting wrinkle in your nose when he reaches over to scoop up a bit of the mess with his fingers, then licks it off them—

"you're a disgusting man," you mutter, voice so mortified and frail as your gaze keeps jumping from his hand to his blindfolded eyes.

something curls up inside the sorcerer. the sensation growing worse, growing better, the longer he stares at this precious little face you've made:

"and you're a cookie— my choco chip cookie!"

the reader is an mcb— reasons for which, i hope, u all hv understood by now 🤭🤭

masterlist

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Nail Polish | Kim Hongjoong

-> Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x GF!Reader

-> Request: No.

-> Synopsis: Hongjoong finds a creative way to propose.

-> Warnings: A little cheesy. I had no intention of making this a proposal fic but it happened.

-> Word Count: 453

-> Requests: Closed. I will make a post when they are open again.

Hongjoong Masterlist | ATEEZ Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

As Y/N looks through the nail polishes that clutter Hongjoong's dresser she finds a new colour, or at least she thinks it’s new because she doesn't recall him ever having a shade that matches her exact favourite color. Picking up bottle of nail polish, a recent memory comes flooding back to her.  

"What's your favourite colour?" Hongjoong had asked as he painted her nails. She had just finished painting one nail he always keeps painted. He’d offered to do her nails so they could match. It's their thing as a couple. A little “we’re together” without saying they’re together since their relationship hasn’t been made public. Only close friends and family know about it. 

"How long have we known each other?" She responds, glancing from her nails to him. 

"I don't know, four, maybe five years now?" Hongjoong replies, focusing on carefully painting her nails. 

"And you still don't know my favourite colour?" Y/N teases, a smile playing on her lips. 

He looks up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I know your favourite colour," he says confidently, his eyes quickly darting to her shirt that just so happens to be her favourite colour and locking back with her eyes. “But if you could choose an exact shade, what would it be?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers with a shrug. “There’s so many.” 

“Let’s find one then,” he smiles, finishing up the last nail and blowing on it gently to help it dry. 

They had spent a few good hours going through different shades of her favourite colour before settling on five shades that were eventually cut down to one and it just so happened to be the shade in the bottle in her hand. 

As she holds the bottle in her hand, Y/N can't help but smile. It was little things like this that made her fall even more in love with Hongjoong. His small gestures always mean the most to her. 

She looks up at him, finding him looking at her, a sparkle in his eyes as he sees she’s holding the colour he had custom made for her.  

“Check the bottom,” he tells her. 

Intrigued, she flips the bottle over and reads the label. Her heart starts racing as she reads the little circular label. In the tiny lettering, is the date of their first date followed by the words 'will you marry me?'. 

Tears well up in her eyes as she looks back at Hongjoong, who is now down on one knee, holding out a ring. Overwhelmed, she nods her head, unable to speak. 

He slips the ring onto her finger and stands up, pulling her into a tight embrace before sealing the moment with a kiss. 

Hongjoong Tag List:

@staytiny2000 - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1

@laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things - @everythingboutkpop

@oddracha - @http-gyu - @skittyneos - @pinkpunkdynamite - @keshivibes -

@katsukis1wife -

You can join the tag list by sending an ask or filling out this form: Tag List Sign-Up

[buckevantommy]

1? For dialogue prompts

꒰ 1 ꒱ “i can’t fucking believe this.”

"I can't fucking believe this."

"Sal.."

"Where in the hell does he get off—"

"Sal! It was my choice."

That brings his friend up short. "What?"

"I broke up with him."

The worst of it is: there's no confusion in Sal's eyes. Just horrid understanding sinking in. And not without pity. "Jesus."

Tommy scrubs a hand down his face, stubble catching on his calloused palm. He hasn't bothered shaving on his days off. Evan was always so vocal about how much he enjoyed the texture of Tommy's scruff - beneath his fingertips, against his lips, between his thighs.. His next inhale is a heady rush. "Yeah."

The couch dips where Sal settles beside him. They sit in silence for a minute, maybe two, maybe more. Tommy fiddles with the label on his beer bottle and doesn't taste it when he takes a sip, the flavors bitter on his tongue.

Sal finally breaks the uneasy quiet. "What happened?"

He ran away. He ruined the best relationship he's ever had because he got scared. "I fell for him. I let myself think—" It was stupid. Foolish. He should never have let things get as far as they did. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't want me."

"He tell you that?"

"He's not seeing things clearly right now, but he will."

"Oh my god." Sal sways forward in his periphery. His tone is accusatory, which: rude. "Is this because of Jason?"

Tommy looks away.

"Jesus, Tommy. I know you cared about him, but that guy was an asshole."

Jason was Tommy's second serious long-term relationship with a man. They dated less than a year before moving in together. Three months later they broke up because Jason wasn't ready to commit and Tommy found himself on Sal's couch for the next two months.

That's putting it nicely. The harsh truth was that the man Tommy saw himself buliding a life with got bored of their relationship. Bored of Tommy. And Evan— Buck, would've soon realised the same: that he wanted more than Tommy could give him, wanted something different, someone better, wanted to explore this newly discovered facet of his identity without hindrances.

Not that Tommy was ever going to move into the loft, even in a perfect world where things turned out better for them; Tommy has a house for fuck sake, a mid-century ranch he's spent the better part of a decade making his own. And living alone. But he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't pictured waking up to a certain someone there every morning and going to sleep together every night.

Why be apart when we can be together?

"Hey," Sal knocks a knuckle against his knee. "I'm sorry."

Tommy gives a tight nod, doesn't trust himself to open his mouth in case what comes out is something more embarassing than words.

"For what it's worth, I thought you and Buckley were good together. Hadn't see you that happy in years."

He was happy. Happiest he's ever been in a relationship - except maybe for the giddy euphoria he felt with his own first boyfriend; it was fun but it ran its course. Same with Jason. And he was Buck's first, it wouldn't last. It didn't.

He let himself ignore the inevitable for six amazing months. He doesn't regret their time together, but the ease of being with Buck had lured him into a false sense of security. Buck didn't know the real Tommy - he barely knew himself - so it became apparent that moving forward together was not an option.

Foolish Tommy's happiness always seems to spell heartache down the line. He tried to spare himself this time but it was too late, and that notable happiness that was is juxtapose to a consequential pain that is and which feels like it could last a lifetime.

"I love him," Tommy confesses suddenly, voice quietly ragged. A heated sting presses behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut. Tries to steady his breathing.

And only resists for a moment as Sal pulls him in, big hand bracing Tommy's head, tucking into his friend's shoulder as the floodgates open.

