#that feeling of chasing something and you’re not really sure what but it’s exhilarating and frantic and a labor of love???

[jeanmoroses]

if the raven cycle is one song it’s the view between villages (extended version) by noah kahan in this essay i will

[missarchive]

Pls I’m such a sucker for virgin Spence… could you write one where they’ve been dating for a while but haven’t actually fucked and they’re like making out on the couch and reader can’t help but tease him (basically a lot of foreplay and a ma’am kink?)

when will it be my turn with him

cw; +18 minors dni, sub!spencer, whiny spencer, praise, use of "ma'am", handjob, fade to black smut

The soft hum of the TV in the background was the only sound breaking the comfortable silence in the room. Spencer sat beside you on the couch, his body leaning toward yours with a mix of excitement and apprehension. You both knew what had been building between you for weeks—months, really—and tonight felt different. The air between you crackled with anticipation, the tension palpable as your eyes met, searching each other’s faces for signs of what might come next.

His lips brushed against yours in a gentle kiss, barely a whisper of contact at first. You could feel the hesitance in his movements—his hands, uncharacteristically stiff, rested on the couch beside him, unsure of where to place them. You could tell he wanted more, needed more, but Spencer was always careful, always calculating, even when it came to matters of intimacy.

You shifted closer, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. He sighed into your mouth, finally relaxing into the connection, his lips parting just slightly. You took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tracing the outline of his lips with your tongue, testing his response. He moaned softly, his hands instinctively sliding up your side to rest on your waist.

“God, Spencer,” you murmured against his lips, the words barely a breath. "You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting this." Your voice was low, sultry, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, studying the way his pupils dilated and his breath hitched. The flush of pink across his cheeks only made you want to tease him more.

“I—I want this too,” he stammered, his voice shaking just slightly. It made your stomach tighten with desire. Spencer, so brilliant and in control in so many ways, but completely out of his element with you like this. It was a contrast you both enjoyed, a space where you could push him to his limits and beyond, testing his boundaries in a way that felt as exhilarating as it was intimate.

You couldn’t resist teasing him. Slowly, you trailed your fingers down his arm, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. Your hand landed on his thigh, fingers curling just enough to make him flinch, the heat of his body already seeping through the fabric of his jeans. "You’re so nervous," you purred, your voice deliberately soft, a challenge. "Are you afraid, Spencer?"

He swallowed, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "No… just… I’m not sure what you want from me," he confessed, his voice quieter now, his breathing shallow.

You smirked, leaning in to kiss him again, but this time you teased him—pulling away just before he could fully respond, making him chase after you, his lips pressing against the empty space where yours had been. "That’s part of it," you whispered, your voice silky and dark. “You don’t need to know what I want yet, Spencer. Not until you’ve earned it.”

His hands twitched at his sides, the tension in him almost unbearable as he tried to figure out what to do. It was a mixture of desire and hesitation, a dance you knew well.

You leaned back against the couch, your fingers tracing circles on his chest. "But you know what I do want, don’t you?" you continued, your voice dropping lower, becoming more commanding. “I want you to listen to me. I want you to let go. Trust me. Let me show you what it means to be with me.”

Spencer nodded, though the uncertainty remained in his eyes. "I do trust you," he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice making something inside you tighten with an unfamiliar urgency.

You smiled, your hand sliding to his jaw, tilting his head just slightly so you could kiss him again. This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate, and you took your time with him. You could feel the way his body reacted to each subtle shift—his chest rising and falling faster, his hands finally moving, tentatively, to your hips, as though testing the waters. His fingers brushed lightly over your skin, hesitant but undeniably curious.

“You like that?” you asked, your breath hot against his mouth. “Do you like it when I’m in control?”

He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes… ma’am," he said, his voice faltering slightly as if the word was new on his tongue, unfamiliar and powerful.

Your breath caught at the sound of it—his hesitation made it all the sweeter. There was something about the way he said it, the way he allowed himself to be vulnerable, that made your pulse race.

You chuckled softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, down to his throat. “That’s right,” you murmured. “Just like that. I like it when you call me ma’am. Makes me feel… powerful. Do you like that, Spencer?”

His eyes flickered with something darker, something you were only just beginning to uncover in him. "I do," he whispered, his voice growing more confident, though his hands still remained tentative on your body.

You could feel the tension rising between you, the way his breath hitched as your hand slid down, teasing the waistband of his jeans. You didn’t touch him anywhere more intimate—not yet—but you could tell he was struggling with the overwhelming desire to take things further. And you loved it. Loved making him wait.

"Patience is a virtue," you murmured, a teasing smile on your lips as you gently pulled away, leaving him breathless and wanting more. “I’m going to make you work for it.”

Spencer groaned softly, the sound a mix of frustration and longing. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice raw, desperate. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Your smile widened, knowing exactly where this would go. "Good boy," you whispered, your fingers tracing a slow line along his jaw once more, "just relax and let me take care of everything." You could feel his body tense at your words, but he was trusting, and that was what you loved about him. He’d trust you to take care of him, to bring him pleasure, even as he learned what it meant to submit to you.

You stood, holding out your hand to help him up from the couch. Spencer hesitated a moment before taking your hand, letting you lead him across the room to the bedroom. The soft glow of the lamp beside the bed was the only light, illuminating the darkening room just enough that you could see the nervousness in his eyes, the anticipation of not knowing what would come next.

You stopped just at the edge of the bed, pulling his body flush with yours. “Take off your shirt,” you murmured, your mouth brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his body. His hands moved quickly, the fabric disappearing over his head in a matter of seconds. He stood before you, bare chested and nervous, waiting for whatever came next.

Your hands slid to his shoulders, gently pushing him down on the bed, so that he sat perched on the edge. “And your shoes," you added, your smile teasing, taunting. Spencer complied without hesitation, his movements almost jerky in their haste. His jeans were still tight around his hips, but you didn’t comment on them yet.

You climbed onto the bed behind him, straddling his thighs so you could lean over and kiss the back of his neck. His entire body shuddered at the contact, his breathing quickening with every second. You could feel how tense he was, how eager, and you loved it.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your hands moving to his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there. “So tense. Are you worried?” you teased, your fingers sliding along his neck to cup his jaw, tilting him just enough that you could press a kiss to his cheek.

He nodded slowly, though it was clear he didn’t want to admit to it. “I just… don’t know what to do,” he confessed, his voice still hesitant. "I want to please you but I don’t know how."

You smiled against his neck, your fingers still massaging his shoulders in slow circles. “I promise, Spencer,” you whispered. “This time, you’ll do just fine. And I’ll show you what to do next time.” You felt him shiver beneath you at that, as though the promise alone was enough to send him over the edge.

Your hand slipped down his chest, pausing for a moment on the curve of his abs, feeling him tremble beneath your fingertips. Slowly, you continued your exploration, feeling for the hardness hidden behind the fabric of his jeans, the first hint of his arousal.

Spencer gasped at the contact, the sound soft and needy. “God, y/n,” he breathed, his body arching into your touch.

Your fingers teased the button of his jeans, lingering at the zipper, and the sound of denim sliding down his thighs was the only warning he received before you pushed his pants down, baring him to the cool air of the room. His underwear followed quickly, leaving him completely exposed in a way that made him shudder with nervousness.

He sat there, leaning back against your body, his chest still bare, and now his lower half exposed to you. He was hard, his cock flushed pink as it rested against his thigh. You couldn’t resist running your hand over him, feeling the softness of his skin against your palm.

Spencer moaned into your kiss as you traced your hand up and down his length, stroking him in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. Your other hand found its way to his chest, teasing at his nipple, pinching lightly, eliciting another needy sound from his throat.

You kissed along his shoulder, down to the curve of his neck, as your hand continued to stroke him, slowly building up his arousal. Spencer was so responsive, his body shuddering in your embrace as he struggled to hold back, to keep from giving in to the pleasure you offered.

You loved seeing him like this, so out of control, so completely at your mercy. His breaths came in short gasps against your lips, his skin flushed with excitement, and you could feel the moment his body gave way, as he began to tremble with the force of his own pleasure.

“Can I…” Spencer gasped, his words breaking off in a soft moan as your hand stroked him harder, faster now. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice low, pleading. “I need to touch you, please.”

The way he asked permission sent a thrill through your stomach. “Anything you want,” you whispered back, your lips pressing against his ear. “You can touch me, Spencer, I want that. Anything you want, just tell me.”

His body trembled again as he reached out, his hands finding your waist, his fingers splaying over your stomach. He pressed kisses to your jaw, his teeth sinking into your skin just slightly as he struggled to keep his movements in check.

Your hand still stroked his cock in a steady rhythm, building up the pressure with each movement. He felt so good in your hand—warm, so hot—and you could feel him begin to tense, his body trembling on the edge, so close to giving in.

"Please," he breathed, the word soft and broken. "Ma’am, please, I need…"

His words trailed off, and you knew exactly what he wanted. “Not yet,” you whispered, your lips moving to his ear once more. “I want to hear you beg for it. Say it for me, Spencer. You’re so close, baby, but I need you to say it.”

You could feel him tremble at the command, his breaths coming in quick gasps as your hand worked him over. It didn’t take long before he gave in to your request.

“Please,” he whispered again, the word shaky, desperate. “Please, ma’am, I—please can I cum? Please let me cum. Please, just—please. I’ll do anything, please.”

You laughed softly against his neck, the sound dark and triumphant. “That’s all I needed,” you whispered, leaning over to kiss his jaw, your hand moving faster now. Spencer cried out against your skin, his body bucking in your arms as he came, the sound of your name on his lips a broken sob of release.

He leaned into you as he came down from his orgasm, his body limp and exhausted, his breathing still uneven. His head fell back to rest on your shoulder, and you held him there, cradling him in your arms, soothing him with soft touches on his skin.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured against your neck, the words soft and sweet. “Thank you.” It was enough to make your heart skip a beat, the sentiment so honest, so real, that it left you breathless.

You held him like that for a while, letting him rest against you. And then, when you could feel his body relax, his muscles loosen just slightly, you pulled back, a smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him again.

“My good boy,” you whispered against his lips. “Did so well for me, angel.”

And then you kissed him again, slow and deliberate, his eyes fluttering closed, sighing softly into your mouth, the sound already full of surrender, the knowledge that he was yours, completely at your mercy.

You smiled again, feeling that familiar dark thrill in your stomach, knowing exactly where things would go from here. You’d waited long enough; it was time to show Spencer what it meant to be yours. He’d give you everything, and you’d give him every pleasure he desired.

[jaeyunluvbot]

this love

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 exes to lovers, joshua x reader, also partially mingyu x reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 10.1k

part one

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua stepped off the plane, the cool air of New York sweeping over him as he entered the terminal. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the bustling energy of this city felt like it was pressing in on him, in a way that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here, but this time felt different. There was a strange weight to the air as though the city itself was carrying something he wasn’t prepared for.

The hum of conversation, the footsteps of hurried travelers, the flashing billboards just outside the windows—it all felt so vibrant, so full of life. And yet, beneath the excitement and the rush, there was a quietness to his heart, a tug in the back of his mind.

This city reminded him of you.

He shifted the strap of his suitcase, moving through the crowd. Bright lights, hurried people, and the constant motion—the life of New York was contagious. But it wasn’t just the city’s pulse that caught him off guard. It was the way everything about it seemed to echo the parts of you he had loved so much.

You had always been like the city to him—full of energy, always moving, always chasing the next thing. Your smile, the way you carried yourself in a room, the way you could command attention without even trying. That’s what you had been to him, a force of nature that made everything feel brighter.

And now, just stepping into this city, he could almost hear your laugh again, see the way you’d look at him with that mischievous smile, eyes lighting up like you were always in on some secret. He could almost feel your presence in the air around him, but it was a presence that hurt now, a sharp reminder of what they had lost.

Joshua let out a slow breath, trying to ground himself. “You’re not here for her, Joshua. Don’t go looking for her.”

It was pointless, he knew. You had your life, and he had his. There was no going back, not after everything. You were in New York now, though, living in the same city he was. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to dwell on the possibility that they might cross paths again. The city was huge, the chances of seeing you again were slim to none.

Still, it seemed like fate had a way of pulling the two of you back together, no matter how far apart you’d tried to stay.

He pushed through the terminal, his thoughts spinning as he made his way to the taxi stand. The whole business trip had been planned months ago, and it had seemed so clear-cut then—a professional trip to oversee the opening of a new office, a straightforward task. But now, with New York sprawling before him, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the past bearing down on him.

He stepped into the cab, the engine rumbling to life, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the city. New York had always been a dream of yours, hadn’t it? The energy, the endless opportunities. And even though their paths had diverged, it was impossible to forget that part of hyourer dream was still alive in this city.

But the cab was moving now, the streets of New York unfolding before him, and with each turn, each new block, Joshua felt something tug at his chest. A sense of familiarity, a longing he couldn’t fully explain. The city might be full of strangers, full of business and distractions, but he couldn’t help but wonder: could it ever really feel like home again?

He let out a long sigh and glanced out the window, forcing himself to focus on the purpose of the trip. But the more he tried to push the thoughts of you away, the more they seemed to take hold.

And this time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what might come next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had spent the last few days wandering the streets of New York, letting the city become his guide. He walked for hours, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with a purpose, just to get a feel for the pulse of this place. He’d taken a few cabs, gotten lost a couple of times, and explored neighborhoods where the air smelled different from what he was used to. It was all part of the process of settling in, of finding his way in a city that, despite being filled with people, felt strangely isolating.

He hadn’t gone near your neighborhood, not yet. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Too many memories tied to that area, too many things that still felt fresh and raw. And he assumed you still lived with your parents, living your life, doing what you always had. There was no reason to go looking for a ghost of the past when he had his own life to rebuild.

But even as he tried to avoid the places that had once been familiar, he couldn’t help but feel that pull. It was New York, after all. A city of millions, yet somehow, it always seemed to bring people together, whether they were ready for it or not.

It was on a lazy afternoon when he wandered into a department store, aimlessly browsing through a few racks of clothes, that he saw you.

He didn’t notice you at first—just a flash of movement in the aisle. Then, his eyes caught sight of the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head back as you chatted with your friends. That laugh. It was unmistakable, like a sound from another life that had been buried deep in his memory. But it was real. It was here, right in front of him.

