#why does it sound like they were LOVERS omg

[svgarblush]

𝐰𝐡𝐨  :  miki  +  @umbr4mortis   [  dakota  ] 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  :  living  room 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  :  janurary  10,  2025  at  2:10  pm 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬  :  [  closed  ]

miki  dropped  her  duffel  by  the  door  with  a  dull  thud,  the  sound  barely  registering  as  her  eyes  locked  on  a  familiar  figure  near  the  fireplace.  for  a  moment,  everything  around  her  seemed  to  dissolve  …  the  murmured  voices  and  creaking  floorboards  fading  into  the  background.  it  had  been  9  months  since  the  last  time  they'd  seen  each  other,  9  months  that  had  felt  like  years  without  your  best  friend.  “kota!”  the  name  left  her  lips  halfway  between  a  laugh  and  a  gasp,  her  arms  thrown  around  her  best  friend  before  the  other  woman  could  even  fully  turn.  “oh  my  god,  you’re  actually  here,”  she  said,  squeezing  a  little  tighter  than  she  probably  should  have.  it  was  only  then  that  the  reality  of  the  moment  hit  her.  they  were  here—together  again,  after  so  much  time  and  under  circumstances  neither  of  them  would’ve  chosen.  miki  swallowed  the  lump  in  her  throat  and  gave  a  small,  uneven  laugh.  “i  missed  you.”

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[titaswrld]

Hi! I like your Deadpool as your boyfriend post, can you please do Logan as your boyfriend next? 😄

logan howlett

…as your boyfriend!

description: wolverine, logan howlett as your boyfriend!

pairing: wolverine x you!

|an: my man my man he love me!

- he’s so big and so tall and scruffy and so mmm. that’s your man! and u want everyone to know it

- like i keep mentioning, he is manhandling tf out of you no matter ur size, all the time!

- he thinks it’s soo cute that he can pick you up in his arms with ease and he loves to hear squeal out a “logaaan!” as he throws you on to the bed

- he’s so standoffish and kinda shy when you’re first around each other bc he’s sooo into you and he thinks you’re so cute

- but once he founds out you dig him too ooo girl

- he grows such a big soft spot for you, you’re the only person that ever sees him vulnerable. and he’s such a silly goose.

- he becomes so much more himself, he’s messing with you all the time throwing teasing insults with a smirk on his face just to watch you get all riled up from him.

- he’s also flirting with you 24/7 girl he’s hot and he knows it. sometimes he’s rather crude but you like it. so it’s okay!

“nice shorts you got there little lady” he said with a teasing tone as you walked past him into the kitchen to grab a quick snack.

“god they’re not even that short!” you’d said, pulling them down a bit. they were that short. but hey, they did the job.

and by job, you mean drive logan crazy.

- but once you become his omg…

- you’re his. nobody is touching you and he’ll make sure of that. and it’s pretty hot.

- if anybody even has body language that even slightly seems like they’re into you oh girl….

- they’re becoming a new scratching post!

- not only are you his, but he’s yours. super loyal! and if he can’t get someone off his back, you bet your ass you will!

- you always feel so protected and he always makes you feel so protected because you are! he would do anything for you and to make sure his lover is safe and sound.

- he’s so obsessed with you and he’s not afraid to hide it, he’s not overly affectionate but he is in fact a cuddle monster.

- he’ll hold your hand, or shove a hand in your back pocket, or lend you his jacket to let people know your his, but he saves the good stuff for back at home.

- you’re also his drinking buddy, he isn’t a fan of the tequila like you are, he’ll stick to his whiskey. but he always takes care of you after a night out and makes sure you’re snug as a bug!

- he is the biggest dom ever omg it’s so hard to get him to sub out for you but when he finally does it’s the best night of your life.

- all the noises he makes that you’ve never heard from him are music to your ears.

- a MUNCH. need i say more? thats why he got that damn beard!

- oh and we know those abs are like a pack of buttered up hawaiian rolls and you wanna go for a ride!

- of course he’ll let you! anything for his babygirl, lick em, touch em, fuck em, anything his baby wants. as long as he gets to watch and as long as you feel good.

- he also loves the praise as you ride yourself out on his abs.

- he loves attention and praise, especially when it’s about his figure.

you and logan lie in bed, his figure cradling yours as he slowly felt you slot your head between his craned arm.

“your muscles are so big babe. give me a lil flex.” you stated, holding on to outside of his forearm with your neck between the underside his forearm and bicep.

“you’re crazy bub.” he states, chuckling and lightly flexing his arm, not enough to hurt you but enough to satisfy you and make you giggle as his big muscles squished your cheeks together.

- you’re always touching his muscles, they’re so hot. and hey, he doesn’t work out like that for nothing! he loves it when you cling to his biceps, or run your fingers down his chiseled back.

[jezebelblues]

forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

masterlist

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

*

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

*

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

*

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

[dorotheataylor]

Sneezes with kisses

Pairing- Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary- What’s better than to have your husband take care of you once in a while? Especially when you’re sick.