"I know, pal. I know."

doing this thing

[shotanzz]

I remember reading an astrology obsv about seunghan which said he might not be the best partner long term since he loves adventure. That makes me think, which members are most to least suitable for being husbands, based on astrology? Love your reading so much <3

RIIZE HUSBAND MATERIAL ~ based on astrology

reminder this is based off of MY opinions of their birth chart placements + aspects and is not exact fact unless I knew them myself and in no way am I saying members ranked lower cant/never will be married !!!

Shotaro

Capricorn Venus…that’s it. KIDDING but he aims more so for long term relationships and stable commitments in the traditional sense so getting married or at least having a long time partner is probably something he desires at some point. His scorpio placements are possessive and bent on loyalty so if he’s with the right person they’d get locked in imo, he'd be the breadwinner and like a traditional family dynamic when married.

Sungchan

He’s a leo venus with a cap mars so I think he’d want to get married and have kids since Leo and Cap are both synonymous with “maintaining your legacy and family name” I put him second because he’d want his choice of marriage partner to make him feel validated and approval especially by his family ESPECIALLY by his mother. Let’s say he was thinking of making someone his fiancée but his family/friends lowkey side eyed his choice..he mighttt change his mind about it. Like Shotaro he'd be a proper provider and might be into the "nuclear family" trope.

Anton

He's mainly husband material because he can take care of himself and wouldn't necessarily rely on his wife for much of everything, he's a taurus venus so he likely would be pretty traditional on a basic sense like paying for things and being committed however I don't think he'd settle down until after living a full portion of his life being independent and only having to worry about himself before adding someone into his life for the long term.. 

Eunseok

Husband material without wanting to be the husband IJBOLL. See when I analyze Eunseok with diff mediums (typology/astrology/etc etc) I can see him 100% being someone's long term partner BUT the label of marriage might be something he doesn't care for. He doesn't like feeling constrained or pressure so being with someone forever SURE ofc ! he secretly wants that ! but. being labeled and having legal documents attached...um. If it was normal in SK culture to not get married to your long term spouse I think he'd take that route. 

Wonbin

Honestly I really wasn't going to put Wonbin this high until I did some brainstorming. His pisces venus and taurus mars makes me feel like he lowkey has this "dream life" or "fantasy" where at a point in his life where he'll find 'the one' and have a comfortable life of being a husband (maybe or at least having a long time partner). Also in multiple readings he wants to be the masc counterpart with his partners and do what a boyfriend is "supposed to do" However he might take a very long time for him to find "the one" or commit to the right person commitment is extremely hard for him especially since his idealized idea of a person can break so easily .

Sohee

Sohee is a Sag Venus, they can be very very hard to pin down and they’re super picky about who they stay with due to the fact that Sag venus wants an equal that is on the same level as them, not someone that makes them feel “owned” and not someone giving him the responsibility to “own” them. But he's a pretty fair partner that can take his own responsibilities and an easygoing lover however he cares about his livelihood and freedom a lot plus he might think with his lusts/desires (venus/mars square) rather than viewing dating and marriage from a more serious pov

Seunghan

Loves the idea of marriage, isn't fond of the act itself. Similar to Eunseok I think he'd rather have a long time partner without the extra of marital duties attached. He's a very romantic sweet guy swear he is but he has a hard time expressing more deeper/complex feelings and is pretty avoidant in times of disputes and as we know marriage it has it's hardships and I think said hardships would turn him off. Also…venus square saturn..like…naur. He’ll fear missing out with other possible romantic opportunities

[anomaliex]

To me Riz and Adaine are both a-spec and it's a solidarity thing but it's also a thing that makes Adaine feel bad because they're not the same and Riz used the label first so clearly he's doing it "right" and yeah

I mean idek if Adaine is ace. I think she uses the label for a bit and then stuff like Oisin happens and it's oh. Maybe not ace maybe just started having interest in that stuff later than her friends. (Which is so fine. Just because you end up changing labels doesn't mean the time you spent thinking it fit is any less important and switching around while you're a teenager is so valid can we normalise that sometimes you're not sure and have to test the waters. And it's fine.) Aromantic allosexual rep to ME. I do genuinely think it feels like, bad to her? To change? Because she was "wrong" and the whole oh you're too young to know it was just a phase bullshit didn't directly get to her because her parents aren't in the picture anymore but it's still a general consensus in the air when it comes to queerness. And like, it feels bad to feel like those statements are "right". And she's the oracle isn't she supposed to know? Why can she never just know things about herself.

And honestly smaller part of her probably feels bad because she "claimed" (genuinely thought) she's just like Riz and there's a world where that feels disrespectful (he doesn't care at all. This kid did extensive queer research for two weeks after the nightmare king stuff had an entire clue board settled on a few labels for himself and then honestly didn't talk about it ever again.)

And being alloromantic but asexual is somewhat more acceptable than the other way around because those people still want relationships they're just "pure" (I'm saying this in a condescending way it's. Weird and a problem that asexuality gets infantilised or purity cultured sometimes like can we all chill) but like allosexual and aromantic? Gets a bad rep. She just. Feels bad for being. I think she doesn't really know what to do with herself. She can have a little crush and that's kind of an exciting feeling and she might be a little nervous or giddy but that's as far as it's gonna get. She doesn't want anything to happen about it.

She doesn't want to date, and she honestly doesn't really have interest in actually participating in physical intimacy it's just that she thinks about it and experiences attraction. Never wants to get married never wants to relationship and she's fine with that but it still feels like there's something she's doing wrong and she doesn't really know?? What to do about it? Cause, yeah. There's nothing to do about it.

And like a-spec is called that because it's a spectrum it's not like Riz is just both of the dials perfectly turned up to max. I'm sure aroace people like that exist but it's definitely not the majority. I think he's sex repulsed and the idea of romance is suffocating but he like, probably likes the idea of typically romantic intimacy outside of the restrictions and obligations and hierarchy that romantic relationships tend to bring? Like I look at Riz and go yeah man that guy would love to give you a little kiss on the cheek and tell you he loves you because he does he just doesn't wanna do all that crazy shit that would imply romantic commitment. The hierarchies are scary just let him love his friends. This does kinda place him in queerplatonic territory which yeah I do think that works but like also he doesn't have to be he just wants to exist in the same space as people. Adaine is not that at all she's averse to the stuff that in most contexts is romantic. Riz can ignore or outright refuse the usual context in his head Adaine has trouble separating it and also like, doesn't want to. And she doesn't have to. Neither of them is wrong in how they feel and they can still both be aro. Head in hands. Adaine still feels bad.