Joshua froze.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to blur. The lights, the busy customers, the gentle hum of conversation—it all faded as he focused on you.

You looked so different. Yet so much the same. Your hair, now a bit longer than it used to be, caught the light as you moved through the store. Your smile was still bright, infectious, that same twinkle in your eye he used to adore. But there was something else—something he couldn’t quite place. You were glowing, like you had grown into yourself in a way he never imagined.

Time had done something to you, something he hadn’t expected. You were still the girl he once knew, but you’d grown, matured in a way that took him by surprise. You had become someone else, someone so much more than he remembered. It was as if the city had worked its magic on you too—turning you into something even more radiant than before.

His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t know whether to move closer or to turn and leave. But before he could make up his mind, you laughed again, your voice cutting through the air, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.

God, how long has it been?

Two years.

He hadn’t expected to feel this way—hadn’t expected to feel like the time between them had been nothing but a blink. But here you were, standing in front of him, and for a moment, he wondered if the world around him had shifted in a way he couldn’t understand.

You still hadn’t noticed him. You were too busy with your friends, your back to him as you flipped through some clothes on a nearby rack.

Joshua’s gaze lingered on you for just a little too long, and then, as if his body was on autopilot, he took a step backward, moving quietly toward an aisle to the side. He wasn’t sure if you’d even seen him, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, not after everything that had happened.

As he walked away, his mind raced. You were still here, living your life in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. You had moved on, just as he’d tried to. But seeing you now, in the light of the city, so full of life—it made everything feel as if it hadn’t changed.The city, the memories—it was all there, wrapped up in the image of you standing in that store, looking so different and yet still so you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The first few months in New York had been tough. Moving back in with your parents at twenty-six hadn’t exactly been the picture of independence you'd envisioned for yourself. After leaving California—leaving him—you’d felt like a shell of yourself. Work had been the only thing keeping you afloat, a routine you clung to like a lifeline. Wake up. Go to the office. Come home. Repeat.

But even the most rigid routines couldn’t keep the ache at bay. The nights were the hardest—quiet and heavy, full of thoughts you’d tried so desperately to avoid. You’d wonder where he was, what he was doing, if he ever thought about you. Those first few weeks, it felt like every corner of your mind was occupied by him, by the love you had lost, by the life you’d imagined that had unraveled in an instant.

Then, your friends had found out you were back. Friends who had known you since you were young, who remembered the girl you were before Joshua, before California. They refused to let you wallow.

They dragged you out of your parents’ house, insisted you join them for brunches, walks in the park, late-night karaoke sessions that left you laughing so hard your sides hurt. Slowly, they helped you piece yourself back together.

You started to remember who you were.

Now, two years later, you hardly recognized the girl who’d come back to New York feeling broken and lost. Your job as a PR agent was amazing, the kind of position you’d dreamed of when you first started college. The cushy salary afforded you a beautiful one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, decorated with warm, neutral tones and little pops of color that reflected your personality.

You’d finally found stability. Confidence.

You’d grown up in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You understood now that Joshua hadn’t left because you weren’t enough or because you’d done something wrong. He simply hadn’t been ready. And that was okay.

That realization had been a turning point for you. Letting go of the bitterness, the insecurity—it had freed you to focus on what really mattered: taking care of yourself.

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, though. There were still moments—quiet, fleeting—when something would remind you of him. A song you’d danced to together. The scent of his cologne on someone walking by. A fleeting image in your mind of his warm smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name.

But now, those memories didn’t hurt quite as much. They were a part of you, yes, but they no longer defined you.

Standing in your apartment one evening, you looked out at the city lights, the skyline glimmering like a promise in the distance. This city had seen you at your worst, but it had also witnessed your transformation.

You were happy here.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Vernon had been the first friend to find out you had moved back to the city. Your parents, worried about you, had called him after you’d locked yourself in your room for an entire weekend.

“I heard you were back,” he’d said casually, as though two years of silence between you hadn’t passed. “We’re getting bagels tomorrow. No excuses.”

You’d tried to decline, mumbling something about needing to rest or having work, but Vernon had simply said, “Eight a.m. Don’t be late,” and hung up.

That was Vernon for you—low-key, no-nonsense, and always there when you needed him, even if you didn’t realize it yourself.

That breakfast had turned into weekly meet-ups, then spontaneous hangouts, and eventually, him reintroducing you to the rest of your childhood friends. He never pushed, never asked you about Joshua unless you brought it up first. Instead, he let you heal at your own pace, offering the kind of quiet, steady support that only Vernon could.

“Look at you,” he said now, leaning back in his chair as you both sat at a small café near your apartment. “Living your best life. I’m so proud.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I wouldn’t say I’m living my best life.”

“You’ve got a great job, your own place, and you’re killing it out here. Don’t undersell yourself,” he said, raising his iced coffee in a mock toast. “To the comeback queen.”

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. Vernon had a way of making everything feel lighter, easier. He’d been your rock when you didn’t even know you needed one, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

“You know,” he said after a pause, a teasing glint in his eye, “you might actually be ready to start dating again. Or is the thought of Tinder still too terrifying?”

You groaned, throwing a sugar packet at him. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, dodging the packet with a grin. “The Y/N I see now? She’s ready for whatever’s next.”

His words lingered with you long after you parted ways.

Whatever’s next.

You hadn’t let yourself think about that much—not about love, at least. You’d been so focused on getting your footing, on becoming the version of yourself you were proud of. But now, as you walked back to your apartment under the glow of the city lights, you wondered.

Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe you were ready.

You just didn’t know that "next" was closer than you thought.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Vernon had been annoyingly smug when you finally agreed to go on a blind date with one of his friends he’d been raving about ever since you got bacl.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, earning an exasperated eye roll from you.

Now, sitting across from Mingyu in the softly lit restaurant, you begrudgingly admitted Vernon might have been right.

Mingyu was handsome in that effortless way that made you feel a little self-conscious but also oddly flattered. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a crisp button-down, he radiated confidence without crossing into arrogance. And his smile—warm, easy, and ever-present—had you forgetting about the nerves that had crept in when you first arrived.

“So,” Mingyu said, leaning forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. “Be honest. Did Vernon have to bribe you to agree to this?”

You laughed, swirling the wine in your glass. “No bribe, but I did consider faking a work emergency.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Fair enough. I almost bailed too. Blind dates are…a gamble.”

“A gamble?” you teased. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent dinner companion.”

“Clearly,” he said with a playful grin. “But I think I’ve won the jackpot tonight.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth creep up your neck. It wasn’t just his words—it was the way he said them, with an ease and sincerity that made you believe him.

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Mingyu had an endless supply of stories from his time as a chef, from disastrous kitchen mishaps to the joy of creating dishes that made people happy. He was funny, intelligent, and attentive in a way that felt refreshing.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past. You weren’t analyzing every little thing, wondering what might go wrong. You were just here, sharing a meal with someone who made you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

As the waiter cleared the plates, Mingyu leaned back in his chair, studying you with a curious expression.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know what I was expecting when Vernon said he had the perfect person for me, but I think I underestimated him.”

“Oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “What did he say about me?”

He smirked, taking a sip of his wine. “That you were smart, driven, and a little intimidating—but also one of the kindest people he knows. I think he was underselling you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, but you pushed it down, keeping your tone light. “Vernon does tend to exaggerate.”

“Not this time,” Mingyu said softly, his gaze steady on yours.

And just like that, you realized something. You weren’t thinking about Joshua. Not his laugh, not his smile, not the way he used to make you feel.

You were here, in this moment, and for the first time in years, you let yourself believe that you deserved this.

Deserved to be happy.

Deserved to move on.

As Mingyu flagged down the waiter for the check, you found yourself smiling, a quiet contentment settling over you. Maybe Vernon was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

And yet, although you'd let the past go, part of you wondered if the past would ever let you go.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua had barely touched his food.

The dinner meeting was productive—great, even. The new branch’s partners seemed reliable, their strategies aligning seamlessly with his company’s vision. It should’ve been a win, but his focus kept slipping.

Maybe it was the restaurant. Too nice, too cozy, too intimate for a business dinner. Or maybe it was New York itself, refusing to let him breathe without conjuring up memories of you.

He sighed, pulling his attention back to the table as the others laughed over a shared joke. He forced a polite smile, nodding along when necessary. When their meal wrapped up, he rose from his seat, buttoning his blazer.

That’s when he saw you.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him again, the same way it had been since he arrived in the city. But no, it was you—standing just a few feet away, radiant in a sleek dress, your laugh lighting up the space around you.

And then his gaze shifted to the man beside you.

Tall, broad, effortlessly charming, the stranger was leaning in close, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand briefly resting on his arm. Joshua felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

“Joshua? You coming?” one of his colleagues asked, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said quickly, his voice tight.

He watched as you and the man—your date, he realized with a pang—moved toward the door. He hadn’t intended to follow, but as fate would have it, both groups converged near the exit.

You froze mid-step when your eyes met his.

“Joshua?”

Your voice was calm, but he could see the flicker of surprise in your expression. The man beside you turned, curious but unbothered, as though meeting exes was just another Tuesday.

“Y/N,” Joshua managed, his tone polite but strained. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same here,” you said, your voice steady. You glanced at Mingyu and gestured toward Joshua. “This is Joshua, an old friend from college.”

Joshua’s stomach twisted at the casualness of your introduction. Old friend? That’s all he was to you now?

“And this is Mingyu,” you continued, motioning to your date. “He’s…we’re—”

Mingyu, ever the gentleman, stepped in with an easy smile. “I’m her date,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Joshua shook Mingyu’s hand automatically, the words catching in his throat. Date. Of course. It wasn’t like he had any right to be surprised—you had every reason to move on. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Nice to meet you,” Joshua finally said, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the city.”

“Oh, I am,” Mingyu said, glancing at you with a grin. “But I think Y/N’s making it better. She’s been showing me around a bit.”

Joshua’s chest tightened, the casual intimacy between you and Mingyu cutting deeper than he expected. He looked back at you, searching for something—hesitation, discomfort, anything that would tell him you weren’t as unaffected as you seemed.

But you stood there, poised and calm, as though seeing him was nothing more than a passing encounter.

“Well,” you said, your voice light, “we should get going. It was good to see you, Joshua.”

Before he could respond, you turned to leave, Mingyu’s hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you toward the door.

Joshua stood there, rooted to the spot, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background.

You looked happy.

That should’ve been enough for him. But as he watched you walk away, laughter floating back toward him, he realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t.

It never would be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You refused to let Joshua’s sudden appearance rattle you.

The encounter at the restaurant had been startling, sure. Seeing him again after two years—looking as polished and composed as ever—had stirred up something you weren’t ready to name. But you had worked too hard to get to this point, to rebuild your life into something you were proud of.

So, as you slid into the cab with Mingyu, laughing at his exaggerated complaint about how hard it was to hail one in the city, you made a silent promise to yourself: Joshua Hong would not take up space in your mind tonight.

Or ever, if you could help it.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu said, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at you. “What’s next? Dessert? A rooftop bar? Or are you secretly a karaoke queen?”

You laughed, grateful for his easy charm. “As tempting as it is to traumatize you with my singing, I vote dessert. There’s this amazing bakery a few blocks from here.”

“Lead the way,” he said, grinning.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and conversation. With Mingyu, everything felt effortless—like you could be fully yourself without fear of judgment or expectations. You liked that about him. He was warm and steady, the kind of person who made you feel safe in his presence.

And maybe that was why you found yourself saying yes when he asked if you wanted to meet up again later that week.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments that reminded you how much you had missed this—dating, being open to new experiences, letting yourself feel hopeful about the future. Mingyu wasn’t just a distraction; he was someone you genuinely enjoyed being around.

He took you to hole-in-the-wall restaurants that became instant favorites, spent Sunday mornings wandering through farmers' markets with you, and made you laugh until your stomach hurt with his terrible jokes.

Eventually, somewhere between late-night conversations and stolen kisses, you became his girlfriend.

And you were happy.

Joshua, meanwhile, became a ghost of your past—a name you rarely thought about, a memory that no longer haunted you. You assumed he had left the city not long after you’d seen him. After all, New York had never been his kind of place.

Whatever his reasons for being here, they didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because for the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The holidays were always a busy time for you, but this year, they felt especially chaotic. Between work deadlines, planning Thanksgiving dinner with your mom, and finding the perfect gifts for everyone, your calendar was packed.

You were standing in the kitchen, helping your mom prep a pie crust, when she broached the subject.

“So,” she said, her tone casual but laced with intent, “I ran into Joshua the other day.”

Your hands froze mid-motion. “Oh?”

“Yes, at the market,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you. “We chatted for a bit. He looked well, but it turns out he doesn’t have any family in the city for the holidays.”

You had a sinking feeling about where this was going.

“I was thinking,” she went on, carefully avoiding your gaze, “it would be nice to invite him to Thanksgiving. I mean, it’s not right for anyone to be alone on the holidays.”

You placed the rolling pin down and turned to face her. “Mom...”

Of course, it’s up to you,” she added quickly. “We wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, you know how much we’ve always liked him. And it’s been years, hasn’t it?”

You sighed. She wasn’t wrong. It had been years, and you were pretty much over it—or at least you thought you were. Seeing Joshua at Thanksgiving wasn’t exactly on your holiday wish list, but you couldn’t deny that the idea of him spending the day alone tugged at your heart.

“Okay,” you said finally, though the word felt heavy in your chest. “He can come.”

Your mom beamed. “That’s my girl. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

But you weren’t entirely sure you believed her.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Later that evening, you sat across from Mingyu at your favorite café, stirring your coffee with a bit more force than necessary. You’d been mulling over how to bring it up all day, and now that you were here, the words felt tangled in your throat.

“What’s on your mind?” Mingyu asked, his gaze steady and warm.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, so... there’s something I need to tell you.”

He leaned forward, his expression curious but unconcerned. “Go on.”

“My family invited Joshua to Thanksgiving,” you said, watching his face carefully. “He doesn’t have family here, and they felt bad for him. I agreed because I don’t think anyone should be alone on the holidays, but... there’s something you should know about him.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded for you to continue.