Warnings- FLUFF OMG, domestic vibes, Kento is such a husband material (omg i love him sm), reader annoys nanami but he’s whipped for her, please I need Nanami in my life😭, my poor english as always :p

Word count- 750+

A/N- OMG I LOVE NANAMI SO MUCH I CANT DESCRIBE IT IN WORDS. Also here’s the fic for Nanami Kento as it got the most votes from the poll I posted monthsss ago (im late as alwayssss). I’m so sorry this is shorttt but I promise to make it up. I got lazy :p. Enjoy the domestic bliss y’all! This is totally not a self-insert fic.

“Love, you need to lay down-”

“No-”

“You need to rest-”

“I’m fine, Ken-” Sneeze!

“See? Listen to me for once in your life and lie down.” Nanami sighed, shaking his head at your stubbornness.

“Fine.” You huffed and laid down on the bed, while Kento arranged the pillows beneath you for you to feel comfortable.

Nanami looked at you for a few moments. You were really stubborn and reckless when it came to your health. After watching you sneezing and almost losing your consciousness because of your fever, he had to practically force you to lie down and get rest. You tended to overwork yourself almost every time, much to his dismay.

“What?” Sneeze. Damn, you really needed to get better soon.

“Nothing, just watching how stubborn you are.” Nanami sighed, his expressions turning soft. “Love, you need to start taking care of yourself.”

“I’m fine, Ken. It’s just a little cold.” You shrugged, before sneezing again.

At this point, Kento Nanami was so done with you downplaying your sickness every time. Kento loved you, he really did, but sometimes your habits and actions made him want to pull out his hair.

Nanami first met you when he was still a grade lower than his current. You had just joined the Jujutsu Society and were paired up with him for your first ever mission. And when you had gotten injured, Nanami was the one who took care of you because he held himself responsible for your injuries. And ever since then, you became good friends and eventually lovers.

You were always the type to get excited over little things and had a loud personality, just like one of your colleagues Satoru Gojo and totally contrast to Nanami's personality. But still somehow you two got along and here you were.

You sneezed again, your face turning a bit red from the cold. "Ugh I hate being sick!"

Nanami sighed again. "That's why you're going to take a few days off and rest. Your body needs it, love. You can't overwork yourself."

You sighed and looked up at him, your expressions softening. "But Ken, I can't just sit at home in the bed while you are out fighting those damn curses." You whined.

Kento rolled his eyes. "Love, sitting at home in the bed for a few days isn't the end of the world."

"But-"

"No buts. You're staying at home for a few days. End of discussion." Nanami said a bit sternly, leaving no space for arguments.

You pouted and Kento could feel himself melting a bit seeing your expressions. He sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I took a day off too? I'll prepare you a nice ginger honey tea and warm bath. How does it sound?"

Your eyes lit up at his words and you immediately smiled, your pouty expressions no longer seen. "I'd love that, Ken. It's been a while since we spent some quality time together."

Kento smiled, something he did only with you around, and leaned down to kiss on your forehead. "Rest. I'll bring you something warm."

As he was about to stand up, you pulled him back down with his arm and kissed him softly, smiling against it. Kento didn't hesitate to kiss back, another one of his favourite things to do with you.

He didn't know how he got so lucky, having such a wonderful woman as his wife, loving him through everything. He didn't deserve you, really.

You pulled away and grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Now we're both sick. Meaning another two days off. And more cuddles! So lay down with me."

Nanami rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile at you, your cheekiness being one of the many things he loved about you.

He got under the covers beside you, wrapping his arms around you as you rested your head on his chest. He kissed your head before whispering, "I love you."

You smiled, these three words coming from his mouth never failing to make your heart flutter. You looked up at him with that adoring gaze you always had for him and whispered back, "I love you too," before burying your face back into his chest.

And as they lay together, Nanami couldn't help but sigh in contentment. He loved such moments, having the love of his life in his arms and her saying she loved him. He'd do anything just to have this domestic bliss with you.

Maybe you falling sick wasn't so bad after all.

[b14augrana]

Scrubber: Off-season

You go on vacation with all your teammates and the location is somewhere familiar to them

Barça Femení x teen!reader

Part of the Scrubber universe

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: none! just a long, cute fic 👼

A/N: scrubber content is back 💝 just a little filler / mini scrubber series while the next part to the actual series gets written slowly but surely. i’ll most likely write a part 2 if people want x

fridolinarolfo

→ Does anyone have vacation plans??!

ingrid_engen

→ no not yet 🫤

fridolinarolfo

→ Hellooooo where is everyone else

ingrid_engen

→ get active plz @/aitanabonmati @claudiaapina @/yourname @/alexiaputellas

Replied to fridolinarolfo

Does anyone have vacation plans??!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ anyways why did you ask about plans for the holiday? do you have any?

yourname

→ i dont have plans frido. omg do you wanna hang out??? 😋

patri8guijarro

→ I’m not doing anything

fridolinarolfo

Replied to yourname

i dont have plans frido. omg do you wanna h…

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ I have an idea 🙂‍↕️ How about we all go on vacation together? We can all decide on a place

❤️ 8

ona.batlle

→ That sounds fun 😍 Nobody be boring and say no!!!!