I don't think you can be "more" asexual than others but Riz is definitely "very" asexual in his aversion to. Well. Sexual stuff lmao. I think he experiences a flavour of tertiary attraction specifically towards men because something something Baron is masc and that's also okay. In some ways he absolutely does and in other ways he does not fit the simplified idea of what aroace ness is "supposed to" be to some people and that's like? Fine? He doesn't care. Again because he did such intense research that he knows that's normal. This kid is quietly a queer dictionary now and is super informed about a lot of issues relating to it and it just never comes up. He has things to say about monogamy and heteronormativity locked and loaded should it ever be a topic of conversation but like. Why would it be.

Riz is still fully "wow it's so cool to have a friend that's also aro" and happy to be here and Adaine has a small crisis about it every two weeks. This makes up for the very BIG and long winded crisis Riz had initially. Nervous besties with complicated feelings about romance and sex.

Full disclosure I wrote this at four am and it makes so much sense to me right at this moment but when I look at it again I'm probably gonna be like wow what the fuck were you saying. Posting it anyway because the voices. The voices. The aroace-spec demons in my brain.

[crystaljellie]

I honestly think that there are so many interesting songs that fit the life series characters so well, so I’m going to talk about them here and explain why I associate them with these songs!

Bdubs - Never love an anchor by the crane wives

"With this heart of mine that's guilty, not remorseful" | It's guilty because Bdubs feels bad, he feels bad he couldn't achieve what he should. He feels bad that he killed Impulse in third life, betrayed him, and even then it got him nothing. He's guilty because he knows the harm he's caused

"There is love that doesn't have a place to rest, but it would burry you if it had settled on your shoulders" | I notice that Bdubs has a lot of trust and faith in his companies, something about this brings back the 'He loves me' scene from last life back. Bdubs loves a lot more than people seem to think he does, so he must hold it back in case of that love being used against him

"I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel" | Maybe things that Bdubs wants to be, for the sake of letting go and letting himself detach from these people so losing them doesn't hurt as much. Letting other people label him as such

BigB - Know How by the Crane wives

"I am not brave; I keep my focus on what is safe," | I think this is fitting to BigB even if it's not necessarily true; I think from his perspective how he feels, ignoring how he is actually very brave. But at the same time he does keep his focus on what is safe, there's a reason why he always makes it to the final or session before the final.

"Just because I know what I'm supposed to do now, doesn't mean I know how" (Edited line to be shorter) | I'm not sure how to explain this but I do think it really fits him, he knows all the things he's meant to do, to survive, for example killing with the boogeymancurse, but he dragged it out till the very very end before he killed Cleo in last life, because he didn't know how he was supposed to do it.

Etho - I don’t know anyone I am by Salvia Palth

"I don't know anyone, I am in relation to anyone I guess" | Etho has always been seen as a loner throughout all seasons, he doesn't very much get the time to make meaningful bonds or understand his teammates. It makes sense he would struggle to see himself as more than just a survivor as well, he hasn't given himself the time to focus on anything else.

Scar - Icicles by The Scary Jokes

"Their shallow observations will only stall the transformation" | This is very secret life scar to me, maybe something something the watchers talking to him, everyone forcing the title of villain onto him, yet the watchers see him as a gift to them, as a victor and they're trying to make sure Scar keeps doing what he has been and not back out because they're calling him 'villain'

"But I admit it would be easier, To be relieved of all this shame and not have to wear it on my sleeve." | This fits Scar's feelings on the matter, not wanting to go forward, not wanting to be shamed and outcast by the rest of the lifers.

"I can only be forgiven if I'm giving myself up to you" | Secret life in general but also back in 3rd life, Scar believing he can only make up for killing Grian at the end by having Grian kill him, something something 'slay me and take the enchanter'

"My world has turned so cold, but I won't cry, 'cause icicles don't soften when they die so why should I" | Despite Scar being constantly alone, he stayed strong he never 'softened' or cried he also became cold which is why he won.

Grian - Bird Song by Florence + The Machine

"And he sang about what I'd become" | How Grian had slowly lost his mind in third life as well as all the other games, how Grian had became someone obsessed with getting kills, going out of his way to trick and trap people and find loopholes to kill

"I picked up the bird and above the den I said 'That's the last song you'll ever sing" | Grian doesn't want to think that he might be a bad person, or he might be going crazy, so he has to silence anyone saying otherwise, anyone that might prove a danger to him. Maybe because he can't let the watchers get word that he's exactly who they say he his. Maybe even so this is relating to the theory that he might have been the one to curse Jimmy.

Impulse - A Mask of My Own Face by Nature Tapes

Okay now hear me out on this one, Impulse is constantly in and out of alliances especially in third life, lying to everyone to gain vantage.

"And none of them would know that I am secretly myself" | Because they trust that Impulse is putting on a facade all the time, but maybe what they are missing is that the facade is what he considers to be him. Or at the very least keeps him safer

"I'd blame it on the person that nobody knows I am" | Something about him always being like 'Oh I did this so they'd trust me more I'm still on your side I promise' Or 'I did this for the task!' When he could have absolutely targeted anyone else.

Martyn - Metaphors by The Crane wives

"I've gotten good at living on someone elses page" | It's the way Martyn is always deceiving and always planning to betray, living on someone else's page, being content and loyal until he has the chance not to be.

"You can't trust a single thing I say" | Idk something about him talking about how he was planning to betray Ren in third life.

"Don't look too hard cause you won't like the scars he left in me" | THIS BEING SO TREEBARK LISTEN TO ME. HE GAVE UP SO MUCH TO REN THERE ARE SO MANY SCARS CAUSED BY FOLLOWING THE ORDERS TO KILL SOMEONE YOU LOVE

Lizzie - The Crooked the Cradle by The crane wives

"There's blood in the water" | Thinking about Lizzie showing up in limited life to play Pearl and the first thing she was tasked with is killing. Like she showed up and instantly was given the title of boogeyman, a gimmick that was only there in the one other season she was in, a sense of familiarity and a sense of dread.

"The quiet are restless the silent are still" | When there is peace on the server and it is quiet there are people waiting to kill. When it is silent it is because all is dead. And Lizzie knows that well being quick to die each time, she is the silent, especially when she fell into the void, she died alone and in scilence.

"If Mercy's abound I'll be safe I'll be sound, and the devil won't know of the love I just couldn't let go" | Something about Joel being the cause of her death In Secret life... loved him so much she went down for him, she couldn't let it go and it got her killed.

"Can anyone hear me?" | Her in the void not being able to be heard....