“He’s not just an old friend from college,” you admitted. “He’s... my ex. We were engaged, actually.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with history and meaning.

Mingyu’s expression shifted, but not in the way you’d feared. There was no anger, no jealousy—just quiet understanding.

“Okay,” he said simply.

“Okay?” you echoed, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s all in the past, right? You’re with me now. I trust you.”

Relief flooded through you, but there was still a flicker of guilt in your chest. “I just didn’t want you to feel... threatened, or like I was keeping it from you.”

Mingyu reached across the table, covering your hand with his. “You’re telling me now, and that’s what matters. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving. Everyone deserves a little kindness.”

His words warmed something in you that had been cold and uncertain all day.

“Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

“Of course.” He grinned. “But if he tries to steal the last slice of pie, all bets are off.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in hours. Mingyu was right. It was all in the past.

But as the holiday approached, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this Thanksgiving was going to be... complicated.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The smell of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies filled the apartment as you smoothed the last wrinkle from the tablecloth. The dining table, though modest in size, had been extended and covered in a cheerful autumn-themed runner. Plates and glasses were set with precision, every detail curated to make the space feel warm and inviting.

Your mom bustled around the kitchen, peeking into the oven and adjusting timers. Mingyu, ever the professional, was by her side, chopping herbs with practiced ease. Despite being a guest, he had slipped into the role of sous chef the moment he walked through the door.

“You’ve been running around all day,” Mingyu said as you adjusted the throw pillows on the couch for the third time. He set down his knife and gave you a pointed look. “Go get ready, Y/N. We’ve got it from here.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He grinned, hands lightly pushing you toward your bedroom. “You’ve cleaned, cooked, and stressed over every detail. You deserve at least twenty minutes to make yourself look even more stunning than you already do.”

Your mom chimed in, nodding her approval. “He’s right, sweetheart. We’ll take care of everything out here.”

Reluctantly, you retreated to your room, shutting the door behind you. A soft pink sweater and your favorite jeans were laid out on the bed, simple but flattering. You took your time brushing out your hair and adding a touch of makeup. When you stepped back out, feeling refreshed and put together, Mingyu looked up from the stove.

His face lit up instantly. “Wow.”

Your mom glanced over her shoulder and gave an approving nod. “You look lovely, honey.”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you muttered a shy thank you. Mingyu walked over, brushing his hands on a kitchen towel before cupping your face for a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

Before you could respond, the doorbell buzzed. Guests were starting to arrive.

The apartment filled quickly with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of glasses. Your family filed in one by one, hugging you tightly and marveling at how wonderful everything looked. You moved between the kitchen and the living room, greeting each person warmly and ensuring everyone had what they needed.

You were setting down a tray of drinks when the doorbell rang again. Straightening your sweater, you opened the door to find Joshua standing there.

He looked a little nervous but composed, a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Hi,” he said with a soft smile.

“Hi, Joshua,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Come on in. It’s good to see you.”

He handed you the flowers, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “These are for you. I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You gestured toward the kitchen. “Put the wine on the counter. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Joshua nodded, his gaze sweeping the apartment. “This place is really nice.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, trying to keep the interaction light. “It’s cozy, but it works for me.”

As he moved toward the kitchen, you turned back to greet another family member, letting the warmth and bustle of the evening carry you along.

Dinner was a lively affair. Plates were passed around, stories were shared, and laughter filled the room. Mingyu, sitting beside you, charmed your family effortlessly, joking with your cousins and complimenting your mom’s recipes.

Joshua sat a few seats down, mostly quiet but polite. You caught him glancing at you occasionally, his expression unreadable. You made a conscious effort to focus on the conversation around you, refusing to let his presence unnerve you.

At one point, Mingyu leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You’re amazing, you know that? This is perfect.”

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Thank you for helping. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Across the table, Joshua watched the quiet exchange, his chest tightening at the ease between you and Mingyu. He tried to focus on his plate, on the stories your uncle was telling, but his mind kept drifting.

The night continued with dessert and coffee, the energy never waning. When it was time to clear the table, Mingyu and your mom insisted you sit and relax. You ended up on the couch with your cousins, reminiscing about childhood antics and laughing until your sides hurt.

Joshua stayed on the fringes of the gathering, helping your dad with the dishes and making polite conversation.

As guests began to leave, Joshua found himself lingering near the door, unsure if he should say goodbye now or wait. Mingyu was by your side, his arm casually draped over the back of the couch, and you looked completely at ease.

When you finally walked him to the door, he hesitated.

“Thank you for letting me come tonight,” he said, his voice low.

“Of course,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” he said, though the evening had been anything but relaxing for him.

For a moment, it felt like he wanted to say more, but instead, he nodded and stepped out into the night.

As you closed the door, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Mingyu appeared a moment later, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning into him. “I’m fine.”

And you were—mostly.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Joshua closed the door to his apartment, the sound of it clicking shut echoing in the quiet space. He dropped his keys onto the counter and set the bottle of leftover wine he’d brought onto the kitchen island. The place was spotless, minimalist to a fault, but instead of feeling inviting, it felt cold. Impersonal.

He exhaled deeply, tugging at the knot of his tie and shrugging off his blazer. For a long moment, he just stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, his thoughts swirling.

The evening replayed in his mind, each moment sharper and more painful than the last. You, laughing at Mingyu’s jokes, your head tilted back in a way that made you glow. Mingyu’s hand brushing your arm, the way he leaned in to whisper something that had you smiling, cheeks warm with affection.

Joshua hated how easy Mingyu had slipped into the role he used to play—the charming boyfriend who could make your family laugh and feel at ease. It had been his place once, his hand in yours under the table, your parents shooting him approving glances, your little cousins climbing into his lap without hesitation.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. He’d been the one who left, the one who’d walked away from you, convinced it was the right thing to do. He thought time and distance would dull the ache, make it easier to accept that you had every right to move on. But tonight had proved him wrong.

Dropping onto the couch, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn’t expected it to hurt like this. The sight of Mingyu fitting so seamlessly into your world felt like a punch to the gut.

He’d been in Mingyu’s position once. He’d cooked with your mom in the kitchen, teased you about being a perfectionist, earned your dad’s trust and your siblings’ affection. He thought back to the countless holidays he’d spent with you, surrounded by warmth and laughter.

But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was the outsider, standing on the periphery of a life he no longer had any claim to.

The apartment felt stifling now, the silence pressing down on him. He rose to his feet, pacing the living room. He glanced at the window, the city lights twinkling beyond the glass. This city was supposed to be a fresh start, a place to build something new. But it only reminded him of what he’d lost.

He grabbed a glass of water and sat back down, staring into the distance.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that you were happy with someone else—it was that you seemed at peace. There was no bitterness in the way you’d looked at him tonight, no lingering resentment. You were kind, warm, even friendly. You’d moved on, and it was clear you’d grown stronger because of it.

And him? He still felt like a man stuck in the past, haunted by what could have been.

Joshua leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. He knew he had no one to blame but himself.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s a quiet evening, one of those rare nights when both of them have the evening off. You and Mingyu are sitting together on the couch in your living room, the soft hum of the city life just outside the window. You’re curled up next to him, but there’s an unmistakable tension in your posture. You’re quieter than usual, your gaze drifting off, lost in thought.

He glances at you, noticing the subtle shift in your mood. He pauses the movie you were watching, turning to face you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Something on your mind?”

You don’t respond immediately, fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The weight of everything—your past with Joshua, your present with Mingyu, and everything in between—feels like it’s weighing down on your chest, carving a hole into you. It’s been a while since you had thought about Joshua, but the holidays had stirred up old feelings you thought you’d buried.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately... about everything.”

He shifts beside you, his expression gentle but serious. He knows something’s off.

“About us? Or... something else?”

“About him.”

His heart skips a beat, but his face doesn’t show it. He nods, giving you the space to say what’s on your mind.

“I thought I was over him. I really did. But sometimes... I don’t know. A small part of me... it still feels like I might always love him in some way.” You look at him, eyes filled with guilt. “I don’t want it to affect us. I love you, I really do. But... sometimes I wonder if it’s something I can truly let go of.”

There’s a long silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. He takes a deep breath, trying to process it all, before speaking softly, his tone steady.

“I know you’re still healing. And I know that your feelings for him were real. That love was real. I’m not asking you to forget him.” His voice remains calm, understanding. “What I want is for you to be happy. Whether that’s with me, or... if you feel like you need time to figure out your feelings. I just want you to do what feels right for you. I want you to be true to yourself.”

You look at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. You thought he’d be angry or hurt, but instead, he sounds like he’s trying to help you find peace.

“But what if you’re not enough? What if a part of me always holds onto him? That’s unfair to you.”

He squeezes your hand, leaning in closer. His eyes are soft, full of affection and care.

“I’m not asking for your love to be something it’s not. I don’t need you to love me like you loved him. I just want to love you in a way that helps you heal, not keep you stuck in the past.”

Your eyes are glossy now, tears threatening to fall. You want to give him everything, but the weight of the past still clings to your heart, keeping you in limbo.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He gently cups your face, brushing away the tear that escapes with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you need me to. But I also want you to be happy, whether that’s with me or without me. I love you, and I want what’s best for you.”

Your heart aches hearing him say that. You know he loves you—you can feel it in every touch, every word. And yet, you also know you have to face what’s buried deep inside of you. The part of you that’s still tied to Joshua, whether you like it or not.

You lean into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time. Time to figure out what I really want... without rushing. I don’t want to make any decisions when I’m not sure.”

He nods, his expression a mixture of sadness and relief. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. But don’t feel like you have to rush to figure everything out. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

You look up at him, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You know this isn’t going to be easy, but you feel a sense of comfort in his words. Whatever happens, you have time. Time to heal. Time to understand what you truly want.

And for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You step into your favorite coffee shop, the one where the walls are lined with shelves of old books and the scent of freshly ground coffee always seems to settle into your soul. It’s a comforting place, a spot you’ve spent countless hours in, both alone and with friends. And today, you need it more than ever.

Vernon’s already sitting by the window when you arrive, his signature half-smile lighting up as soon as he sees you. He waves you over, and you drop into the chair across from him, your hands absently playing with the edge of your sleeve. You know he’s been watching you for a while, noticing the subtle shift in your mood, the way your thoughts seem to be miles away lately.

“Okay, talk to me,” he says, his voice warm but insistent. You can see the concern in his eyes, even if he’s trying to keep it light. “You’ve been off lately. And I can already guess why.”

You try to shrug it off, but it feels like a weight in your chest. You haven’t told anyone, but the moment Joshua had walked into your life again, even if it was just for one night, everything you’d thought you’d moved on from felt so much more complicated.

“I don’t even know where to start.” You take a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten as you speak. “Mingyu’s been so understanding, but I can’t stop thinking about Joshua. It’s like… like part of me is stuck. I love Mingyu, I do, but… I don’t know. There’s still a part of me that will always care about him. Maybe I’ll never stop loving him.”

Vernon watches you quietly, his gaze steady. You feel like he’s already figured out the direction this conversation is going, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just lets you talk, lets the words spill out.

“I feel like I’m betraying Mingyu just thinking about Joshua. But I also feel like I’m betraying myself if I don’t face it, you know? It’s just... so much.”

You pause, your voice faltering a little. Vernon leans back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. You know he’s been your friend for years—he’s seen you through the ups and downs, the heartbreaks and the happy moments. He knows how important it is for you to be honest with yourself, even when it’s hard.

“I knew something like this was coming,” he says quietly, his tone almost too calm. “You never really let go of Joshua, did you?”

You bite your lip, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I thought I did. But maybe... maybe I just buried it. I don’t know. Seeing him again made me realize how much of me was still tangled up in those feelings.”

Vernon’s eyes soften, but there’s no judgment in his gaze. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Loving someone doesn’t just vanish because time passes. But it also doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.” He pauses, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. “It’s not about forcing yourself to stop loving Joshua. It’s about figuring out what you want. Whether that’s with Mingyu, or by yourself for a bit, or... I don’t know, maybe with someone else. But it has to come from you, not from what you think you’re supposed to do.”

You feel like the world just got a little clearer. Vernon always had a way of cutting through the noise, of getting straight to the heart of things without overcomplicating them.

“I guess... I just need to decide what makes me happiest,” you murmur, staring down at your coffee cup as you swirl it absentmindedly. “But what if I don’t know what that is? What if I can’t make a decision without messing everything up?”

Vernon leans forward, his eyes intense, but his voice soft. “You can’t avoid it forever. But you can take your time. Don’t rush it, Y/N. You’ve been through a lot, and you don’t owe anyone an answer right away. You just need to listen to yourself, and the answer will come. It’s okay not to have it all figured out right now.”

You nod, feeling the tension slowly ease from your shoulders. Vernon’s words are a relief, even if they don’t make everything clear. They give you permission to feel, to not have to have all the answers just yet.

“You’re right,” you finally say, the knot in your stomach loosening a little. “I guess I’ve been trying to avoid the truth for so long that I didn’t realize it wasn’t about fixing everything, but about understanding it.”

Vernon smiles, his usual playful grin returning. “Exactly. And remember, whatever you choose, I’ve got your back. No judgment.”

You let out a breath, grateful for the simplicity of his support. You realize, with a little more clarity than before, that the road ahead doesn’t have to be so overwhelming. You don’t have to force any decisions. You just need to take it one step at a time. And no matter where you end up, you’ll have the people who care about you, like Vernon, guiding you along the way.

“Thanks, Vernon,” you say softly. He grins and lifts his coffee in a toast.

“Anytime.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next few days pass in a blur. After your conversation with Vernon, you feel a sense of relief, but that clarity doesn’t come overnight. It’s not that you’re afraid of the truth—it’s more like you’re afraid of facing it too soon, of rushing into something without fully understanding what it means.

Life moves forward, and in a way, so do you. You throw yourself into your work, meeting with clients, attending events, living your life. Mingyu’s presence in your life is steady, reassuring, and kind. There’s a warmth between you both that feels so natural, so comfortable. You laugh with him, share quiet moments, and everything about your relationship with him feels easy.

But then, you catch yourself sometimes, still thinking about Joshua.

It’s not the first time you’ve had moments like this—where you catch yourself remembering how things used to be between you two—but the frequency is different now. They’re more frequent, and the moments are sharper, clearer. And, each time, it’s like your heart beats a little faster in those quiet moments when you catch yourself missing him.