yourname

→ ona’s right it does sound fun i wanna do it plz 🐒

alexiaputellas

→ Where will we go

ingrid_engen

→ hmm any ideas guys? 🥴

claudiaapina

→ Ibiza so we can party 🔥🔥

alexiaputellas

→ No not with bebita around

👎 1

yourname

→ guys my friend said we should go to new zealand. i think she is biased bc she is from there but it looks like a nice place 😄

fridolinarolfo

→ I really liked New Zealand actually

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ I wish we stayed longer 🫠

ingrid_engen

Replied to fridolinarolfo

I really liked New Zealand actually

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ same!! it was such a nice place and the people were really sweet

❤️ 6

patri8guijarro

→ We should go to New Zealand on vacation 🤩

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Me María and Clau didn’t go with you guys for the world cup so its our first time

yourname

Replied to patri8guijarro

Me María and Clau didn’t go with you guys f…

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ i haven’t gone there either PLZZZZZ can we go guys pleaseeeeee 🙏🙏🤞

alexiaputellas

→ I liked it there so if everyone else wants to then yes I think we should go 🙌🏼

❤️ 9 🔥 4 🎉 2

patri8guijarro

→ Barça on tour already??? 🤣

❤️ 7 😂 5

“I’m so excited for our break!” you exclaimed, skipping over to Alexia. The team was warming down in the gym after a training session, and you had all spent the entire day talking about your plans to go on vacation in New Zealand.

“I’m excited too. It’ll be nice to actually enjoy New Zealand, because we didn’t get much time during the World Cup,” Alexia said, walking at a steady pace on the treadmill. You leaned on the handle, nodding at her words, “I can’t wait. It looks so awesome, and my friend said it is awesome.”

“Who’s your friend?” the woman asked, looking at you with a small smile as you responded. “I met her in the park a few weeks ago — her name’s Ludo. She told me that she was born in Italy but lives in New Zealand, and apparently she’s studying here, in Barcelona. How cool is that?”

Alexia raised her eyebrows, a surprised expression on her face, “Really cool, and she’s right, New Zealand is awesome. I liked Auckland a lot. There’s a tall skyscraper in the city that lights up at night. Se ve precioso.”

“Hey, maybe next time we can go to Australia for vacation. Laia must have some friends at Arsenal that can give us some advice on where to go,” she added. Australia was another place you thought was beautiful. The beaches looked so… beach-y. They looked like the type of beaches you imagine when you hear the word ‘beach’, but Barcelona beaches weren’t too far off either in your humble beach-lover opinion.

"Are you two talking about the holidays?" It was Ingrid asking now, and she emerged from the other side of Alexia. You nodded, a smile on your face. "Yeah. I can't wait, it's literally all I've been thinking about, I'm so excited! I want to go to the beach and the city– Patri! Clau!" you yelled, beckoning to the women across the room, "We should go bungee jumping!"

Patri's face lit up. "I'll do anything that gives Ale a heart attack," she jeered, nudging Alexia gently as she stepped off the treadmill and wiped her forehead with a towel. "Cállate, tonto," Alexia laughed.

“I’m excited to try their coffee. I hope they’ve got a good coffee culture,” Ingrid said, earning a hum of agreement from Fridolina, another café enthusiast.

There were so many things to do, you couldn't keep up. When you and Irene got home, you immediately dashed to your room and flopped onto your bed with your notebook and laptop open, searching up and scribbling down a list of activities for you guys to do during your time in New Zealand. It ranged from bowling at an arcade to dining in a restaurant situated at the top of a skyscraper, so the options were endless.

Honestly, you were just happy to be going on holiday with your teammates. The destination didn’t matter.

Mateo stumbled into your room with his stuffed moose, Bombón, and climbed onto your bed, sitting politely beside you with his moose in his lap.

“Teo, me and Mami are going on holiday, so you and Bombón will be with Madre for a little bit,” you explained, earning a little nod from Mateo who pointed at your laptop screen.

“Es aquí donde vas?” he questioned, motioning to the photos on the website you had open. “Sí. Bonita, verdad?” Mateo smiled and replied with a little ‘Sí.’

“Nenita,” Irene yelled from the living room. You peered out of your bedroom as she spoke, “Can you text Fridolina and ask her how we’re booking the flight tickets?”

You nodded and retreated into your bedroom again, picking up your phone and opening iMessage.

yourname

→ @/fridolinarolfo how are we booking the tickets frido??

fridolinarolfo

→ 😅😅

patri8guijarro

→ Let’s take the Barça plane 🤣🤣

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ It’s there for a reason lol

claudiaapina

→ Barça plane or I’m not going 💯

fridolinarolfo

→ 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ I’ll ask Jona then

“Irene, Frido’s gonna ask Jona if we can take the big plane!” you said. She didn’t respond for a minute, but then she appeared at your bedroom door. “The Barça plane? The one with our faces on the side?”

You nodded once more, and Irene let out a laugh as she shook her head. “Claudia’s idea, or Patri’s?” she asked. “Patri’s, but Claudia did say that she’s not going if we don’t take that plane,” you giggled, showing her the texts on your phone. Two tiny hands grabbed ahold of you as Mateo braced on your arm and took a peek at your phone screen.