Mumbo - Saint Bernard by Lincoln

"To remind me that I am a fool" | I am very strongly of the headcanon that Mumbo is also a watcher, something something he needs to remind himself that he is fooling himself into thinking he could fit in with the world of the watchers or the world of the players

"When I am dead I won't join their ranks because they are both holy and free" | And Mumbo's not, Mumbo doesn't get to go where they go, he still has more to do, more to make up for. Still instructions left to follow

"There's really just one thing that we have in common, neither of us will be missed" This is so Mumbo talking to Grian coded for me

Pearl - Here I am by the Crane wives

"How long have I been here all alone" Double life Pearl in her tower....

"Settled in, had a plan but I never factored in, Everyone else saying goodbye" | Basically also double life Pearl she had a plan with Martyn go to the nether get stuff come back find her soulbound, and then they all left her.

"This ghost town is making a ghost of me" | Everyone dying around her, and being alone like this without chance of redemption slowly killing her.

"I promised myself I'd learn to be the one who leaves" | Throughout the next games, like secret life, she'd be the one who leaves instead of gets left behind, but she didn't seeing how she was always last one alive out of her teammates

Skizz - Wrecking ball by mother mother

"I made a fist and not a plan" | Skizz is usually quite reckless and goes action first plan second.

"You gotta see the artistry In tearing the place apart with me, baby" | This but more in the ironic sense, because Skizz while he wants to reign chaos he is also fiercely loyal and kind to his allies, so tearing the place apart with me, is important. He doesn't just want to cause chaos he wants connections

Scott - Icarus

"Climb ye higher and higher and higher 'Til you're far away and breathing cleaner air" | Scott winning last life, climbing higher and higher through the ranks until he breaks through the clouds into what he had hoped was cleaner air spoiler alert it’s not.

"Who have you become in the wake of all that's happened here?" | What’s happened to you, what happened in last life that changed you, what made you so cold and bitter and so quick to assume the worst when double life came

"Spreading out the ashes of a love That only gave and gave" | Either this as flower husbands, being the ashes of a love that only gave to others, or specifically Scott’s love, that only gave and gave to the one whom he loved

"There's no room for all the hearts who will not stay" | For the people who will not stay with him, the watchers pressuring him to do better and leave the, behind. He won’t though.

Joel - The Wolf by the crane wives

"I will join the wolf at my door Breathing out storms when she comes around" | Well yes we know Joel is a dog boy clearly, but also how he is oh so aggressive to everyone he meets, ferocious and knocking things down.

"I am always burning, burning, burning" | Burning with rage? Burning things down? So many emotions they're lighting up his world so much that it blinds him from seeing anything else

Jimmy - Hollow Moon By the crane wives

"In the darkness, Slowly crawling over my skin, Whispers at the door, "let us in, let us in" | Whispers of the watchers, or maybe his curse, something knocking to let death in.

"I won't be sleeping, There's too many monsters in the backyard" | Okay yes funny because of Minecraft mechanics. But also, idk something about Jimmy not being able to see the watchers but still feeling their presence.

(I'm giving Jimmy an extra song because he's special)

Strawberry blond by Mitski

"I love everybody because I love you When you stood up, walked away barefoot And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached" | YES I AM BACK ON MY FLOWER HUSBANDS BULLSHIT! Trust me so much they're so insanely in love, they love the world because they love each other, their relationship is so sweet and soft.

"All I need, darlin', is a life in your shape I picture it, soft, and I ache" | because all they ever needed was each other, not the death not the violence, just to be in love

Tango - Monster by Dodie

"I'm guessing that I've grown horns I guess I'm human no more I can tell I've rotted in your brain" | Tango's anger and wondering if those reactions made others see less in him. Make him a monster

"You think I'm a crazy bitch I craft my words to fit your head 'Cause no one listens to the dead" | Idk... something about this and Tango, he always dies relatively early too, maybe it's only death that'll comfort him

Cleo - The Garden by The Crane Wives

"My stone, My shield, my steady hand, Hold your light To the darkness in my head" | Something about this being about how Scott has been her friend and ally throughout all seasons

"Give me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes" | I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT BUT THIS IS LIMITED LIFE CLETHO, DOES ANYONE HEAR ME PLEASE TRUST

"My darling, the devil knows my name" | Cleo makes a name known for herself by fighting, making a point with their sword

"Get on your knees and, Dig up the garden, Won't you throw down that spade and, Dig up the garden, darling?" | Something something a wife talking to her husband

Ren - Arms Tonite by Mother Mother

"I died in your arms tonight" | Martyn killing Ren in 3rd life....

"I lost sight in your arms tonight, it was nice" | Lost sight of the goal so obsessed with his kingdom and the Red army

"I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive" | Martyn out living him (Not by very long) In third life

Gem - The Well by the Crane Wives

"All the words I couldn't say to you Fill up the spaces in my chest" | This being Shiny Duo and Gem and pearl being on different sides unsure of how to stay together

"Send me anywhere, take me out I'm the well they're gonna drag you down" | Gem knowing she's only going to be used as a catalyst to hurt others despite her wants

"That old house, those rotting memories Burned easier than I'd have thought" | Those short memories of limited life being replaced by the nicer memories of at least the first half of secret life

And I am done yapping, mayhaps I will do more someday

[fauustic]

aa hello!! could I request a miguel x enby reader in any way??

the genre really doesn't matter but maybe a little fluff?

for an idea i was thinking the reader works as a florist and miguel knows them meeting them as spiderman. he begins taking a liking to them so he comes to the shop often getting flowers or small bouquets, but each flower means love or care, or notice me? (I'm thinking it would be really adorable if he just, late night studied floriagraphy for them) in the flower language, and they start taking notice to it, and eventually ask him?? idk this is silly but if you wanna write it!!

I hope you have a lovely day!!

(( stares at the miguel gifs i've used so far with a longing gaze... i only have so many left ..

i really hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for your request! it was super sweet. ))

nonbinary reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

fluff. like pure fluff. its literally just miguel pining after a little silly florist.

warnings: literally none except the use of some language. possible use of incorrect spanish because i'm learning so i have help of a translator in some parts :) let me know if i can fix anything!

word count: 3742

The smell of all kinds of flowers flooded your senses as the floral shop's door opened with a little chime, a beautiful melody that brightens every beginning of your shift. The shop that has become the core of your life was nothing too fancy, hidden away in a cozy little alleyway accompanied by a coffee shop and another restaurant– a safe space along the bustling city. 

Your identity wasn’t something that you mentioned often, but with the support of your coworkers you couldn’t help but express yourself easier. Being able to incorporate outfits of all kinds in your daily life without much more than a stare, some days you’d adorn a long skirt and a tank top, finished off with a floral-patterned apron to keep yourself tidy. Other days, you didn’t exactly confine yourself with a particular style because you were just you. As free and as happy as ever.