It’s not even about wishing things had worked out the way you wanted them to. It’s not about regret. It’s about the way he made you feel—the way he understood you in a way no one else ever did.

You remember the quiet, cozy nights you spent together, the way he’d laugh at your bad jokes, how he’d rest his head on your shoulder during long drives, the way he could always make you feel like everything would be okay, even when everything was falling apart.

And you start to realize something—those moments, those memories, the way he made you feel—are still alive inside of you. They're not just memories of a past life. They are a part of you.

As you sit on your balcony with a glass of wine, the city lights twinkling below you, your phone buzzes. It’s Mingyu, asking if you want to meet for dinner tomorrow. You smile at the message, heart light, and yet, when you go to type a reply, you hesitate.

For the first time in weeks, a thought crosses your mind that you can’t shake. Am I really letting go of Joshua?

It doesn’t feel like guilt, not exactly. But it does feel like something is missing, like you’re trying to keep moving forward, but a part of you is still looking back. And that part isn’t easy to ignore.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Then, one day, after a busy meeting, you find yourself walking past a café you and Joshua had always gone to when you’d visited the city. The memory comes rushing back in a flood—his laugh, the way he’d always get extra whipped cream on his coffee, his habit of teasing you about how you always had the most ridiculous requests at the counter.

You pause outside the café, suddenly overwhelmed. A wave of nostalgia swirls through you, soft and lingering, like a shadow of something that once was. You let out a breath and step inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans and pastries filling the air. You sit at the same table you used to sit at, sipping your own coffee. For a moment, everything feels like it’s frozen in time, as if nothing has changed.

And then it hits you. The sudden realization doesn’t come with panic, or regret. It’s more like a quiet understanding, a subtle truth you’ve been avoiding.

The truth is, you still love him. Not in the same desperate way you loved him before, not in the frantic, consuming need to have him back in your life. But there’s a part of you that’s never really let him go.

The thought doesn’t sting like it used to. It’s not even painful anymore—it’s just there, settled into your chest like a permanent mark, something that’s been carved into you. It’s a love that’s glowing in the dark of your heart, a faint, steady light that’s always been there, even through all the changes and the years that have passed. It’s a mark you didn’t ask for, but one that you’ve learned to live with. A love that, despite everything, will never truly leave.

You don’t waste any time. The moment you make up your mind, you know you have to talk to Mingyu. This isn’t fair to him, and you can’t keep carrying the weight of these feelings without being honest.

You find him in the small restaurant he likes to go to when he needs a break from work. It’s quiet, and there’s a warmth in the air from the soft glow of the hanging lights. The kind of place where the world feels a little slower, and it’s easier to think.

He looks up from his coffee as you slide into the seat across from him, his eyes lighting up for a moment before they settle, sensing the seriousness in your expression. He doesn’t need you to say anything for him to know that something’s on your mind.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “About us.”

His brow furrows, but he nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“I can’t... I can’t keep doing this to you. I feel like I’ve been unfair. I’ve been holding on to something that I should’ve let go of a long time ago, and it's not fair to you."

Mingyu looks at you, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “Y/N...” he murmurs, reaching out to rest his hand on yours. You don’t pull away, but his touch feels different now—timid, careful.

“I still love him,” you say, the words tasting bitter and raw as you say them out loud. “I thought I was over it, thought I could move on, but... he’s still there, in my heart. I don't know how to explain it, but I can't ignore it anymore."

Mingyu’s expression doesn’t harden. If anything, there’s a tenderness to the way he listens to you. He knows you better than almost anyone. He knows that you don’t make decisions like this lightly. But there’s a sadness in his eyes too, a kind of quiet hurt that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your hand. “I... I knew something like this would happen, Y/N. I knew the moment he came back into your life, you’d be torn. I guess I was just hoping... hoping that it wouldn’t matter, hoping I could be enough.” He shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to laugh it off, but there’s no humor in it. “But I get it. I really do.”

Your heart breaks a little, seeing how much he’s trying to hold it together. But you know, deep down, that it’s the right thing. Mingyu deserves someone who can love him completely, without any lingering doubts about the past.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You’re amazing, Mingyu. You really are. But I can’t keep pretending that I’ve let go of Joshua when I haven’t. And I can’t keep you in limbo.”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His hand squeezes yours one last time, and then he lets go. “I think we both know what needs to happen. I care about you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. But I want you to be happy, truly happy. And if it’s not with me... if it’s with him, then you have to go after that.”

You stare at him, your heart aching as you realize how much he’s letting go of. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, smiling softly, but there’s a sadness there too. “You don’t need to apologize. I knew what I was getting into. And I meant what I said... I want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

The weight of the decision sits heavily on your chest. But at the same time, it’s a release. You’ve made up your mind, and you’ve made the choice that feels right—no matter how much it hurts.

Mingyu stands up then, offering you a last, lingering look. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You nod, but the words feel stuck in your throat. You watch him leave, knowing that you’re walking away from something good, something that could have worked... but it’s not the thing.

And now, with a clear heart, you know what you need to do next.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

After breaking up with Mingyu, you feel a weight lifted, but at the same time, there's a gaping hole in your chest, a kind of emptiness that’s hard to fill. You never wanted to hurt him, but you also know that you can’t keep running from the past—especially not when the past is currently in your city.

You try to keep yourself busy, focusing on your work, keeping up with your friends, but every so often, your mind drifts back to that night at Thanksgiving—the way Joshua looked when he walked in, how his gaze kept shifting between you and Mingyu, the quiet distance that grew between you two in the hours after.

It’s been a few weeks since then, and you’ve thought about reaching out to him more than once. You’ve wondered if he’s still in the city, if he’s still staying in that empty apartment. You wonder if he’s moved on, if he’s forgotten all the things that used to matter to both of you.

One night, when you’re heading back home after a long day, your phone buzzes with a message. You don’t recognize the number at first, but when you open it, your heart skips a beat.

Hey, it’s Joshua. I know it’s been a while. I’m in the city for a little longer than expected, and I was wondering if you’d want to meet up for coffee?

Your fingers hover over the screen, uncertainty flooding your chest. You’re not sure if you’re ready for this—if you’re ready to face him and untangle all the feelings that have been buried for so long. But then, you remind yourself: you’ve already made your decision. You’ve made peace with Mingyu, and now, this is just a conversation with someone who was once everything to you. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

You take a deep breath and type out your response.

I’d like that.

The meeting is set for the next day. It’s a cozy little place, the same place you used to go when you’d sneak away from high school for coffee and talk about your dreams. You arrive early, sitting at the table near the window, watching the rain softly tap against the glass. The café is quiet, and the smell of fresh coffee fills the air.

You see him before he sees you—his broad shoulders, his walk, that familiar way of running his hand through his hair. When he spots you, his expression softens. His eyes look tired, but there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place.

He sits down across from you, offering you a small smile. You can’t help but smile back, despite the tightness in your chest.

“You look good,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nod. “So do you.”

The silence stretches between you two, both of you unsure how to navigate this conversation. There’s so much history between you, so many unspoken words. The years spent apart have changed you both, but there’s still a familiarity in the way you look at each other.

“I... I didn’t know how to reach out,” he admits after a while, his voice quiet, the weight of his words heavy. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to hear from me.”

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t know if I was ready to hear from you either.”

He looks down, clearly grappling with his own feelings. “I’m sorry for how everything ended,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I wasn’t.”

The apology hits harder than you expect. You knew it was coming, but hearing him say it out loud brings back everything—the hurt, the confusion, the unanswered questions. You’ve spent so long trying to piece it together in your mind, and now, hearing it from him, it feels both relieving and painful.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say, your voice steady. “We both made mistakes. I’m not angry anymore, Joshua. I just... I had to move on.”

As you sit across from him, your heart heavy with memories, you find yourself reflecting on everything that’s led to this moment. You feel the weight of the past, the good and the bad, the love that once felt so natural, so easy, but also the pain of it falling apart. Your fingers absentmindedly trace the rim of your coffee cup as you consider what to say next.

“You know,” you say softly, your eyes meeting Joshua’s, “this love we had... it was both good and bad. There were so many great moments, but then there were times when it hurt more than I could handle.”

Joshua’s eyes are searching yours, his face filled with an emotion you can’t quite place—hope, guilt, maybe a little bit of both. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us,” you continue, your voice steady but soft. “And sometimes, love just... doesn’t work out the way you want it to. You can try to hold on, but sometimes, you just have to let it go.”

You can see his face change, but there’s no anger, just understanding. He knows what you mean.

“And I did,” you add, almost whispering, “I had to let it go. I thought that was the only way for me to move on, for me to heal. I didn’t want to keep holding on to something that was only hurting me.”

Joshua nods slowly, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his cup. “I get that. I do. But... you don’t have to let go forever. Sometimes, when you let someone go, they come back to you. If it’s meant to be.”

There’s a brief silence, the words hanging between you both, heavy with meaning. It’s almost as if time slows down for a moment, allowing both of you to understand the full weight of what’s being said.

“That’s the thing,” you say, your voice quiet but resolute. “I think I had to let it go... because I had to learn to let go of the past. But now, looking at you... looking at us, I’m starting to realize that maybe it’s true. Maybe when you really let go of someone, when you give them space to grow, they can come back to you. And it doesn’t erase the pain or the mistakes, but it’s a chance for something new, something different.”

Joshua’s eyes are softer now, the tension that had been in his posture earlier slowly starting to ease. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m not asking you to forget everything that happened or pretend it didn’t hurt. I just want a chance to show you that I’ve changed. That I’m not the same person I was before.”

“I know,” you say, nodding slowly. “And I’m not the same either. But maybe, just maybe, this time... this love can be something better. I’m not sure what it looks like yet, but I’m willing to find out. I think, for once, we’re both in the right place.”

There’s a quiet understanding between you both, a silent agreement that neither of you wants to rush. The love you had, the good and the bad, the way it glowed in the dark and left a permanent mark on your hearts, is still there. But now, it’s different—more mature, more thoughtful.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things could work out. The past doesn’t define you anymore. You’ve both grown, you’ve both learned, and if it's meant to be, the love will come back to you—stronger this time, in a way that it couldn’t have before.

As you sit there, staring at him, you realize that sometimes love doesn’t just fade away—it evolves. And when you’re ready to accept it for what it is, and what it can be, it might just come back to you. Maybe not the way it once was, but with something new.

Joshua leans forward, his hand gently resting on yours, and you feel a familiar spark. It’s not the same spark you felt years ago—it’s warmer now, softer, more knowing.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice low but steady. “This love has always been ours. And I’ll wait, however long it takes. I’m not going anywhere. Hell, I'll even fill out a permanent transfer application at work."

You smiled once again, taking his hand fully in yours, "We'll figure it out."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 yall i literally cooked so hard with this one, lowkey made myself emotional while writing it.

masterlist.

[knoepfl]

A Killer Night

Masterlist

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he started, his voice slightly wavering. “I need to tell you something.” He hesitated, his heart racing. He knew this was a big step, and he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

It was a typical Friday night at Stu Macher's house, the kind of night that felt electric with anticipation. The soft flicker of the TV cast shadows on the walls adorned with horror film posters, setting the perfect backdrop for a night filled with thrills. He lounged on the couch, nervously fiddling with a prop knife as he watched his girlfriend. She was beautiful, with her bright eyes and infectious smile, and he felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbling within him.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, tilting her head, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

“I—uh,” he stumbled over his words. “I’m Ghostface.” He forced the words out, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I’m a killer.”

Her expression shifted, surprise flickering across her face. She blinked, absorbing his words, and for a moment, silence filled the air. Stu held his breath, his stomach knotting with uncertainty.

“Wait, are you serious?” she finally asked, her tone a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“Yeah, I mean, not like, for real,” he clarified quickly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just a game, but I like to play it a little darker. I thought you’d think it was fun.”

She paused, processing his confession. “You’re joking, right? Like, this is some kind of prank?”

“No, I’m not joking,” he replied, the weight of the moment heavy between them. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Sweetheart. It’s all just pretend… but I wanted to share this side of me with you.”

She looked away for a moment, biting her lip as she considered his words. “This is… intense, Stu. You really want to do this?”

“I do,” he admitted, his voice softer now, revealing a vulnerability beneath his bravado. “I love this part of myself, and I want you to understand it. I want you to be a part of it.”

Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “You know what? This is kind of hot.”

Stu’s heart raced as he processed her reaction. “You’re not scared?”

“Not scared,” she said, her confidence returning. “Intrigued, maybe. I mean, it’s wild, and you know I love a little chaos.”

The tension melted away, replaced by a thrill of excitement. “So, what do you say we play a little game?” he asked, an impish grin returning to his face.

“Okay, I’m in,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “What’s the plan, Killer?”

Stu’s grin widened as he picked up a prop knife, twirling it in his hand. “Let’s play cat and mouse. You run, and I’ll chase you.”

With a teasing look, she shot back, “And what if I get away?”

“Then I’ll have to track you down. But don’t think it’ll be easy,” he warned, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if I catch you…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Alright, then. You better keep up, Ghostface,” she challenged, her competitive spirit igniting as she dashed away, laughter echoing down the hallway.

He lunged after her, adrenaline surging through him. The thrill of the chase sent shivers down his spine, and he relished the feeling of her playful defiance. As she darted through the house, he followed, his heart racing with excitement.

“Can’t catch me!” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing and light.

“Just wait, Sweetheart!” he shouted back, determined to close the gap.

She disappeared around a corner, and he rounded it, only to find an empty room. Where did she go? A rush of exhilaration flooded through him as he began to search, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Okay, where are you hiding?” he called out, feigning frustration. “This isn’t fair!”

He checked the bathroom, the kitchen, and every nook and cranny he could think of, but she was nowhere to be found. The house felt eerily quiet, the thrill of the hunt pulsing in the air.

Suddenly, he heard a soft giggle from the living room. His eyes lit up, and he darted toward the sound, only to find her hiding behind the couch, barely able to contain her laughter.

“Gotcha!” he declared, reaching down to pull her from her hiding spot.

“Okay, okay! You found me!” she laughed, but her eyes gleamed with mischief. “But I think you’ve forgotten something…”

“What’s that?” he asked, confused.