The next day, Alexia picked you up to take you to training while Irene dropped Mateo off at preschool. It was one of the last training days before the season ended, so there were some bittersweet feelings surrounding the next few days.

"I love being at work and I'm a bit sad because this season has been so good, a holiday only means it's finished,” Aitana said while you two sat down and used the foam rollers beneath your legs, “But pequeñita, the last time I went to New Zealand, all I wanted to do was win the World Cup, so I didn't do anything around the city because we weren't there for a holiday. Now that we have won it, I want to do as much as we can!”

Fridolina burst through the doors of the gym with a big smile on her face, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. “I just asked Jona about taking the Barça plane and…”

Everyone looked at her eagerly, waiting for the verdict.

“It’s a yes... but we have to pay for our own tickets since it isn’t for work.”

Claudia was the first to jump up and celebrate, followed by Patri and then everyone else. The tickets part didn’t matter, because you all got to sit together anyways.

“We’re going to New Zealand!”

After your training session, you all sat in a circle to do some stretches. The stretches part happened for maybe a minute, before you pulled a folded piece of paper out of your pocket and laid it out flat on the grass in front of you all. "I wrote down a bunch of things we can do in New Zealand. There's something for everyone, so don't worry about missing out on any cafés, Ingrid," you jeered.

Patri grabbed the paper and scanned it, a smile quickly appearing on her face. She passed it down to Claudia, and the paper made its way around the circle before ending up in the middle again.

"I want to have dinner at the skyscraper restaurant," Alexia said, her eyes lighting up as she spoke about it. A few people hummed in agreement, including you.

Claudia scoffed and shook her head, "The first thing we're doing is going to the theme park. Look forward to dinner at dinnertime!"

"You look forward to dinner at breakfast time."

"Okay, shut up Mapi."

"What about the trampoline park? You guys are totally ignoring the trampoline park!" Patri exclaimed, flailing her hands in the air. Alexia laughed and leaned back on her arms, "Yeah, because a group of grown women are allowed to be in a trampoline park with little kids. We'll crush them!"

"Not if we rent the whole place out," Patri winked, making Alexia raise her eyebrow. "Imagine that! A trampoline park, all to ourselves."

Alexia shook her head, laughing once more, "That wouldn't be too bad. At least you three could be clowns and not hurt anyone's kid," she remarked, motioning to you, Patri, and Pina, all of which made faces at her.

"It would be way cooler to hire the theme park for the night. No lines, unlimited turns, and we wouldn't need to wait forever for food," Claudia responded.

"We should go to the beach!" Ingrid chimed, pointing at the sheet of paper. That was something everyone could agree on; a nice day at the beach, soaking up the sun. There was nothing quite like the Barcelona sun, but you could at least see if the New Zealand sun came close to comparing.

“(Y/N), come on!” Alexia yelled from the living room, rolling her suitcase along the floor. You groaned, currently in the middle of trying to zip your own luggage up. “I’m almost done!”

You sat on top of your suitcase, desperately trying to push it down, and eventually, you finally managed. With a sigh of relief, you quickly zipped it up with one hand while the other kept pushing it. Alexia appeared at your door, sticking her head through the gap, “Have you got it, Chiquita?” You nodded, heaving the suitcase off your bed and onto the floor with a thud as you smiled proudly. “All done!”

"I logged into Hay Day for you, because I knew you'd be busy and forget," Alexia added, a smile of her own now gracing her features as yours simply widened. "Graciés, Ale!" you exclaimed, wheeling your suitcase forward. You stopped at the door as Alexia pulled you into a hug and placed a quick kiss to your forehead.

"Are we forgetting anything?" she asked, walking with you to the living room, and you thought about it for a moment before shaking your head with an unsure expression, "I don't think so..."

“Wait!”

You ran back into your room quickly, skidding around the corner. Alexia could hear you rummaging around for something and mumbling, ‘Where is it’ and, ‘Mierda’ before you emerged from the room empty handed. She looked down at your feet and laughed when she saw the navy blue house slippers on your feet, paired with the Barça socks you were already wearing.

“Don’t laugh, you don’t understand how nice they are,” you grumbled, brushing her off as she laughed even harder.

The pair of you walked out of Alexia’s apartment with your suitcases in hand, and you took the elevator down to the car park. There was a brief silence in the elevator for a moment, but the urge got the best of you and you began making faces at Alexia in the mirror.

You returned to a normal expression when she suddenly looked at you with her eyebrow raised, and you glanced back at her like she was crazy for being suspicious of you. Once she turned back around, you continued making stupid faces in the mirror while she wasn't looking.

The antics didn't stop when she eventually caught you; instead, Alexia joined in, poking her tongue out at you in the mirror until you both were going back and forth making silly faces at each other for the rest of the elevator ride. Soon, the empty car park was filled with the sound of laughter as the pair of you exited the elevator, stumbling over your own two feet from laughing too hard while you walked to her car.

She unlocked the car and you both hauled your suitcases into the trunk with a grunt. "Dios mío, it wasn't this heavy before..." Alexia mumbled, pulling the trunk lid down before strolling to the driver's side.

You nodded in agreement, letting out a slightly exasperated sigh as you sunk into the passenger seat.