That was one of the many things you loved about the city you found yourself in. The growth and ability to thrive in Nueva York was a symbol of diversity, no matter who you were or where you had come from. It was different back home, so the newfound independence pushed you to be more talkative and approachable because you didn’t need to worry about others' thoughts. Labels and identities were celebrated in the cultures you intertwined with.

So when you found out you aligned with the embodiment of being nonbinary, you snatched it up like a piece of treasure and hadn’t looked back at who you were once before.

The love you had for flowers was immeasurable, somehow finding ways to include floral in your outfits no matter what you were wearing. A lovely white magnolia, fresh and healthy, found shelter in the secure pocket of your apron. Another flower was tucked upon the sunhat you adorned, a light pink peony settled right within the ribbon.

The alley your store took home in held a usual quiet atmosphere soothed by the comforting ambience of bird chirping due to housing a small little section for trees scattered about the alleyway. It reminded you of where your love for nature first began. Yet as you misted a bundle of Irises blooming upon a full window-sill, doused in a beautiful sunny haze, the tranquillity washing over you was unfortunately interrupted when a cat bumped against the shop’s window closest to you. It was loud, shaking the Irisies you just tended to.

Jumping from the sudden chaos happening outside your floristry, you couldn’t help but rush out the door with the watering pot still in hand. Did you need to get involved? You couldn't help but wonder to yourself when you noticed the little feline looked as if it was running away from something, but before you could intervene the answer dived past you on all fours, claw marks left in its wake. The figure, you have recognized from the news, was the talk of the city– broadcasts nicknaming the hero “Spiderman.” But what was he doing trying to grab one little kitty with the intensity of a predator? Surely Nueva York had more crime than that.

Entertaining the idea of watching such a well-respected hero having difficulty catching a feline, you played it off as if you were watering the flowers that decorate your shop– but in reality you just wanted to have a good laugh at seeing the man who has made criminals beg on their knees for forgiveness speak to the cat in desperation.

Funnily enough, the cat did climb one of the many large trees planted around your shop, and even if it was a bit hard to hear from the distance, this Spiderman guy wouldn’t stop trying to call for it to come down.

“Come ‘ere, gatito.” He shouted towards the cat at the tree’s base, his claws digging into the bark as if he was contemplating scaling the tree himself. “If I don’t bring you back with me, you will have to give up treats for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?” His next step was to “psspspssp,” which just came out as a weird hiss. The cat only hissed back, which only fueled his discontentment even more. Without another moment to spare, Spiderman scaled the tree in two leaps, plucking the cat from the branches with a cautious hold. When he landed on the ground, he caught you staring a little too hard.

But the scene was just too hilarious, having to stifle a hearty giggle with the back of your hand as you noticed he was walking straight towards your shop. But luck wasn’t on your side today, as he stood right behind you. The window mirrored how he was holding the cat the same way as before, held like a little baby with its arms reaching out to you. You only laughed harder, crumbling to your knees as water splashed at your boots from the watering can. He didn’t dare to utter another word, obviously finding amusement in your little laughing fit over something so stupid.

“Did you get it out of your system, jardinero?” It was no doubt he was smirking under his mouth as he loomed over your laughing form. A ruffled meow followed his question, which only made you double down on your giggles. “Oh my god– I can’t breathe. Holy shit–” You cried out, rolling on the side to only have a flurry of Wisterias cloud your vision. 

“Who knew the biggest baddest hero that Nueva has, could barely even catch a little animal?” You cackled into the air, which instantly made him defensive. 

“I did not have a difficult time with this little pest, he’s as agile as a Roomba.” His tone was flat, if not a bit irritated. If you didn’t notice the soft chuckles escaping him softly, you would have thought he was genuinely bothered. Spiderman scooped up the cat in a more comfortable position, belly facing the both of you as the cat’s back lied against his arms. “Lo que sea–” He muttered through his mask, shaking his head in disbelief. After a short pause, it's clear he had nothing else left to say. “That’s enough entertainment for you today.” It was clear he was done once he spun on his heel, cat in arms and not even sparing a wave.

Something overcame you, as you called out to him. Maybe you were just as stricken as all his other fans, but as he paused with an awaited glance– you rushed through the waves of color in your floral shop before stopping to a bundle of crimson petals. Plucking a single bloom, you rushed out your store in a flustered mess so he wouldn’t have to wait long. 

There wasn’t much to his suit, so there was no way you could easily position it in a way the flower couldn’t fall. So you just settled with putting it against the cat’s ear, the feline wearing it without a care.

You sighed, smoothing out your apron in nervous relief. This was an eventful start to your day, to say the very least. But Spiderman didn’t move from where he moved despite being eager to leave just a moment ago. Instead, his attention was fixated at the bloom in his grasp.

“It’s an Amaryllis. Truly a beautiful one, right?” Your tone shifted, excitement lacing your voice at the opportunity to explain a flower to a stranger– let alone someone that is apparently a huge deal.

“... What does it mean?” When your attention snapped to his masked face, you weren’t able to distinguish his wonderstruck expression. You gladly took the chance to ramble about what you knew about the flower, and explain the exact reason why you chose it. 

“Amaryllis have multiple kinds of meanings you see– every flower does– but they’ve always been a symbol of hard-earned success due to its representation of determination and pride. I thought it was fitting because I was able to watch you in action, and you deserve a reward for your civic duties.” You couldn’t help but include some form of humor in your sprinkles of a compliment, but the truth was there. No matter what he had to do under the mask, he deserved to be reminded that his successful missions help so many people. It may have not been your cat, but you were happy that someone will now return back home to their fluffy companion. “And the scarlet coloring of its petals kinda matches your suit, so in a way it kind of reminds me of you.” The masked man in front of you was completely silent, until the gloved hand meeting his shoulder shook him from his daze. “Good work, Spiderman. Can’t wait what next animal you’re going to save,” The spell you unknowingly put him under was slapped away in an instant at the little jab.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips before he could turn away, which only encouraged your teasing more. He waved behind his back, keeping his focus on what’s in front of him. “What will it be, a giraffe? Maybe a walrus–” Spiderman was gone by the time you sputtered the second animal, leaping away with an iron grip on the feline to a nearby building rooftop.

“What about something cool like a whale shark? Now that’d be something to read online..” You mumbled to yourself, brushing off your apron one last time before clutching your trusty watering pail and beginning your duties for the day.

Which is how Miguel O’Hara found himself hunched over his computer, staring at a gallery full of vibrant botany with a sigh. He couldn’t express it under the mask– he had a purpose to not allow any sign of weakness when the suit is on, but he was absolutely smitten by you over some stupid mishap on his end and a nervous, endearing ramble about your knowledge of flowers. The nightlife seeped into the windows of his home, neon lights reflecting off the walls. It was late, but Miguel was determined to shove some kind of information down his brain to make him not look like a complete fool when he arrived at the floral shop again. He was a chemist, for god’s sake– botany wasn’t too far off, was it?