“This is hide and seek, right?” She pushed him back with surprising strength, catching him off guard. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and amusement as she darted away again.

“Hey!” he laughed, trying to regain his footing. “You can’t just do that!”

“Watch me!” she shouted, her laughter ringing through the house as she sprinted away again, and he felt a rush of determination wash over him. This time, he wouldn’t let her slip away.

As he chased her through the house, he felt a thrill of exhilaration at their game, a mix of danger and delight. She ducked into the kitchen, and he followed her, catching a glimpse of her just as she slipped behind the island.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he teased, using his best creepy voice, trying to mimic Ghostface.

She peered out from behind the counter, a playful smirk on her lips. “You’ll never find me, Killer.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” He took a step closer, deliberately moving to the side to lure her out. “I love a good challenge.”

Just then, she darted out from behind the counter, and he lunged for her, arms outstretched. He missed, but the rush only fueled his desire to catch her. She giggled, the sound light and airy, filling the space with warmth.

As he turned to chase her, he couldn’t help but admire the way she moved—quick, agile, and full of life. They danced around each other, weaving through the kitchen and living room, laughter echoing off the walls as the night deepened.

Finally, he cornered her again in the hallway, pressing her back against the wall, his breath coming fast from the exertion. “Gotcha,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

She looked up at him, her heart racing, a mix of excitement and something deeper shimmering in her eyes. “Okay, okay! You win this round,” she gasped, breathless.

“But you didn’t count on one thing, did you?” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against hers teasingly. “I always get my prize.”

With that, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, the taste of excitement and danger mingling between them. The world outside faded away, leaving only the heat of the moment and the thrill of their shared game.

Dollface responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. The warmth of their bodies pressed together ignited a fire between them, sending shivers down their spines.

He pulled away slightly, looking into her eyes. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“And you’re a total weirdo,” she teased, a soft smile on her lips. “But I love it.”

“Yeah? You love this?” he asked, playfully tracing his finger along her jawline. “What else do you love, Sweetheart?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she purred, biting her lip seductively. “Maybe the thrill of the chase? Or how you always manage to keep me guessing?”

“Maybe I’ll keep you guessing all night,” he replied, his voice low and seductive, the air around them thick with tension.

He captured her again, their lips crashing together, a fierce hunger fueling the kiss. As their passion intensified, he pulled her closer, their bodies molding together as they fell deeper into the moment.

They stumbled back, and he pressed her against the wall, the thrill of danger electrifying the air. The night was filled with chaos, laughter, and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. They were two misfits in a world that didn’t understand them, finding comfort in their madness and chaos.

As the passion between Stu and his girlfriend escalated, the playful energy in the room shifted to something deeper and more primal. The thrill of their chase left them both breathless, and the air crackled with tension that begged to be released.

Stu pressed her back against the wall, his lips hovering inches from hers. “You’re so beautiful when you’re wild,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The flickering light from the TV danced over their bodies, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt alive with possibility.

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you’re pretty damn sexy when you’re chasing me down, Ghostface,” she teased, her breath warm against his lips.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and captured her mouth again, his kiss deepening with urgency. The world around them faded away as their kisses grew more passionate, filled with the heat of their shared excitement. He explored the softness of her lips with a hunger that sent shivers down his spine.

Their bodies pressed together, and he could feel her heart racing against his chest. He slipped his hands around her waist, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer, wanting to feel every inch of her against him. Her warmth enveloped him, igniting a fire that consumed them both.

“Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable,” he suggested between kisses, his breath hot against her skin. She nodded, and together they moved toward the couch, laughter mixing with the charged atmosphere as they stumbled through the dimly lit living room.

Once they reached the couch, Stu sank into the plush cushions, pulling her down with him. He positioned her on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. Their eyes locked, and the playful smile on her face turned into something more sultry as she ground against him, her body igniting a primal need within him.

“Look at you, so eager,” he teased, his hands gripping her waist. “What’s a killer supposed to do when his prey gets so bold?”

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “You know exactly what to do,” she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction. “Catch me if you can.”

With that, she began to move against him, her hips rolling in a tantalizing rhythm that made his breath hitch. Stu felt his desire surge, the heat pooling in his core as he reveled in her movements. He captured her face with both hands, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “You’re going to make me lose my mind, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she replied, biting her lip as she ground against him again, teasing him mercilessly.

Unable to hold back any longer, he flipped them over, pinning her down on the couch. “I’m in control now,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. The thrill of dominance shot through him as he took charge, his body pressing against hers, the weight of him both comforting and exhilarating.

She laughed softly, a mix of excitement and challenge in her eyes. “Oh really? Is that how this works, Killer?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works,” he replied, leaning down to nip at her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, feeling her shiver beneath him. The taste of her skin drove him wild, and he reveled in the way she responded to his every touch.

“God, you’re so good at this,” she gasped, arching her back as he explored her body, his hands gliding over her curves. He reveled in the warmth of her skin, the way she writhed beneath him, completely lost in the moment.

He captured her lips again, kissing her deeply as his hands roamed lower, brushing against her thighs, teasing the hem of her shirt. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with desire.

“No! Don’t you dare stop,” she replied breathlessly, her urgency making his heart race.

With a wicked grin, he pulled her shirt off, exposing her soft skin to his hungry gaze. He trailed kisses down her body, savoring the taste of her, reveling in the sounds she made as he moved lower. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, and he felt a surge of confidence as he worshipped every inch of her.

“Stu, please,” she whimpered, her voice laced with need. The sound sent a bolt of electricity through him, pushing him to go further, to tease and please her until she was a moaning mess beneath him.

He kissed his way back up, trailing his tongue over her skin, taking his time as he lavished attention on her. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against her chest, his breath hot and heavy. “I want to make you feel so good.”

“Then do it,” she urged, her voice a sultry whisper that ignited the fire within him.

In one swift movement, he slid his hands beneath her, lifting her to him as he pulled her close, capturing her lips again in a fierce kiss. The heat between them was palpable, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt both primal and euphoric.

He felt her pulse quicken, her breaths coming in soft gasps as he brought her closer to the edge. “I’m not going to let you go, Sweetheart,” he promised, his voice low and filled with intent.

Their bodies intertwined, moving together in a frenzy of heat and passion. Each kiss, each caress, was a dance of dominance and submission, a beautiful chaos that left them both breathless. She was his wild card, and he was her Ghostface—two souls wrapped up in a night of dangerous delights.

As the tension built between them, Stu felt her body respond to his every touch, her moans growing louder as they danced on the edge of ecstasy. He held her close, the world outside fading into oblivion as they surrendered to the intoxicating thrill of their desires.

“Stu, I’m so close,” she gasped, her body arching against him, seeking more of his touch.

“Let go, Sweetheart,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With a final surge of energy, they both spiraled into bliss, their bodies crashing together in a wave of pleasure that left them breathless. The world around them disappeared, and for that moment, nothing else mattered.

As they lay entwined on the couch, the afterglow of their passion settling around them like a warm blanket, Stu brushed a stray hair from her face, gazing down at her with a soft smile. “You really are something else, you know that?”

She smiled back, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction. “And you’re my favorite killer.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her as they nestled into the couch together, their laughter mixing with the fading light of the TV. They had created their own little world, one filled with danger, chaos, and an undeniable connection that left them both craving more. The night was still young, and they were just getting started.

[freaknerd33]

Maybe some head canons of characters received gifts or small amounts of affection. Revenant perhaps?

showing kindness to robots sure turns them squishy like humans, hm?

think of this as a late valentines post

The Legends Receiving Gifts & Affection

characters included: revenant, loba, caustic

consist of: sweetness! long ass headcanons oops! and some vague gift ideas.

word count: 900+ (906 if you’re curious)

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

Revenant

- There isn’t a lot he’d expect as a gift, given that a lot of things wouldn’t be of use for him. The idea of gifts actually slipped his mind completely until the first time you gave him one. It was a nice little headband.

- He stared at it blankly in his hands. He wasn’t sure why you were giving him gift, but upon looking at it some more, he came to appreciate it.

- He gives thanks with a simple hum. When he’s alone, he’s fiddling with the fabric and deep in thought.

- He likes it a lot. He thinks it’s practical. And subconsciously, the color/pattern is a nice contrast to the red that takes over his design. Makes him feel… a little nice about himself?

- He never thought he’d have the capacity to accept and appreciate a gift. He certainly can’t remember the last time he did or if he ever did.

- Is secretly hoping for more. if his faceplate could move, the idea of getting gifts from you would bring a faint smile to it.

- He also craves affection (it’s a co-requisite with pretty much any other love language you choose to express)

- the act does something funny but exhilarating to his processors.

- Any act of affection could make him swoon in some way, but he usually tries to play it off with a sound feigning annoyance.

- Is secretly holding back a love-filled sigh when you give him soft kisses or subtle, fleeting touches

- my boy just wants some love. it’s a different experience for him and he chases it willfully

Loba

- Loves and appreciates every gift you give her. It doesn’t matter if she can steal anything she desires. The love put into a gift is more than thieving can outdo. The gifts she receives from you makes her swoon every time.

- “Oh darling… this is just as beautiful as the last. Thank you…”

- Biiiig smooch on your cheek or forehead as she continues to look over the item.

- She truly accepts every gift whether it’s jewelry or otherwise, expensive or not. She likes that the gifts you give her reflect your inner mind. Even if it was some obscure, handheld item, she’d find it cute/interesting and would find somewhere to display it or put it to use

- And she’s a huge gift giver herself! She’ll give you anything you ask for or even vaguely mention.

- “Now it’s my turn to give you something nice darling. No really, you deserve it my love.”

- Pretty much gives you twice the amount of gifts you give her

- She’s also very careful with you. If she decides to get you anything expensive, she’s sure to double check that it’s nothing too expensive or rare enough for someone to try and track. She doesn’t want you in danger because of a reckless steal.

- Is elated sharing gifts and other things with you. She’s very, very affectionate and seeing you in a good mood puts her in a good mood.

- She sometimes glances at you and simply decides to attack your face with kisses. Is always caressing your face as she just adores you.

- “You are so gorgeous…”

Caustic

- Ugh i cant stand this guy (lying)

- If you give him something, you may have to be a little patient with him.

- When you first started giving him things, he refused them.

- “You can have it back. I have no need for your obnoxious trinkets.”

- After a couple of attempts though he starts to accept them, but usually doesn’t even open them until days later. Chances are if you place it somewhere where he can see it constantly, he might open it a little sooner.

- If you give it to him unwrapped, that’s even better. It pushes him to see it for what it is and accept it. His reaction is barely a hum of approval, but he takes it nonetheless and moves on.

- When he’s alone he observes it meticulously. Truthfully, he thinks fondly of your gifts. Even if he wouldn’t deem them useful, they still get some appreciation.

- Has a spot somewhere where your gifts are all huddled up and subtly on display. He personally doesn’t like gifts, but the fact you occasionally give him things is something he can appreciate as well.

- He kind of wants to give you something in return, but is super bad with gifts.

- And being genuine.

- And nice. lol.

- He’s quite the observer though so he recalls your interests or anything else you’ve talked about to come up with a gift idea.

- Goes for something simple. He’s way too flustered to give you anything too specific because he knows you’d point out his attention to detail.

- He’d try not to make it a big deal when he gives it to you as well. Will stomp up to you and simply place it in front of you.

- Behind his brash demeanor, he’s actually smiling, satisfied with himself when your reaction to the gift is positive.

- When it comes to affection, he prefers to keep it to a minimum. But moments like these where you’re really happy loosen him up a bit and he may let you dote on him however you’d like.

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

banner source!

[mrs-gucci]

For the Hunt

{ werewolf!flip zimmerman x female reader }

anon

Werewolf Flip wanting to knock you up (or role play at it) and scenting when you’re ripe for him and chasing you down and pounding you

thank you for submitting this!!

warnings. SMUT (18+), werewolf in rut, primal kink (hunter/prey), breeding kink w/no intention of actually getting pregnant, dirty talk, outdoor sex, creampie, minimal aftercare.

word count: 995

🐺 written for werewolf wednesday 🐺

Your breathing is soft, exhilarated, creating little puffs of steam in the cold night air. A shiver runs down your spine, out of excitement or nerves, you’re not really sure.

You two have an agreement that on rut nights, he has full consent to use you however he wants or needs to. He tells you what he needs from you on a particular night and you give it to him willingly, whether it's being tied up on the bed down in the basement or up at his remote mountain cabin.

His absolute favorite thing, however, is when he gets to hunt you. Which is why you’re currently standing behind a big pine tree, trying to steady your breathing.

By now you’ve nearly perfected the art of giving Flip a good chase, having been with him for almost six years. And tonight is an extra special full moon because you’re ovulating, which gives Flip the ultimate prize in his werewolf brain: the chance to breed you.

He looks up at the full moon with his golden eyes, knowing it’s time to hunt, he lifts his snout eagerly.

Almost instantly, he picks up traces of your scent and his paws thud against the earth as he runs into the thick Colorado wilderness. He can already feel that this is one of his more mild ruts, but he's still just as desperate and tuned-in regardless.

Flip slows down and sniffs the air again, knowing that he's close. You can feel him nearby, sticks snapping and leaves crunching under his large paws.

You sneak a look around the tree and he doesn't seem to notice, so you quickly attempt to sneak to another tree. But of course, his head whips over and you freeze, then take off running.

He feels the familiar tingle of his primal hunting instinct creeping up through his body, but he still gives you a head start before taking off in your direction, eyes beginning to turn black with desire.

Your breathing is heavy as you sprint away from Flip, trying to give him a good chase. He growls softly out of sheer thrill and quickly dips to the side to run around you, then stands proudly. You come to a screeching halt.

Strands of drool hang from his jowls as he takes a step forward, then another, piercing you with his lustful stare. You let out a shaky breath and step back, not actually afraid but acting so anyway.

"Please don't hurt me," you say softly, eyes flickering down to his hard member for just a moment.

He grunts when he notices your quick downward look and stands a bit taller, eager to present himself to you.

"I have something else in mind," he says in his deep, gruff voice. "If you do your job correctly, then it should be pleasurable for both of us."

You bite your lip as he steps forward again, sniffing the air.