"I can't wait until I can drive," you remarked, buckling your seatbelt. "When that happens, you owe me about... 1,000 car rides," Alexia teased, buckling her own seatbelt as she glanced at you with a small smile. You rolled your eyes, seemingly annoyed at her words, but the smile on your own face told other tales.

You wound down the window a bit, filling the car with fresh air as you emerged out of the car park and traversed the streets of Barcelona. "Are we picking anyone else up?" you inquired, and she shook her head.

"We were going to pick up Irene, but Lucia said she'd drop her off at the airport," Alexia responded, and you acknowledged her words with a little 'oh'.

"Want anything to eat, Chiquita?" Alexia asked, glancing at you for a sliver of a second. You contemplated her question carefully, hesitating every time you thought you had an answer, until eventually you came up with a nod of your head. "I'm craving an almond croissant, you know the ones?"

The blonde nodded her head, knowing exactly what you meant. It only took a few turns before Alexia pulled over in front of your favourite pastry bakery. "Vale, I'll be 2 minutes," she notified, opening her car door and shutting it behind her as she headed for the entrance of the bakery.

Shortly after, she returned with a brown paper bag in hand and a smile on her face. Opening the car door once again and sitting down in her seat, she handed you the bag. Immediately, the sweet aroma of a fresh-out-the-oven, icing sugar-dusted, almond-garnished croissant graced your nostrils. "Graciés, hermana," you thanked her, a smile akin to hers on your face.

"Want a bite?" you asked, offering the warm pastry to her as she merged back onto the main road. She took a little nibble, mumbling a thanks in between her bite. As soon as she straightened herself up, you brought your croissant back to your mouth and took a massive bite, savouring every moment spent with icing sugar on your face. ‘It adds to the experience,’ you thought.

The last bites were consumed at an agonisingly slow pace. You wanted to savour the almond-y goodness, but you also wanted to wolf it down and quit stalling — you were conflicted. Would New Zealand have such nice almond croissants? Probably not, but you’d never know unless you tried!

The prospect of more almond croissants in New Zealand got you through the last few bites without having to mourn the pastry, and before you knew it, the airport was coming into sight.

Travelling wasn’t a new concept for you; in fact, you had lived abroad in France before. You couldn’t say why, but you did for two years (give or take a few months), and some would call it a miracle that Lyon didn’t pick you up before Barcelona did.

You hated living in France anyways. It was pastry heaven, of course, but it was not Vidić lover heaven. They were all about Zidane and Henry, not a single word about Vidić. It was understandable, but still, not cool.

Also, the amount of pigeons freaked you out.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, already knowing who it was. Alexia’s buzzed too, but as she rummaged around for it, you had already opened the message, so she just looked at your screen.

claudiaapina

→ Where are you all

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Deja de ser perezosa hermanas 🙄

patri8guijarro

→ Don’t listen to her we just got here because someone @/claudiaapina wanted to stop and pet someone’s dog 🖕🏻🖕🏻

claudiaapina

Replied to patri8guijarro

Don’t listen to her we just got here because s…

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Cállate cerdita

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 💩 1

fridolinarolfo

→ I’m here with Aitana we’re just getting a bite

yourname

→ me and ale just got here 😆

lucybronze

→ I’m with Ona in the lounge 🥴

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ I saw Marta dragging Caro to the duty free though 🤣🤣

graham95

→ Be quiet Lucy I saw you kicking a vending machine earlier 😒

ingrid_engen

→ im here with maría now

yourname

→ i see irene 🥳🥳🥳🥳

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ bye guys me and ale will see you inside 🥸

You switched your phone off, shoving it back into your pocket as Alexia spoke with a smile. “This is going to be a fun trip.”

You nodded, your face contorting into a smile of your own as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Let’s grab our stuff and go to Irene,” you said eagerly, jumping out of the car and rushing to the trunk, pushing up the lid so you could lift your suitcase out slowly.

You wheeled it around the side of Alexia’s car before abandoning it and breaking into a sprint towards Irene, but you were actually heading for Mateo who was toddling along behind her. You swooped him into your arms, and Irene bore an affectionate smile as she watched you carry him.

“Pequeño, I’m gonna miss you!” you said, placing the toddler back down. He latched onto your leg, hugging it tightly, and you ruffled his hair. “I’ll bring you back a friend for Bombón, I promise,” you added, giving Mateo one last hug before picking him up once more and handing him to Lucia. Irene gave the two one last hug goodbye, and then put an arm around your shoulder while her other one held the handle of her suitcase.

Alexia wheeled your luggage back over to you, and held her own in her other hand. “Ready to go?” she asked you and Irene, who both nodded.

“Let’s go!”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

[nahoney22]

Omg congrats on so many followers! That's so amazing and so well deserved! Might I request Echo and Female reader and the sort of prompt is kissing as a disguise? (It can absolutely get a bit spicy too fyi :0) Oh also can reader just be someone who has been with the batch long enough to be familiar with them and such? Thank you!!! x <3

Kiss Me Quick*** 🌊

🫧 pairing: Echo X Female!Reader

word count: 2.7k

prompts: none

When you and Echo pair up to track a missing shipment for Cid, you both didn’t anticipate that it would end with you two finding somewhere to be alone.

warnings: Light NSFW, 17+ only, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating Trope, Steamy Kisses, Neck Kisses and Bites, Touchy-feely, Minor Alcohol Consumption, Reader Wearing a Dress.

a/n: sorry for the wait @mezmatch, enjoy 🫧

“What does she want now?” you muttered, a familiar mix of irritation and reluctance bubbling up.