He was just so enthralled with you, the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly at the opportunity of ranting about your favorite thing. The scent of fresh flowers entering his senses through the slightly cracked door of the floristry– it was a place he wanted to spend all his freetime in. Having been surrounded by the burning smell of chemicals and the pollution of such a technologically advanced city, Miguel craved to surround himself with so much nature. Or maybe, secretly, he just yearned to have a space of his own that was hidden away from the evils of Nueva York.

It took him a little while to finally work up the courage to stroll in, not having the mask around his head while he met someone as Spiderman always gave him a weird feeling. But he pushed that aside, chanting the knowledge that he crammed in his memory so he wouldn’t stupidly ask for a bundle of flowers that probably didn’t even exist.

Stepping foot in the floral shop for the first time was like a big breath of fresh air, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the influx of sweet scents. It reminded him of you, the same smell of blossoms clinging onto you even after you walked through the alleyway to give him that Amaryllis. He still kept onto it, dried against the confinement of his wallet. 

Miguel was going to start browsing even though he already knew what he wanted simply because he wanted to know this place inside and out– it was a part of you after all. But he didn’t go very long unnoticed, your voice making him well-aware of that. 

“Hey, welcome to Nueva’s most diverse little flower nursery! Happy to see a new face, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know!” Your voice came from the back of the store, yet you peeked out and was able to study him from afar. He tried his best to be stoic, nodding in understanding before quickly averting his gaze to the waves of flowers you clearly took very good care of. 

Miguel, when faced with attraction to another, struggled deeply with bringing it into words. It didn’t exactly help his case when you haven’t met him outside of being Spiderman, so he devised a subtle plan to get closer to you. He wasn’t religious, but he still prayed that you would pay attention to his little requests and specific choosing of flowers.

And you did, of course you did. Your attentiveness squeezed his heart with a grasp he’s never felt before. After transforming into the Spiderman 2099 he’s come to accept, Miguel just couldn’t bring himself to fall for another. But when it came to you, and your silly little knowledge about flowers and the way he watched you tend to each and every one of them with the same amount of tenderness, the sweetness in your touch made him fall even harder. He imagined your hands grasping his own, as if he was as fragile as a flower. The idea made him flustered.

“A bouquet of red tulips and camellia, please.” He found himself asking you, his index, middle, and ring finger drumming along your counter in a soft rhythm. You were caught by his words almost instantaneously, a certain look in your eyes that even he couldn’t decipher. A knowing smirk erupted on your features, not being able to help yourself at teasing this new customer. “That’s so cute, you found yourself a soulmate?” Miguel choked at the proposal, the question rolling off your tongue in a singsong as you began skipping along the shop you owned. 

The gracefulness you had in every step distracted him, plucking every sense of dignity he had as if he was a flower getting its own petals plucked by your graze. “Only a flower connoisseur would know the meanings behind such simple flowers. It’s what makes them interesting, but I suppose the mix of bright crimson intermingled with a calming purple brings a sort of intensity most people don’t get.” You unknowingly held the bouquet to your heart, a smile blessing your lips. “Camellias are standard flowers that convey longing, mostly a yearning for one out of reach. While a red tulip is a promise, the subtle intention of trying to tell another that you want to spend the rest of your life with the recipient. It’s a big commitment to use such flowers for a bouquet, hopefully you know what you’re getting into.” You wrapped it without a second thought, framed with a sweet soft yellow. 

The cashier popped open as he paid.

“I do,” Miguel peered into your gaze, “I know exactly what I’m gettin’ into, mi sol.” He couldn’t help but utter, scooping the bouquet from your stunned response with a cheeky smile.

“W-What’s your name..?” Your composure lost, you demanded an answer as your finger twirled around an Amaryllis. You had kept one close by since your run-in with Spiderman, your thoughts never swaying from the masked hero until now. The stranger now seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to blurt out anything stupid.

Breathing in the bouquet he picked out, his shoulders sagged just a bit in relief. “Miguel,” He picked up a red tulip, the darkest hue in the bunch, and gently placed it right beyond your ear. “Miguel O’Hara.” His gaze flickered from your name tag and the flower he placed upon your curls, a satisfied quirk of his lips dashing his features. He sounded your name out like a blessing, and the two of you shared a stare that almost knocked you down. 

As he left the floral shop, with the little chime of the door signalling his exit, Miguel had waved behind his back with his other hand keeping the bouquet close to his chest. It reminded you how the masked man occupying your thoughts gave you the same gesture in goodbye, and you couldn’t help but pry the red tulip he placed upon you with delicate hands. 

Bringing it to your nose, suddenly red tulips smelled a lot more honey-like.

The two of you found each other in this routine for weeks now. Neither of you could break, he’d walk into the floral shop and continuously order different kinds of bouquets– sets of flowers that practically screamed, “love me back, you’re all I think about, notice me my dear.” Pink roses hugged by Peruvian and Stargazer lilies, the next week would be more simple– a pair of red roses intertwined with fresh caspia.

His voice was distinct, over the many years you’ve operated this little floral shop hidden away, the only two times you’ve heard the little rambles of his and the light accent within his tone was of course from him, but you kept help but think you’ve heard him somewhere else too. It made you nervous thinking about it, was it truly stupid to think he may be Spiderman? Over just one simple interaction with the masked hero and all of a sudden a person with a similar voice and mannerisms begins parading around your store and buying the most mushy, cliche bundles of floral you’ve ever seen? At this point, Miguel has helped generate an amount of revenue you haven’t seen in months.

By the time his next visit came into fruition, you couldn’t help the question that has loomed over your consciousness for the last week.

“Do.. do you-” You stumbled over your words clumsily, picking at the new floral he’s offered this time. Red roses surrounded by pink, finished off with a row of calla lilies. A beautiful balance of red, pink, and white. “Miguel, what are you trying to say with these bouquets?” You breathed out heavily, the nervousness of speaking about something weighing on you to someone you’ve found yourself attached to crashed against your usual calm and teasing attitude. You were out of your element.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the sudden question, which he averted from your gaze almost immediately. 

Your mind was working a million miles a minute, and as you were trying to get the questions out as fast as possible you stumbled over your words like how you usually do, which in any other situation Miguel would cackle as you burn into the ground in a flustered mess.

“Are you into Spiderman?” You yelled into the empty floral shop, placing your hands down upon the counter in accusation with a thud. A moment of silence hung over the two, bouquet still in your grasp like it's glued to you.