"You smell especially good tonight, little girl. I could smell your ripe, fertile pussy from back at the house. You're so ready to be bred."

"I don't--"

"Run," he says, interrupting you. "If I catch you, you're mine."

Immediately, you take off again and he gives you a moment before taking three long strides, catching you and causing you to fall over. He quickly catches you with a clawed paw, though.

He brings his mouth down to your ear as he lowers you to the ground.

"I got you," he says. "And now, I get to pound you until you're swollen with my seed."

You whimper softly as he holds your wrists down and takes a sharpened claw to your pants, tearing the crotch open to make room for his thick, pulsing cock. He lets out a shaky breath as he pushes your legs apart and lines himself up with your wet entrance.

Flip groans when he finally gets the wet, hot relief he's been desiring all night within your walls. He gives you a moment to adjust before beginning to move, his hips delivering sharp thrusts.

You moan unashamedly as Flip growls and fucks you from behind. Hearing his noises of pleasure only arouses you more and you clench, earning a surprised, breathy grunt from your husband.

“F-Flip…”

His noises get louder and he leans down again, beginning to lick at your neck and jaw, occasionally scraping his teeth lightly against your skin as an alternative.

“I need you,” he grunts, hips speeding up slightly. “I need you to h-hold all my cum inside, keep it a-all…give me pups…”

You gasp softly, eyebrows knitting in pleasure.

“I will,” you breathe. “I-I’ll keep it all f-for you, my love.”

His cock throbs and he knows he can't hold on much longer. He always feels guilty that more often than not, you don't get to cum like this. But he definitely makes sure to return the favor the first opportunity he gets.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna--" He cuts off as the intense orgasmic sensations suddenly rush through him. His eyes flutter shut and he rocks his hips desperately, spilling every drop he has deep inside of you. "O-Ohhhh god..."

You sigh softly as he lets go of your wrists and sits up a bit, still staying buried deep in your pussy. He helps you get up on your hands and knees, then licks your neck again.

"Are you alright? I wasn't too harsh?"

"I'm fine, honey," you reassure, looking back at him with a small smile. "I promise I'm okay. I would've used the safe word if I wasn't."

Flip nods and pulls out slowly, letting out a shaky huff as he does so. When you stand up, he gently picks you up and you rest in his large arms. You smile up at him.

"I love you, Flip."

His eyes soften and wishes he could return your smile. "I love you too."

You sigh softly and look up at the night sky as Flip carries you back to the house.

****

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[bullet-prooflove]

3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did - Part Two: Sassy - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @thiashazzywriting @whateversomethingbruh @trublu2u @stelacole

3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did:

Part One: Adjustment Period - Nik decides it's time to propose.

Sabatino’s going to propose tonight.

He’s ready, he thinks you’re ready.

You’ve been happier since he quit the CIA. He thought the transition period would be a little more awkward, that you’d fight over stuff like emptying the dishwasher, but you don’t. That’s all-petty shit compared to what the two of you have been through.

You’d been ecstatic when he suggested dinner at Elixir, it’s been on your radar since you saw the reviews in the LA Times a couple of months ago. It had been impossible to get a reservation, until Fatima had pulled some strings. She’d made arrangements with the manager for some private time on the rooftop terrace, they’re going to set up some champagne, add a few touches to make it special. Sabatino owes that woman big time.

It feels like the stars have aligned, because everything is going perfectly. The weather is balmy, the sky is clear. Somehow the two of you are both home at a reasonable hour which almost never happens in your line of work, giving you plenty of time to get ready.

He’s pulled out his best suit for the occasion, it’s blue with tailored fit, he wears a crisp white shirt underneath. He doesn’t get much opportunity to wear a suit anymore now that he’s with the US Marshalls, he’s missed it. He catches a glance of himself in the mirror in the living room, smoothing his palm over his hair once more. He’s feeling good about tonight, he looks good. His hand drifts to his left interior pocket, checking for the ring. It’s the millionth time he’s done this in the past hour, and it still resides in the same place.

When you step out of the bedroom, he thinks he could just marry you there and then. You’re wearing a black, off the shoulder dress that clings to your form like it was made for you. You’ve always been beautiful but this, this is next level.

“You’re stunning,” He tells you, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs chasing over the line of your panties through the fabric as his lips brush over the curve of your jaw. “So gorgeous, I’m not sure we’re gonna make it out of the house.”

You laugh as your fingers lace at the back of his neck. The scent of your perfume floods him, it’s new something a little darker, a little sexier. You really are pulling out all the stops tonight.

“Wait until you see what I’m wearing underneath.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear. It sends a thrill chasing through his nerve endings. It’s an exhilarating feeling to be desired by you and he treasures that sensation.  

“How about a sneak peek?” He asks you, his voice husky before he holds up his fingers to indicate the measurement. “Just a little one.”

“Nik…”

He fucking loves the way you say his name, when you get back home, he’s going to spend the entire night making you say it.

When the doorbell rings he wants to ignore it but then there’s the knocking. The rapid, incessive raps that he knows can only belong to one person.

No, he pleads, not tonight.

Any other time, just not tonight.

As soon as you open the door, he knows his night is over.

Your younger sister Sassy stands on the doorstep with a Louis Vuitton overnight bag slung over her shoulder and mascara running down her cheeks. Your sister is an adult version of a Valley Girl, selfish and over the top. It’s going to be one of those nights he can tell.  

The thing about Sassy, she’s a hot mess. She hasn’t met a wellness craze or a man who earns more than six figures she doesn’t like. She switches careers more than she hops fiancés, which by his reckoning must be coming up to double figures soon. The other thing is she’s also the only family you have in this world so when she’s in ‘crisis’ you drop everything.

Sabatino sighs before stripping off his suit jacket and folding it over the back of the couch. He undoes the cuffs of his shirt before rolling his sleeves up towards his elbows. He knows you’re not making that reservation; he also knows you skipped lunch in anticipation of tonight, so he busies himself in the kitchen. He makes linguini alfredo while he listens with half an ear to Sassy as she tells a story he’s heard a thousand times before.

She was engaged to Anton, who caught her in an intimate embrace with Tobias, now he’s broken off the engagement and she’s realised he was the only man she ever loved. She’d said the exact same thing about David and Juan before him. He gives it a week until she finds some other rich, young thing to torture.

It’s when you disappear into the bedroom to get changed out of your dress that something in his chest just sinks. He glances at the clock and sighs because that special moment he’d planned, it’s passed. Dinner and a rooftop proposal at Elixir was a one-time thing and now it’s been wasted.

“You’re usually a lot more vocal.” Sassy says as she picks up the half empty bottle of red wine and tops up her glass.

It’s the good wine of course, the one you usually buy for special occasions. She’d taken it out of the wine rack the second she’d step foot in the kitchen, helping herself.

“You don’t want my input.” He warns her as he takes two plates out of the cupboard and sets them down on the counter.

“That’s never stopped you before.” She points out before gesturing at the space between his brows. “You’re in a mood, you have that little crease you always get when you’re trying to bite your tongue.”

Despite the fact Sassy is a complete disaster in every aspect of her life, she’s emotionally intelligent. She reads body language like a pro, it’s the reason she’s managed to ensnare so many affluent men.

“We had plans tonight.” He says, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “And as usual you bulldoze your way in here with your melodrama and theatrics. You don’t care about this guy, just like the fact you won’t care about the next one. You just like being the centre of attention and when you’re not getting it from them, you come running back here to get it to your sister. It’s the same thing everytime.”

“Oh Vostanik.” She tuts, his full name rolling off her lips harshly. “You haven’t been around long enough to judge the relationship I have with my sister.”

“Almost five years.” He informs her, his mouth setting into a grim line. “That’s how long I’ve been with Alana.”

“You were barely in her life for four of them.” She reminds him, swilling the wine glass in her hand. “She’s the girl you fucked when you came to LA, I’m sure you had one in every port, you private security guys always do.”

Private security was the cover story you both used to explain his absence in your life. He was away in foreign countries ‘consulting’. Sassy thought he’d been living it up with sheiks in Dubai instead of evading capture in Iran. She’s accused him before of fucking his way through continents. He’s denied it of course, but when that woman gets something in her head there’s no telling her otherwise.

“You do know the only reason she’s with you is out of obligation.” She tells him as she takes a sip from the wine glass. “My sister is extremely loyal, and I think if you hadn’t taken that bullet for her in Afghanistan then we wouldn’t even be here. She’d be happily married to a man who deserves her, instead of stagnating in a relationship that’s going nowhere.”

It's a slap in the face, one that hits him hard because he’s always had this doubt, this tiny insecurity that the reason you’re with him is because you feel indebted to him on some level. Sassy’s picked up on that, he realises. That’s what your sister does. She finds the weak spot and she pushes it and pushes it until it gives.

Every single part of him wants to kick her out, to tell her he’s sick of all the drama, that she needs to grow the fuck up and take a long, hard look at her life choices. The only reason he doesn’t is because the only person it’ll be hurting is you and he would do anything to prevent that.

You step out of the bedroom just as he snatches up his jacket from the coat hooks. You’ve changed into one of his old band t-shirts and leggings, a pair of his socks are pulled up over the calves. His heart warms at the sight of you because no matter what Sassy says, it’s these moments that mean the world to him.

“I’ve made dinner.” He tells you, tipping your chin up so you can look into his eyes. He hopes you see the love there, that he’s not running from you right now but from the situation because he knows if he sticks around, he’s going to say something he regrets. “I’m gonna go out for a while, catch up with Deeks, give the two of you a little space.”

He sees the slight furrow in your brow, you know that something’s happened, but he can’t bring himself to explain it, not with Sassy still sitting there watching the exchange over the rim of her wine glass.

“I love you.” He says as his lips brushing over yours tenderly. He’s not ashamed to say it or to show it. He doesn’t give a shit if Sassy believes him or not, all that matters is that you do. You smile as he pulls away and he knows he has nothing to worry about, that Sassy’s just yanking his chain the same way as always. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[masongrizchel]

The Tug-of-War Between Focus and Freedom

Here’s a truth I’ve been wrestling with: you can’t do it all, at least not well. Limiting your options might feel like closing doors, but it’s the only way to open the right ones down the line. Mastery demands focus—sticking with one thing long enough to get really good at it. But oh, how tempting it is to chase every shiny new opportunity, isn’t it?

The problem with keeping your options wide open is that it spreads you thin. It’s like trying to cook seven dishes at once—you’ll probably end up with a kitchen disaster and nothing worth eating. But when you commit to one “dish,” you have the time and energy to perfect it. That’s where the magic happens: in the focus, in the grind, in the depth. Sure, it means saying no to other things, but the payoff is the chance to excel at something instead of just dabbling in everything.

So here’s the real question: are you a master or a chaser? Neither is inherently wrong—it’s more about awareness. Chasing can be exhilarating, especially when you’re exploring and learning. But at some point, you might realize the thrill of chasing wears off, and what you really crave is to master something meaningful. The trick is to catch yourself before running in circles and ask: what’s worth sticking with?

[lord-emerson]

The World Through Your Eyes

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Howard Underhouse/Oswald J. Emerson

Tags: Glasses Kink, Dom/Sub Dynamics, POV Second Person, Howard POV, Gentle Dom Oswald, Strap On, Pegging, I say glasses kink but what I really mean is "Howard can't see for shit and they are both being so so horny about it"

Words: 792

Summary: With the world completely ablur, it is easy for you to give up control even further. You can tell that words are being whispered into your ear, but you cannot ascertain their meaning. You can feel the teasing scratch of fingernails going down your forearms. The touch is light, with no harsh intent behind it. Yet in your current predicament, it feels just as exhilarating as the kiss of a blade, about to break skin.

With the world completely ablur, it is easy for you to give up control even further. You can tell that words are being whispered into your ear, but you cannot ascertain their meaning. You can feel the teasing scratch of fingernails going down your forearms. The touch is light, with no harsh intent behind it. Yet in your current predicament, it feels just as exhilarating as the kiss of a blade, about to break skin. “Still with me, Fluffy?” That d__ned nickname brings you back, a little. You don’t have the strength to pretend to be annoyed at it for once. You hum in response. “Please use your words, darling.”

You think you can almost see the gentle expression on his features as he leans in and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. It grounds you enough that you feel a little bit of fight coming back to you. “Yes. Get on with it, Oz.” He chuckles. The nearby rumble of it so present, so comforting. “Should I trust your words or your body on this, hmm?” And then he’s moving, where is he going, is he coming closer- “Alright. Have it your way.” Soft flesh, pressing against your lips.

You close your eyes and open your mouth eagerly, ready to take whatever you’re being given. When your tongue brushes against a nipple, you can’t help but moan.

Your hands twitch where they’re tied together in your lap.

You press your face closer against his skin, seeking out all the contact you can possibly get. You both hear and feel the sharp intake of breath before he pulls away from you again. Your lips chase after him before you remember yourself. You feel a kiss being planted in your hair and then he’s gone. You open your eyes again, for whatever that’s worth. You watch his silhouette, angry red scar on his hip standing in stark contrast with the rest of his pale skin. He’s somewhere near the door now, his back turned to you. The thought occurs to you suddenly.

He could just leave me here like this. Then…

But I know that he won’t. Huh.

Trust in your fellow human beings is not exactly something you encounter often. Sure, you trust an acquaintance not to attack you while having tea at Beatrice’s. You trust yourself not to get killed on a mission to the Khanate. You trust a lover to leave you satisfied. You don’t trust them to keep you safe and sound. You don’t and you shouldn’t. Yet here you are, completely devoid of sight and bandages and freedom of movement, laying yourself bare for the man in front of you. You should give your libido a stern talking to sometime. Later, perhaps. He returns to you holding something, the edges of it so blurred your only clue is its dark colour and vaguely cylindrical shape. Is it… a pistol? You are about to speak when that something is being shoved into your mouth. Your body startles, but your neutral expression stays rooted in place. Old habits die hard. Speaking of old habits, your tongue brushes against the obstructive presence in your mouth. It tastes like polished wood, long with rounded edges- oh. The moment the realisation kicks in, you give out a noise that might make another man go red with shame. But not you. You take to sucking on the strap easily, your head bobbing along its length while the rest of your body tries its best to keep your balance. For a second you find yourself wondering… if it had been a gun, would you have reacted any differently?