All you wanted was a rare day of relaxation, but fate, also known as Cid, had other plans.

“Probably to do her dirty work for very little credit,” Echo sighed, shaking his head in agreement.

After taking a moment to mentally prepare, you stepped into Cid’s cluttered office. The Trandoshan greeted you with her usual disdain, referring to you as ‘grumps’ and Echo as ‘killjoy’.

When you asked for details, she waved you off dismissively and activated the console in the center of her office. A large hologram of a notorious crime lord flickered to life. Cid began outlining the mission: gathering information on a shipment of weapons for a mysterious client. But you sensed there was more to it than she was letting on. There always was.

“This is a two-person job, and you two are the perfect candidates,” Cid announced, moving around her desk to take a seat. Her large claws tapped rhythmically across the surface. “And you two lovebirds get to dress up.”

“Could you not get—wait, what? Lovebirds?” You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Echo, who looked equally confused, albeit slightly more flustered.

Cid smirked, looking between the two of you. “Omega said you two were a thing.”

“No, we are not a ‘thing,’” Echo said, using air quotes and shaking his head. “But more to the point, what do you mean by dress up?”

“Don’t worry,” Cid said, her smirk widening. “Bolo and Ketch are on it.”

You folded your arms and stared down at Cid. “I don’t think taking fashion advice from those two is a great idea.”

Cid shrugged casually, waving you both off. “Don’t worry about it. Now, get out.”

Relieved, you left the office with the door hissing shut behind you. “Well, this could be interesting,” you sighed.

Echo agreed with a small mumble, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, why do you think Omega said that about us?”

“You know what she’s like,” you chuckled, not thinking too much into it. “She sees Hunter speaking to literally anyone and asks me if I think Hunter fancies them. She’s trying to play matchmaker.”

“Fair point,” Echo chuckled, but your conversation was soon interrupted by the sound of bickering. Bolo and Ketch entered the parlor, making a beeline straight to you both.

What had Cid gotten you into now?

That evening, the Marauder settled into hyperspace as you and Echo dressed in the outfits Cid’s regulars had picked out for you. Surprisingly, they hadn’t done too bad.

You slipped into a sleek, form-fitting dress in deep sapphire blue, which shimmered with your every movement. It was a far cry from your usual battle-worn attire, but you felt unexpectedly good in it.

Entering the cockpit, smoothing out the dress, you spotted Echo struggling with his cufflinks. “Can I help you with that?” you offered.

Echo was seated at the controls, and as he looked up, he did a double-take. None of the boys had ever seen you dressed so glamorously before. For a second, he thought you were a completely different person. His fingers stumbled, dropping the links as he tsked at himself in embarrassment. “Getting dressed in this kind of stuff is hard when you only have one hand,” he admitted, bending down to pick them up.

You moved closer, gently reaching out to help. “Here, let me.”

As you fixed the links to his cuffs, you also adjusted his slightly askew collar. Echo took a moment to truly look at you, noticing how stunning you looked. Though he had always found you beautiful, tonight you looked especially radiant. He didn’t say anything, but the soft smile on his face spoke volumes.

“There,” you said, stepping back. “All set.”

“Thanks,” Echo replied, his voice a little softer than usual. “You look…”

Gorgeous.

Pretty.

Beautiful.

“…really nice.”

He inwardly cringed at himself but saw your eyes shine at his compliment, which was clearly enough for you. And surprisingly, enough for him too.

You smiled, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, Sir,”

As you arrived, the grandeur of the event immediately struck you. Shimmering chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a glittering glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The room buzzed with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, opulent decorations reflecting the wealth and status of the attendees.

Despite feeling out of place, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by the luxurious surroundings. However, the mission was clear: infiltrate the event, locate the stolen shipment of weapons, and report back to Cid.

Moving through the crowd, you exchanged pleasantries with other guests, trying to get a sense of the situation. Your eyes continuously scanned for any sign of the crime lord or his associates, whose images Cid had ingrained in your minds. Despite the lavish setting, your nerves were on edge. You felt grateful to be teamed up with Echo; his presence gave you a sense of calm in case things went awry.

“I’m going to head right to see if I can catch a lead. Are you okay with going to the left?” Echo asked, his voice steady.

You smiled in agreement at his plan. He gave you a reassuring nod before you split up to cover more ground. You gravitated toward the bar and ordered a cocktail to blend in. The bartender handed you a drink that was a mesmerizing swirl of deep blue and violet, almost matching your dress. It had hints of citrus and a subtle sweetness that lingered on the tongue. You sipped it slowly, your eyes and ears open to any useful information.

As you listened to the murmurs around you, a light tap on your shoulder made you turn. Standing before you was the crime lord himself, tall and imposing in a sharp suit, exuding an aura of controlled menace. He offered a charming, if slightly unsettling, smile.