“Am I- what-” Miguel’s jaw practically fell open, in which his fangs were finally on clear display to you. You only could point, stuttering in an embarrassed flurry of limbs as you tried your best to explain yourself. 

“That’s not–” You mumbled as his gaze only widened more, not believing the question he just heard. “I meant are you like–” The silence on Miguel’s end wasn’t making this situation any better. “Are you into me?” You blurted out again, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Like– are you sure you’re into me? Like I didn’t know you would like me like that because I know I express myself a bit differently but–”

Miguel cut yourself off with his hands grasping yours, the bouquet now shared between the two of you. “I-” He sighed, casting his gaze downwards before facing you with a look of determination. As you spent time with Miguel, you came to understand that he never was good at talking about himself. Everything clicked into place as he nodded slowly, not a hint of doubt in his silent confession.

“I thought you’d notice sooner or later,” He huffed, dragging his thumbs against the skin of both of your hands. “Since the moment I saw you with an ungrateful gatito crowding my arms, I can’t lie that you piqued an interest I didn’t know I could feel.” Miguel sighed, leaning forward to lean against the counter opposite of you. “Who you are, how you express yourself– that's why I became so drawn to you, cariño.”

Now your jaw was the one to drop, before dropping your head to the counter the two of you shared in exasperation. “Oh my god! I knew it, I literally knew it. But I didn’t want to seem like some crazy person, you know? But I was right, what the fuck.” He couldn’t but laugh, which earned a warmth spread throughout your chest. Miguel only let out a chuckle and it had your insides twisting as if you were on a rollercoaster.

“You are too much, mi sol.”

“I wasn’t the one buying flowers to subtly tell someone I have a massive crush on them!”

Miguel frowned for only a moment, before leaning in just a bit closer. “Since I put in so much work to flaunt my love for you, do I earn a kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, before practically melting into his touch upon your jaw. Miguel met your lips and it almost felt like rain after a long drought. You didn’t know you wanted to kiss him so badly until his mouth was already on yours, his other hand trailing up the sleeves of your shirt and pulling your floral apron closer to him. 

When the two of you separated after becoming putty in one another’s grasp, Miguel mumbled right upon your lips, breath fanning the blush you felt;

“May I please visit you still, mi corazón? I wouldn’t know what to do without coming here, swallowed by your scent and surrounded by what you love the most.”

You only laughed, nodding against his hand upon your cheek. It soon became a nuzzle, relaxing against his touch like the cat he saved when you first met him. 

“Don’t start asking stupid questions, you know you’re more than welcome to come find me wherever I may end up at.” Miguel smiled, full of teeth and unapologetically showing his fangs.

The two of you intertwined like bonded stems, peppering kisses on one another until the door chimed once again.

[melancholicstation]

JFK JR. ARRANGED MARRIAGE TROPE HEADCANONS.

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7@ultr4v1ol3nt@violetharmonsfavgf@strip-weather-forecast@darcyspirits@fortheloveofjos@h-l-v-kennedy-blog@h-l-vlovesvintage@bluelancergirl@snowsgames@salvatoresablondie@dulcegal@kennedyism@bloxholden35@kimcrystal123@absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld@remotewatch@starsprangledgirl@strryhaze @beloved-angel

you're most probably some heiress of a discrete yet hallowed american fashion house who knew the kennedy's through familial connections

i singularly picture the brand label 'carven' (only because I've seen their latest collection at a mall and fell unendingly in love with a chemise) but act accordingly to your own whims and/or imagination

perhaps your father went to choate during the same schooling period as jack did, or maybe your mother hit it off with jacqueline during her college years at vassar bonding over a shared adoration of all things equestrian

and that's pretty much how all the plotting would start between your parents and his parents

at first it would be on a strictly parasitic basic, mutually-beneficial to the nth degree serving both you and john handsomely.

for him it helped lessen the media constant critique and unbridled fury at his unending streak as a 'bachelor of new york high society'

in short it pleased both his family who upheld image at the cost of wellbeing or truth, and the public at large.

for you it aided in quietly the pleas of your parents to get married or settle down in some retrospect.

they were being ridiculous and unabashedly old-fashioned, i mean you were twenty-six not dead!

you two begin going out on dates, to ease the media publications into the idea of the two of you as to not absolutely blindside them with news of engagement that had already been secretly planned before you two were even spotted in public together for the first time.

for a while it was entirely transactional, quite literally as the only time you two would interact is to be seen on the way to a nouveau-riche member's only bar in which the drinks are egregiously named but they seem to redeem themselves with complimentary beluga caviar

but you'd be surprised how much a person, or more so how John could endear himself to you in the such brief moments you two were in each other's company

despite this it wasn't all smooth sailings for the both of you, i would expect many insecure lashings-out from you and john wondering if because of the origins of your guys' relationship if the two of you were doomed from the start

but because john's a lover man (derogatorily) he's always the one to apologise first

after all you were raised in the classic old money norms, meaning you weren't ever taught how to correctly sincerely apologise for anything in your whole life ever.

you two are pretty nonchalant went it comes to wedding planning, but both sets of parents had been running around like mad men in preparation ever since a save-the-date had been sent out to the who's who of american society

for the wedding atmosphere think: sea inspired delicacies for the reception sustenance such as this or this, d. porthault for the place settings in this specific pattern and for the wedding registry, vows written on old paper and tied with ribbon, a boutique hotel for the honeymoon night far away from the prying eyes of the in laws, beer on tap served in this gag-gift set of beer mugs you'd received during your first year spending the holiday festivities with the kennedy family

how i (doesn't mean you have to. like at all) picture the wedding dress (now you may see this dress as ugly, to that i say it is an old-money heiress. show me an old-money heiress with subtle taste and i'll show you someone who's lying!)

reception would be somewhere nautical maybe on a dock perhaps.

perhaps the venue in which jack antonoff and margaret qualley got married as it was so darling in the pictures released.

okay. goodbye, that's all my thoughts for now. love you 🍛

[yesimwriting]

The diversity of louis is sometimes giving protective big bro and sometimes he’s a bestie. I feel he out of all people know how cruel the world can be, especially to women - ya know considering he’s able to hear the thoughts of people he and bestie reader encounter in their way. (Unrelated but know bestie reader is a stunner, I feel it in my bones ;))

I also figured out why I enjoy your writing so much: it’s the casual displays of affection & physical contact between a man and woman without making/forcing it to be romantic or sexual, like at all. It’s so refreshing to see.