“There you are,” says a gentle voice, hand brushing against your cheek. “So good for me.” You redouble your efforts at the praise, the movement of your head almost giving the impression of nodding. You hum against the strap the way you would against its flesh and muscle counterpart. You think you can hear a cut off gasp from the man holding it against your lips, but you’re too far gone to concentrate on it. “That’s enough, dear." By the time your mouth is free again, your head is buzzing. You can barely keep yourself from shaking as you pick up the sound of leather cords being stretched and tightened. You feel fingers brushing against your thighs, rubbing patterns into the dark hairs. When those fingers stray further towards your crotch, your stomach flips in anticipation. Your leaking member remains untouched as he reaches further down, toying with the end of the plug inside of you. “Would you like me to-“ “Yes,” you say, breathless. “Fuck, Oz, yes, I would.” Even without your glasses, there is no mistaking the look in his eyes, sparkling with a smile.

[honeycombstrawberry]

also, COULD I GET 89 WITH ADRIAN I MUST KNOW WHAT HES BROUGHT IN THE HOUSE

out of this world

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: gen

word count: 663

prompt #89: “Hey, babe, look what I found.” - “GET THAT OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW!!!”

one-sentence synopsis: adrian brings home a new friend, and you're-- let's just say, taken aback, at first.

author's note: i hope you LOVE the new friend adrian brought home because HE SURE DOES!!!!!!!

read on ao3!

You swear, you love Adrian.

You do. You really, really do. And you love him because he’s a maniac. But, sometimes, he does something so goddamn unhinged that you really can’t even get your mind to catch up with what’s going on.

One of those times is now, when Adrian’s knocking in the front door of your shared apartment and declaring excitedly, “Hey, babe, look what I found!”

You whirl, expecting— Oh, you’re not sure yet. A jaguar, maybe, or a horribly gigantic laser weapon, or Chris Smith. You really don’t know what you’re going to see.

One of the last things you expect to see is— is whatever the fuck that is, the giant blue hawk-snake-lion looking pile of glowing crescent-moon-goo that’s curling around his head like an orbiting ring. You’re proud of yourself for not screaming, though you do slam one hand over your chest and stumble backwards into the refrigerator, unable to take your eyes off the— the thing, whatever the fuck it is.

Eyes wide, face drained of blood, you demand, “Get that out of the house now,” your voice shatteringly high and slow with shock.

“What? No!” Adrian exclaims. “No, they saved my life! Babe, c’mon, I want you to meet them. They only wanted to come say hi. I asked if they wanted to crash for the night but they said nah, even though I said— Hey,” he cuts off. “You alright? You look a little,” he waves up near his face, “Funny. You gonna pass out?”

“No,” you tell him, jaw tight. You fix your eyes on the thing, unable to look away. It— They are still swirling around Adrian’s head. You’re not sure where their face is, if they have one, for you to look at, so you just— look at as much of them as you can. “You— They saved your life?”

“Yup,” Adrian declares excitedly. “I was about to get blown up— Literally, blown up— And then Visia here saved my ass and threw me, like, a thousand feet in the air before catching me and my head didn’t even explode, it was fucking awesome—”

You’re shaking for a new reason now, terrified like you always are when you hear stories about Adrian slipping so casually close to death. If the only thing that stood between Adrian and death today was this creature, you can’t just ignore them or shun them.

Besides, they are interesting. And you are curious. This might be terrifying, but in a thrilling, exhilarating sort of way.

Taking a cautious step closer, eyeing the blue— uhh, friend, you say, “Hi.”

The mass seems to wriggle, turning into a writhing sort of jelly-wreath.

“Thank you,” you tell them. “For saving him. I— That means a lot to me. If he dies, you know. I’d probably die, too.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Adrian says.

“B—”

“I mean it,” Adrian says, “Don’t, because if I think about you dying, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Like, go totally bananas, you’ll never see anything like that.” The jelly-mass vibrates. “You said it, man.”

You eye the creature, say, “Can you understand them?”

“I get the vibes,” Adrian informs you. He reaches out a hand, and a tinier ring comes out to circle his palm. “See, that’s, like, their way of high-fiving.”

“Okay,” you say. You stretch out your own hand, lifting it up just a bit. Adrian steps closer, taking your hand in his. The ring circles around both your hands, and you see what he means. The air kind of vibrates, and you feel warm, the inside of your chest smiling.

“See?” Adrian asks again.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I see.” You wiggle your fingers. “Thanks, Visia. I appreciate it.”

There’s a humming in your mind, magma-warm and glowing. You— You guess you don’t mind that they’re here, really, but— You’re currently still glad they turned down staying overnight. You really don’t think they’d enjoy your guest room as it currently stands.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella

[standing-restart]

It's late and if I'm good at anything it's obsessing so Lance and primal play it is.

The first time the idea comes up is while you're being a brat (affectionately of course) and frustrating him. He lets out this growl out of nowhere and you damn near collapse from a mix of fawn response and being so intensely turned on. Once you've recovered a little you both look at each other like "well that was interesting".

I'm not sure where my brain wants to go from here. Part of me wants to describe him giving you a small head start then chasing you down and pinning you to the floor but mostly my mind is stuck in the images of bruising, growls, and bite marks. What are your thoughts?

- 🔐

My friend, we meet in the land of our shared braincell, because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you brought it up.

Maybe primal play was something that the both of you were a bit comprehensive about. Especially for Lance, it seems like one of those kinks he was well aware of that he had, but which he was slowly easing you as well as him into. It was always one of those ‘one day I’ll bring it up’ topics.

Until you’re being a brat, and he growls, and there’s simply no way that either one of you can deny that you’re incredibly turned on by it.

You don’t play that often, not like that, but when he’s had a hard weekend ... when he truly needs to get out of his head, that’s when the two of you arrange it. His place is huge, with plenty of space for you to run through, and you might have spend a bit too long imagining which route you can take the next time he chases you down the corridor.

It’s exhilarating, to say the very least.

Lance always kisses you, long and deep, before slapping your ass and sending you on your way. Those few seconds of adrenaline are enough to allow you to slip into the blissful headspace you know the both of you crave  -  when the world behind you is still silent, and you know he hasn’t moved a muscle yet. He’s a gentlemen, and when he says you have thirty seconds, you know he’s counting them with a held breath.

You don’t think he ever lets you get away for longer than he has to, but the hunt might be his favourite part of the whole experience. Chasing you, trying to grab your arm. He loves wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up, wrestling you onto the floor with messy motions, before finally pinning you down with his strong hands. The both of you will be bruised soon enough simply from that. Never mind what he’s going to do next.

He’s a biter during primal play. Marking you with his teeth wherever he can. You know you’re going to have the most beautiful pattern of bruises in the morning, or maybe even later during the day, but you can’t even bring yourself to think about it while he pins you down with his body weight, one hand on your throat while he bites your collarbone. 

Lance totally lets you slip free, but only once. What can I say. The hunt really is his favourite.

It’s always wise not to wear anything you’re attached to, because it will be destroyed. He rips a shirt off your body with a low growl, and the second you feel the fabric cutting into your skin from the force, you’re truly and utterly gone for him.

Playing with Lance like this means that he’s constantly rolling you over. Having you on your back one moment so he can bite your shoulder and rut down against you as he growls near your ear, and on your stomach with your wrists captured in his hand behind your back so he can pull down your underwear with his teeth the next.

He always hopes the two of you make it into the bedroom, or at least close to the couch so he can throw you on there, but for some reason, it mostly ends on the floor. If you’re lucky, there’s carpet which will leave burns on the both of you. If you’re unlucky, there’s nothing but hardwood floor and tiles ... it all depends which direction you’re running in, because the moment he captures you, he has to have you.

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,�� Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @arinbelle @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[twirlywhirlywriting]

Little Tease

This is a John Murphy x Reader smut! (fem!reader and Dom!Murphy)

WARNINGS: NSFW, rough sex, choking, light bdsm, cursing

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

It’s been a difficult few days after the Ark sent 100 kids down to Earth. People have kind of already grouped up and made friends, and have made some rivals as well.

You, on the other hand, blend in and you’re not really… noticed. Not in a bad way, but you keep to yourself. You would rather not be noticed and not notice others either.

There is one person you do notice though, and he sees you too. Ever since being on the drop ship, your eyes have met frequently. You always glance away, but you always feel his stare linger longer than yours.

John Murphy quickly made a name for himself, so you decided it was best to keep your distance. But for some reason, you can’t seem to stop yourself from watching him yelling his opinions and taking charge. A fire inside you burns and you feel your cheeks flush.

Tonight is different than most. As usual, you are sitting by yourself, sipping on Monty’s shitty home-made liquor, thinking about your new life on Earth. But what’s different about tonight is that you feel completely… seen. Usually you go around, completely unnoticed. Not tonight. You feel goosebumps creep onto your skin, and you feel someone staring at you. As you turn your head to look around, it’s none other than Murphy. You quickly turn away again, but it was too late. He knows you saw him.

You get up to walk away, back to your tent, to somewhere his eyes can’t make you feel that exhilarating nervousness. It’s not like you’ve never been with a guy before, but there was something different about Murphy, and you could tell. Obviously, he’s different, he’s loud and obnoxious, but that stare. The way he stares at you like he knows your every thought, like he knows all your secrets and feelings.

As you are walking towards your tent, you feel a hand grab your wrist and flip you around. You look up to see his piercing green eyes boring into you. The second your eyes meet, you were trapped. A smirk played on his lips as you ripped your hand away from his grip.

“Hey doll face, what’s the problem?” he chuckled out, “You can’t seem to take those gorgeous eyes off me, but you wanna keep running away? What, are you purposefully being a tease or something?”

You feel your cheeks flush, and your mind stumbles over what to say. You weren’t being a tease! You thought, but then again, maybe you were. Maybe you wanted him to chase you, you wanted him to want you as badly as you have wanted him. Goddamn it, but you didn’t want to want him. He’s dangerous.

You don’t get a chance to respond to his question anyways because he leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Because if you have just been teasing me, I may have to punish you.”

You let out a tiny squeak, feeling yourself get wet despite trying so hard to not want him. But you do, you want him so badly now. All this time just staring at him and watching him stare back has built up a desire in you that you don’t think you can’t stop yourself from anymore.

He chuckles at your accidental squeak, but you see his face soften for just a single second, as if to make sure you really are wanting this. “Fuck it,” you think to yourself, “I can’t pretend anymore. I want him. No, at this point, I need him.”

You feel a wave of ease and excitement wash over you as you look up at him, batting your eyelashes and letting a playful smile come across your lips. “What ever do you mean?” you ask, feigning innocence, “I would never-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a kiss that takes your breath away. His soft lips pressing into yours with such intent, and suddenly you feel him grab your wrist again and pull you into your tent.

Once inside, he pulls you close to him, pinning your arms behind your back and kissing you again before whispering into your ear, “Little teases get fucked extra hard, understand doll?”

You give a nod, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him. He pulls your hair back with his other hand, his voice losing all its previous playfulness. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Your cheeks flush again and your hips squirm slightly from the wetness growing in your pants. You whisper that you understand, but the look on his face shows he is still not satisfied with your answer. He tosses you on the bed and shoves your face down into the make-shift mattress to position your ass up and gives it a smack. A hard one. You make a little whimper as he growls, “You say ‘Yes Sir’ when talking back to me, Kitten.”

Suddenly your pants and panties are pulled off in one swift motion and you hear him sigh with content. “You’re so fucking wet and needy already.” He starts kissing your ass, sometimes with a nibble or bite mixed in, before slowly moving towards your slit. He takes his time, slowly licking up and down, avoiding the one place you need.

After a little while of this, you wiggle your hips and let out a whimpering, “Please…” which just makes him chuckle and slap your ass in response.

“What, is being teased frustrating to you?” he says, and you can just hear the evil smirk he has coming through his voice alone. Then, that voice is suddenly right next to you, in your ear. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about teasing me again.”

You groan in frustration at his words, but quickly gasp as he has gone back down and starting licking and sucking your clit so intensely you try to move away, but he stops what he’s doing to hold your hips down and start spanking you repeatedly.

“Don’t.” Spank. “Fucking.” Spank. “Move away.” Two spanks. “From me again.” Seven hard spanks and lots of moans from you later, he flips you around onto your back, pinning your legs open, to ravage your pussy with his mouth. You do your very best to stay still, but fuck he knows what to do to you. You feel an orgasm rising quickly.

The second you start cumming your legs tremble and shake, and you use your hands to try to push his head away. You pull his hair, try to push him, try to tell him that it’s getting too intense, but the white-hot pleasure doesn’t stop. He pins your hands down and keeps going until your orgasm finally cools down.

Once he finally pulls his mouth away, you are gasping for breath, not expecting him to remove his own clothing so quickly. He is on top of you and has a hand around your throat almost immediately.

“What did I say about trying to move away from me, Kitten?” His voice is calm, but it doesn’t make you feel at ease. It is almost too calm. With his next words, his hand around your throat slowly starts to tighten. “Trying to push me away is even worse than trying to squirm away. You just seem to love to get punished, don’t you?”

His hand around your throat and what he was saying made you unaware to the fact that he was perfectly positioned already to slide inside of you. He feels how wet you are with one hand, and realizing you’re fucking soaked, he shoves himself inside of you and doesn’t give you time to adjust before going faster.

His hand on your throat tightens every time you moan, until your breathing gets a little bit difficult. Once he notices, he starts fucking you much harder and deeper, causing you to reach around and dig your nails into his back. Another orgasm builds up and he grins, feeling you tighten around him as you cum, hard. He fucks you through it, never slowing down, until another orgasm starts to rise and you cum again. Every time he makes you cum, he growls into your ear what a good girl you are.

After what seemed like countless orgasms, he finally pulls out and finishes all over your stomach and chest, ruining your shirt. He lays beside you and brings you in for a tight cuddle.

“Are you okay?” he whispers into your ear with a kiss on your head, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Yes. I am… so fucking good.” Your response makes him chuckle and he kisses you sweetly before taking off your shirt and handing you his.

“You can keep this. Let everyone in camp know whose you are.” He winked at you and you blushed. You thought this was going to be a one-time thing, but it seems like John Murphy just really wants you, only you. And he wants you to be his.