“Enjoying the evening?” he asked, his tone smooth and courteous.

You maintained your composure, smiling back. “It’s quite the event. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He leaned on the bar, his eyes gleaming with interest. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. It’s rare to see such beauty in these parts.”

From across the room, Echo’s gaze snapped to the scene. His posture tensed as he watched the exchange, a mix of concern and an unrecognizable pang twisting in his gut as he saw you speaking with the man. Without hesitation, he made his way over, weaving through the crowd.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me,” you said, forcing a smile as you twirled the straw in your drink.

“And if I was?” he countered, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Or are you spoken for?”

Before you could answer, another familiar voice spoke up beside you. “Is everything alright over here?”

Relief washed over you as you saw Echo. When he reached you, you took a bold step, leaning into him, looping your arm through his, and resting your head against his shoulder. “This is my better half,” you said with a sweet smile, hoping the ruse would deter the crime lord from his advances.

Echo, catching on quickly, wrapped his arm around your waist, playing along. “Good evening,” he greeted, his voice steady.

The crime lord’s eyes flickered between you both, a calculating look crossing his face before he let out a chuckle. “A lucky man, indeed,” he said.

“I am,” Echo started, shifting his position before looking across at you. “Has my love asked you about our proposal?”

You stayed silent, allowing Echo to take the reins. Although you should have been paying attention, you couldn’t help but gaze at Echo, watching his lips move but not processing his words. His fingers gently caressed your waist, providing comfort and security. Had he always been so... alluring?

You felt breathless and almost flinched when Echo’s gaze suddenly locked onto you.

“W-What?” you stammered.

Echo raised an eyebrow at you, his hand slipping from your waist, leaving you feeling suddenly cold. “Did you hear what he said?” Echo asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

You blinked, overwhelmed, and took a step back as you realised you were in a whole different realm it seemed. You hadn’t even noticed that the crime lord had left. “Sorry, I... I think I blanked out for a moment,” you admitted, frowning.

He watched you curiously and politely took the drink from your hand, placing it on the bar. “Maybe lay off these?” he suggested with a soft chuckle.

You rolled your eyes, playfully nudging his shoulder. “I only had half of one,” you reiterated, not feeling up to explaining the real reason for your distraction. “Anyway, what intel did you get?”

“He said the shipment is being moved to the docks. I told him we were thinking of getting in on the score.”

You raised an impressed eyebrow. “And he even didn’t question it?”

“Not particularly, no. But it’s best we keep our wits about us,” Echo pointed out, scanning the surroundings before his eyes landed on you again. “We should still ask around or listen for more information, just in case he’s misleading us.”

Agreeing, you and Echo split up once again. But you couldn't lie and say your mind wasn't elsewhere. Echo was definitely boyfriend material for anyone, but you never thought you'd find yourself wanting Echo to be your actual boyfriend. He settled into the role so easily that you wondered if he had done it once before in his 501st days.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a short yet intimidating associate of the crime lord blocked your path, his eyes sharp and scrutinising. “I hear you and your partner are interested in our operation,” he said suspiciously. “What’s your angle?”

“No angle,” you lied smoothly, tilting your head down at him. “It’s just business.”

“Well darling, your business is now my business.” He stepped towards you, but you didn’t back down and held your ground.

A smirk spread across your lips. “I don’t think it is. Besides, it’s your boss I have business with, not his little pup.”

The man’s eyes flared with anger at your words, feeling the sting of your insult. “I don’t trust you, or your little boyfriend. If he even is who you say he is.”

“If I had a credit for every time I didn’t care about your opinion, I wouldn’t have to do this,” you countered, placing your fists on your hips. “Now run along.”

The man muttered something under his breath and stalked off, and you couldn’t help but release the small breath you were holding. If that guy was wary of you and Echo, you were certain the others would catch on too.

You located Echo across the hall and swiftly made your way over to him, gently clutching his arm. “We should get going.”

“What, why?” he asked, looking at you and then scanning the area for any potential dangers. You told him that people were growing suspicious of you both. As you looked around, you saw the associates talking quietly to one another, occasionally glancing at you and Echo.

Your mind fell back to the associate's words, wondering why he would think you and Echo couldn’t possibly be partners. Was there anything you could do to sway their opinion?

Then, an idea clicked—a somewhat smart yet daring move.

You turned back to Echo, watching him as he scanned the environment, his hand resting on your hip. You felt a rush of wild emotions.

Letting go of his arm, your hand moved to his face, cupping his cheek and turning his face back to you softly. You met his eyes, slightly wide and curious but absolutely alluring. Leaning up, your lips landed on his.

You felt his faint gasp against your lips, but he quickly caught on to what you were doing. So, he brought you closer, his eyes fluttering closed.

At first, it started as just a peck, but as you went to pull back, his lips chased yours, not caring who or what saw.

Breaking the kiss eventually, your eyes silently spoke to each other. Without another word, Echo took your hand and led you to a quiet and secure area away from prying eyes. A flush of embarrassment suddenly surfaced, and you expected Echo to say you shouldn’t do that again. But as you turned to face him, ready to apologise, he approached you with steadfast determination and kissed you again.