Everything nowadays has underlying themes of attraction/sexuality and this is pure fluff. I love it.

i haven't been able to stop thinking about this ask since i got it.

first and foremost, thank you so much for sharing what you enjoy about my writing! part of the reason fanfic writing is fun for me is bc it's a way of looking at characters i already love and thinking about what they'd be like in a day-to-day way outside of crucial plot points.

i've also always felt more naturally inclined to settling the reader into the world of a story bc of how much i love world building, and i think friendships are a part of that. thank you for reading and enjoying :)).

omg, also unrelated but it's so cute that you consider bestie reader a stunner bc i almost made her a model/fashion girly lol.

i really love what you're saying about louis and bestie reader's dynamic. it's really important for me that it's clear that while they are so close they feel like family, there's nothing parental about their dynamic.

louis does not see bestie reader as his daughter/child, and reader does not see louis as a father/parental figure. however, his previous experiences as a father impact his relationship with her in ways he doesn't understand.

the way i see louis, he has a lot of subconscious trauma that aggravates the regret/doubt he's actively aware of. louis does not regret claudia, but i do believe he does regret not being there for her in certain ways and not protecting her. and while he doesn't see reader as claudia, being so close to a young woman that hasn't had to endure claudia's hurt, it's hard not to see what claudia could have been if he had been there for her more...or if she had never become a vampire at all.

he also feels guilty about getting to live so contently after everything that happened. if louis can 'protect' reader and prove that he's learned, then it's less wrong of him to be happy with reader bc he's doing something good.

this is why he acts like more of a 'big brother' sometimes. bestie reader and louis will be chilling and then reader will mention wanting to go to some out of control party or meeting up with an older art collector by herself and louis suddenly remembers every evil thought he's ever heard a man have...and he just can't let it go.

i see this as being maybe one of the only real points of contention in their relationship. i picture bestie reader as being in her early-to-mid 20's, and while she's definitely an adult, that label means so little to louis. he's nearly 200 yrs old and he can hear men's thoughts when he goes out with reader. he's not wrong to think that he has a greater understanding of the world than reader, or to be worried about her.

however, on reader's side of things, louis being protective is a sore subject. part of it is a freedom thing, but it's mainly bc she doesn't want to think about what she's not. she's not a vampire, she can't say she's roamed the earth for centuries, and sometimes she thinks that makes her too 'limited' for louis. the one time they got into an actual fight, it was because louis tried to imply that he wouldn't let her do something. louis was so villainously annoyed and insufferable during this time armand and daniel were struggling as much as them 😭

also, while louis does look out for bestie reader bc he wants her to be safe/happy, he's also protective bc he's already getting a limited amount of time with her. if something were to happen to her, he'd have the crash out to end all crash outs.

also, kind of a side note, but god forbid a guy makes the mental decision to act on thoughts of doing something to reader. louis is taking care of it :).

reader lowkey doesn't remember what it's like to have to worry about her safety, which is only good if she's going out with louis, which again, aggravates louis's overprotectiveness. it's a vicious cycle.

[russellsppttemplates]

Hii🫶🏻 So for the blurb night I was thinking about a wedding planning with Lance. He wants to take part in everything even if it means staying up late after a race night just to decide the flowers and cakes and sets absolutely no budget as he wants the teader to have absolutely the best day🥺 like imagine going to cake tasting eith them and choosing the menu. Uhh, to be a wag😩

"Please, Lance. We have to pick a cake! We have already been to so many bakeries and we are running out of time and offers - not to mention the money I'm sure this is costing despite you telling me it doesn't matter", you sighed.

"I just want to make sure you have the best day ever and you have all you've dreamed of", Lance said as he sat at the table with you after he alerted the bakeshop owner you had arrived for the tasting.

"Lance, I love you, and you know I'm not lying when I say this - my dream is spending the rest of my life with you, and yes, I want us to have our perfect day and for that we need to make decisions!", you hissed slightly.

"I have a feeling you'll like these a lot", Lance winked as the owner started bringing out the different cakes, explaining what was in each one of them before letting you take a bite.

"Vanilla is always a safe option, I feel like that's something everyone likes", you reasoned as you tasted the sponge, "but red velvet has been my favourite", you tapped the plate.

"Did you like this", he checked the label, "fresh lemon one? I think it tastes nice and with the wine and champagne we picked out it would be a nice contrast", Lance offered.

"I did - I'm torn between these two", you pouted.

"Is there something I can help you with?", the older man said as he approached the table, noticing you were already discussing options.

"Actually, yes - would you be able to make a cake with two flavours? We really like these two and perhaps there's a way to make it happen", your soon to be husband said.

"Yes, we can do different layers, but that would have a different price point than the ones we discussed earlier, let me just get the price table for you", he said.

"No need for that - we've settled on it then", Lance stated.

The owner went back to the counter to gather the forms so you could make the order while Lance took another bite of the cake, "before you go at me, it's what we both wanted and now we'll have a great cake - that's all I care about", Lance smiled, knowing the thoughts going on your mind.

"You're lucky you're charming like that", you teased, kicking his chin playfully and smiling at him.

.

"I'm home, I'm home!", Lance said as he walked through the door, leaving his backpack on the floor along with his shoes before he met you in the dining room table, "hey love", he kissed the top of your head and sat down after he greeted your mother, his mother and his sister.

"You didn't have to rush home like that - wasn't there traffic?", you wondered.

"I took a short cut - I didn't want to you to this alone", Lance said as he looked at the different arrangements.

"Hey, little brother, Hi! You've greeted me so I'm sure you noticed your fiancée wasn't alone", Chloe lightly swatted the nape of his neck as everyone laughed.

"So these are the ones we decided on after the Monaco GP", you pointed to the five options you and Lance picked out in your hotel bed over some room service after the race, "and they also sent those two - I think they're new and they thought we should consider them".

"I really like the idea of the dry flowers for your bouquet and the bracelet things for the girls and for the guys to have one in the pocket as well", Lance noted as he looked at the arrangements up close.

"It's called a corsage and a boutonniere", Chloe teased.

"As I was saying", he sent her a side eye, "maybe we could match them to the tables so it doesn't look to different", he checked, "what was your idea?".

"I like your idea, Lance, perhaps this one here?", you mother held the arrangement she recalled would be the most similar to the dried flowers you had already picked out. Lance had been on FaceTime for that meeting since the team needed him for Testing, so he knew some details but not all of them.

"Yes, I think so, maybe with those because they also have the purple and brick red tones", you agreed.

"I also like the idea of having some of the little flowers on my suit if that's okay", Lance mused as he picked a few of the loose ones on the table, fiddling with an elastic as he made a quick accessory for him, "does this boutonniere look nice?", he pointed it at his sister as he made fun of the word.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)