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[jackrrabbit]

🤍 Haikyuu WIP excerpts

preview post for hq because recently i showed sara a list of my works in progress and she laughed at me and then made a dn joke like this is 2015 or something. we got:

🤍 communal property /// ushijima x f!reader x tendou 🤍 sunshower /// atsumu x f!reader x osamu 🤍 corporate ethics /// kuroo x f!reader

anyway these are all terrible first drafts and i'm not sorry. however i am very very into these pieces and if you're interested in seeing them finished, you should tell me fr fr

🤍 communal property /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too?

Tags/warnings: poly relationship in progress (only you and Tendou are dating at this point), mild suggestiveness ??, s*ze k*nk

Status: 10k words written (holy fuck lol) out of ~11k total? this bitch better get finished is2g

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima outside the locker room in the stadium. You’re pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face! I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never shows signs of caring) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. The ball when you hit it was super loud—honestly, how are your hands okay? If I hit it that hard I’d probably break something.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made Ushijima smile. You did that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah!” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

🤍 sunshower /// Atsumu x f!Reader x Osamu

Summary: [Kitsune AU] You find an old Ō-Inari shrine in the woods that may not be as abandoned as it looks.

Tags/warnings: Shinto religion, this preview is biased toward tsumu oops, yearning/soft vibes

Status: 3.9k words written out of 5–6k? total

Atsumu was the one who found you.

That’s how he likes to talk about it, that he found you, like you’d still be wandering around lost in the woods if it weren’t for him. Osamu thinks you would have found your way back home eventually but Atsumu likes it better this way, this framing that makes it seem like they saved you.

It’s hard for him to tell time linearly the way humans do but you mention once that you’ve known them for a year and that seems to fit. It’s spring now, almost barely tipping into summer, and it was spring when Atsumu found you. He remembers because of the way it was raining: light and tender, a summer rain early in the season, each little drop tapping off a leaf and then rolling into the forest bed to be eaten up by the grass and the soil.

Atsumu likes the rain, likes the sweet earthy smell it makes and the way the plants look so lush and green and alive, like they’d bleed if he sunk his teeth into them. He was out in the woods because of the rain ('Samu was in the shrine, as usual, attempting to set buckets under the millions of holes in the roof so the rainwater wouldn’t pool and rot through the wood underneath). But Atsumu was half asleep in a tree when he heard you crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over ferns and snapping every twig in your path (thought ya might be a bear, he tells you later, that’s how loud ya were) but he wouldn’t really have woken up if he hadn’t heard you singing.

(The odd thing is, you weren’t actually singing. You remember that day as vividly as they do: the warm, humid air making your skin feel sticky under your yellow raincoat; the tiny raindrops filtering through the canopy and kissing your cheeks; the ink feathering out on the damp xerox of the old map you found in your great-aunt’s attic so you could barely make out the “X” that was supposed to mark the location of the lost Inari shrine… You were cursing how stupid you’d been to go on a wild goose chase into the mountains with no cell service and no marked trail to look for a shrine that no one had seen in decades. You definitely weren’t singing.)

But Atsumu remembers it differently. No matter how many times you explain that you were just talking to yourself, when he replays the sound of your voice back then (reaching and lilting and falling, the way the birds talk to each other in the early morning, except the music of it was poured into syllables and words), it sounds like you’re singing. He wasn’t sure at first, hadn’t heard a voice that wasn’t Osamu’s in so many years that he gets tired counting them, but then he saw you push into view from between two bushes and he thought, a human!

A girl, too—it was hard to say at first because you were wearing that weird, slick jacket of yours, so bright yellow it was like an oversized flower blooming out of the grass, but then you tilted your head up to feel the rain on your face and the hood fell down and he knew. Not just a human, a girl! Atsumu wanted to yell for Osamu, make him come and confirm that there was a person wandering around not a mile from the shrine. A real person! Singing and smiling and wiping the rain off her cheeks (does that mean you like the rain, just like he does? did you come out to feel it too?) But he also wanted to surprise Osamu so he hid his tails and his ears and came down from the tree and asked if you had lost your way in the forest, since you were so far from any path…

When you think back on this yourself you’re amazed that you just went with him: a strange boy (man?) wearing a fox mask and traditional Shinto priest robes, which were somehow pristine white and red despite him having appeared from nowhere in the middle of a dense forest, who told you he had no idea what direction the village was but he could take you to the Inari shrine you’d been searching for…well. Maybe you were too surprised to be wary, or maybe you were just exhausted and lost. But you like to think you had a sense of it even then, the irrational belief that the boy in the woods was not just a boy in the woods.

Atsumu thinks you knew. Humans always understand, even when they try not to… He remembers, he took your hand that day in the forest and you saw that the claws on his fingers were too long to be human, and you said nothing because on some level you already felt it. Your skin was cool then, smooth and damp from the rain; he wanted to stop, run his hands up your arms, touch the places on your face where your mouth had been turned up at the corners and press his fingers into your cheeks.

🤍 corporate ethics /// Kuroo x f!Reader

Summary: [Office AU] The new junior marketing associate just happens to be Kuroo’s favorite camgirl, and he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Tags/Warnings: boss/employee, businessman!Kuroo as a reformed player, camgirl reader, this excerpt has a lil bit of 18+ content 👀

Status: 1.2k words written out of 4k? words total

Kuroo doesn’t watch porn.

It’s not, like, a moral principle or something. He has nothing against pornography. As far as he knows, it’s perfectly normal for single men. He just doesn’t like it…unless it’s you.

When he was in school it was easy. Being a teenager meant being so flooded with hormones that a warm breeze could get him up, and the adrenaline rush of winning a game was better than any big-titted porn actress faking moans into a shit-quality boom mic. Sure, he watched porn back then (what teenage boy didn’t?), but it was more out of curiosity than necessity. It was all kind of a mystery at that point, the way it can only be when you’re a clueless virgin and you and all your friends are too busy practicing for the next game to get girls.

Somehow Bokuto was the first one in their friend group to lose his virginity, and the memory of the dumbass self-consciously describing the experience has been lodged in Kuroo’s brain for the 10+ years since. “It was…I don’t know. She smelled good. You know how girls always smell good?” Bokuto’s hands twitched and his face was pink. “It’s just really…soft.”

Soft was right, Kuroo would reflect when he got laid for the first time a few months later. Soft, warm, wet. Sex was awkward at first, but before he knew it it was more natural than breathing.

It didn’t change much after high school, either. He didn’t get into volleyball for the groupies, but they didn’t hurt. There were girls when he played for his college team, more girls when he joined a business frat, so many girls he couldn’t keep track…they blurred together after a while. It didn’t take effort. You don’t need game when you’re 6’2 and you’re in the gym 40 hours a week, and you definitely don’t need porn.

So he never got into it. Now that he’s promoting volleyball instead of playing, things are more complicated. Kuroo’s never been the type who expects things to fall in his lap, but there are so many rules when it comes to dating in the real world. Good morning texts, anniversaries, flowers, parents. It’s exhausting. One time—seriously, just one time—Kuroo misses his girlfriend’s birthday to go watch a Jackals game, and the next time he sees her she throws her drink on him in public and keys his car. After that, Kuroo decides that until he’s ready to settle down there will be no more girlfriends. Which means no more reliable sex. Which means resorting to porn.

Which means you.

You, batting your eyelashes at the camera and biting the side of your lip. You, purring and mewing like a kitten. You, lying back on your pretty pink bedsheets in your pretty pink lingerie, sliding your hands between your legs. It takes Kuroo a full month to decide to pay for access to your website (Kenma’s unsolicited recommendation) but it takes less than five minutes for him to upgrade access to premium. You look like a wet dream—no, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine Kuroo managed to get his hands on when he was younger. Pristine and alluring and so deliciously out of reach.

And you make it so simple. No delicate emotional games with rules Kuroo never bothered to learn. No pretending to care how your day was. You untie the little bows on the side of your panties and lick your fingers and Kuroo just has to take his dick out and watch you. Getting off hasn’t been this easy for him since college. You’re a camgirl, you exist on his computer screen, and that’s how he likes it.

Which makes it a lot more awkward when Kuroo finds out that the only woman he’s gotten off to in the past…year, maybe?…somehow just got hired in JVA’s sports promotion department as his junior associate.

Your prim work blouse is buttoned up to the collar and your makeup is different, but he knows it’s you. You have to tell him your name twice because he’s too stunned to respond the first time, and even then he can’t summon up more of a response than a curt nod because his mouth tastes like dirt.

You smile a little awkwardly at his cool reception, and the hand you’d extended out to shake swings back down to your side. “Um, the guy at HR said he sent up my info yesterday…I’ll be working directly underneath you?”

Directly underneath me. Kuroo is taking a sip of his coffee when you say this. He doesn’t spit it out, but it’s close.

[mindofharry]

here’s a part 2 to ghost!harry and medium!Y/N. enjoy, loves!!! part 1.

“Is there a reason you’re following me around harry?” Y/N asked smiling to herself. Harry had been a little clingy, to say the least. Y/N absolutely loves the company ands it’s new territory for her too, she’s loves to learn. But she’s worried for harry. She thought the thing for him to pass on properly, would to get answers from his mom. Talk to her for a bit. But that doesn’t seem to be the answer because he’s still following Y/N around like a lost puppy. So harry definitely has some unfinished business, but he likes Y/N way too much to answer any of her questions.

“I like being near you” He shrugged, Y/N sighed and turned around lighting the candles near the shop window. Halloween is coming up very soon, which is the shops busiest time of year. Y/N does free readings and even dresses up. It’s her favourite time of year. Her mother used to bring her trick or treating all the time, even when she was much older.

“Don’t you have a house to haunt?” Y/N teased turning around to see harry leaning against a shelf. She didn’t mind him being around here, it’s just getting a little frustrating not knowing what his unfinished business is. It’s got to be something to do with how he died right?

Harry tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry knew what he had to do to cross over — he just didn’t feel like doing it. He found so much comfort in Y/N, so much peace. Why not stick around for a bit. No matter how many times shes asks harry to leave, she’s secretly hoping he’ll fight and stay. Harry knows that.

“Listen, harry” Y/N started walking towards harry. She sighed itching the back of her hair, then wiping her sweaty hands against her satin skirt. Her mother’s actually.

“I love having you around. You’re really great company, but sooner or later you need to find your unfinished business and move on. Bad things happen if you don’t” Y/N said, she then nodded to herself.

“We’ll find out what your unfinished business is together, how about that?”

Harry bit his lip and instead of speaking up, telling her that he already knew what he had to do in order to pass on — he kept quiet and nodded smiling brightly at her. It’s definitely going to come and bite him in the ass later on, but he liked Y/N. she’s kind. Kinder than any girl he’s ever met.

When he was alive ladies (and men) adored him. Harry was popular in school and in college. Although he wasn’t in college for long, all he can remember is having a great time. Partying, sex, drugs. But he was getting good grades and making genuine friends - even had a girlfriend for a bit. Harry was liked everyone and everyone liked him.

Even though he had girlfriends in his time on earth and recently before his death, they had never been like Y/N. She’s bubbly, weird but cute and the most beautiful person harrys ever seen. If he had known about her gift when he first became a spirit he thinks he would’ve crossed over a lot sooner.

When the day is done and Y/N decides to close up the store, harry heads to her car. He likes cars a lot, he used to race a bit with his college friends and surprisingly that wasn’t his cause of death. Harry was a good driver, the feeling was exhilarating and the adrenaline rush he got afterwards was something he chased for weeks after. He had never felt something like that before — harry felt the same way about Y/N. His feelings were exhilarated and the rush he got in his bones from just seeing her smile was electric.

Once Y/N was in the car and they were on the way home, Y/N felt like it was a right of passage to talk a little about harrys family, seen as he’s not visited them a lot since the last meeting. She’s not too sure way because he was so eager when they met.

“You know emily is asking for you?” Y/N asked softly, turning off the music. Harry rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

Y/N knew it was hard for harry seeing his mom move on - sometimes she thinks harry forgets he’s dead and people are supposed to move on. And if that means her adopting a new child and giving her a better life, then so be it.

“Harry she has a gift too, she can sense what you’re feeling. She’s just a little girl trying to help her mom” Y/N said trying to reason with him, but she could feel the jealousy coming on again.

“Just tell them i’ve passed on or whatever shit terminology you use. I don’t want to see or talk to them again. I’ve got you now” Harry said, making Y/N slightly worried.

Harry is so dependent on her, it scares her sometimes. She just wants to be kind and help him. But he’s not making it easy.

“Harry…”

“I don’t want to talk about them anymore” Harry said clearly agitated. Y/N sighed and nodded keeping quiet.

The car ride home was silent from then on, Y/N felt bad for questioning harry - but she did not feel bad for trying to help another family get some relief and heal. Harry is being extremely selfish, and she just hopes he’ll come to terms with that soon enough. She just needs to settle down and try and help this kind soul.

While Y/N was getting ready for dinner, harry had popped back into the house. She could sense him behind her, but she didn’t make a move to speak or connect with him like she usually did.

Not this time.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so overwhelmed trying to find my ‘unfinished business’ and i didn’t mean to take out on you, mom or emily. i really appreciate your help” Harry said leaning against the wall, Y/N smiled softly and put a plate down on the dining table.

“I’m always here, wiling to help, harry. You know that. Now let me eat and then we’ll get started”

After a rather quiet dinner, the ghost and medium resided in the living room. Paper upon papers scattered around them, a comedy on in the background and a cold tea on the coffee table in front of them. Y/N was determined, it almost made harry feel guilty. But she would understand in the end why he kept it from her right? He wanted to stay longer, learn more.

Be with Y/N for as long as he could.

Harry didn’t care about the repercussions it could have on his spirit or Y/N for that matter. It would all work out in the end, right? It always does.

“I have a ton of people i need to talk to. Maybe i’ll get your mom to come with me so it won’t look suspicious” Y/N giggled and harry couldn’t help but laugh with her, almost forgetting his previous thoughts immediately.

“What’s wrong?” She asked feeling his anxiety.

Harry couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I know my unfinished business”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and almost let out a gasp.

“It’s you, Y/N. You’re my unfinished business”