Surprised, you were backed into a desk, his arm wrapping around you and lifting you onto it with ease. You gasped against his lips, holding onto his shoulders and pulling him closer. The kiss intensified, filled with pent-up emotions of the night and laced desire. His hand roamed your body, his scomp link gently tracing your waist, sending waves of shivers down your spine.

"Echo," you whispered between kisses, your voice low and gentle.

He responded with a soft murmur of your name, his lips leaving yours before trailing down your neck.

Each touch of his lips peppering on your skin made your heart race and your breaths come faster. Was this really happening?

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes with a smirk. "And you look sexy dressed this way too."

The compliment sent a thrill through you, your cheeks flushing at his bold compliment. “Echo…” you could only respond again with a soft sigh, his name the only thing on your mind.

Echo's grip tightened around you, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear to let you go. His lips moved back to your neck, and you couldn't help the small moans that escaped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his warm tongue licked at your exposed skin, followed by a soft nip of his teeth.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," he breathed, his voice filled with sincerity and desire. Your eyes close, gasping at the realisation that Echo had had these strong feelings for you and only now is able to truly express them. You wish he had told you earlier.

His scorching kisses made you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before. The connection between you deepened with each touch, each whispered word. Tongue begging for entrance, you part your lips as soon as his lips touch yours, the passion burning through both of your bodies as your hands move up and down his chest.

“What if someone sees us?” You pant once you break for breath, physically melting as you watch his hand grasp the bottom of your dress, pulling it upwards to expose your legs.

“Then they don’t get to question what you are to me,” he mumbles, drunk in love eyes meeting yours.

His hand started to slip up under your dress, sending a shiver of anticipation through you when suddenly, a sharp beep cut through the haze of your passion.

Echo pulled back, slightly breathless, as his comm went off. Cid's voice crackled through, impatient and nagging. “What’s taking so long? I need details, now. You’re needed back.”

You both exchanged a look, a mixture of frustration and amusement, before Echo answered, his voice steady despite the interruption. “We’ll be there soon, Cid. Just wrapping up.”

He ended the call and looked back at you, his gaze softening. “We should get going.”

You nodded, feeling a bit shy after the intensity of the moment being ruined . “Yeah, we should.”

As you smoothed your dress out, you watched as Echo tried to fix his tie, which you had yanked on accidentally during the kiss. Smiling, you stepped closer and helped him adjust it. “There.”

When you were done, you both met each other's gaze again. Echo couldn’t help but place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Can we talk about what happened after the mission?” he asked softly, his eyes full of hope.

“Of course,” you replied, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but you should thank Omega, and even Cid, for bringing you both together.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

@pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87

@ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi

@greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

[asph-phell3]

So what are we now?.. like lovers?

⠀⠀× Oh my g! I think I can finally have motivation ⠀⠀⠀⠀to write, I feel amazing right now.

⠀⠀× The reader I used kinda sounds a bit ⠀⠀⠀⠀nonchalant because I love sun x moon ⠀⠀⠀⠀dynamics. Sorry ><

⠀⠀× Reader does not have a stated job, their job will ⠀⠀⠀⠀remain ambiguous; takes place in tulpar

⠀⠀⠀Today was tiring, like the rest of the previous days. Jimmy was always asking for you to do this, do that, and do those! Like at this point, it's getting really exhausting even for you. After doing the job that Jimmy assigned you again, you felt like rest was at your door. The urge to crawl into your quarters and sleep for weeks on end was engraved on your mind; somehow you couldn't bring yourself to actually rest despite being so tired. Maybe you were getting used to getting less and lesser sleep now.

⠀⠀⠀You sat at the common room, dazed as you stare at the floor. Your mind projecting random shit for you so that you wouldn't fall asleep or something— the train of memories just ended when you felt something move next to you. Oh, it was Daisuke.

⠀⠀⠀You didn't really interact with other than much, on the flip side, it was mostly Daisuke doing the talking and you just replied with some nods and short phrases but you did listen to him. I'm sure he wouldn't take it as an offense if you found him weird (technically) but still, it feels comforting to talk to him. Out of everyone in the freighter, Daisuke seems the most approachable and friendliest!

⠀⠀⠀Some problems were just starting to bubble up as Jimmy bosses you around, mentally and physically exhausting you to your limit; it was obvious from the look of your face after all. Daisuke looked at you with a big fat hint of worry, the way he stared felt more to you. You just can't seem to point it out, and it's not like you'll say it out loud either.

⠀⠀⠀“..You good? Just asking since you seem tired as fuck.“ Said the sunshine. You just sighed, not knowing how to process your troubles that's mixing in with your exhausted form. “Absolutely deadbeat.“ was your reply. You can't even fathom to reply properly from the overwhelming ache in your body.

⠀⠀⠀“Ooh, how about you go to my room?“ He said. It was a weird thing to ask when both have separate quarters, and not like there was a reason for you to not accept. Not that you'll decline, the company you've wanted has been itching for a while. “Eh, sure why not.“

⠀⠀⠀There in you are in Daisuke's room. Daisuke was just ranting per usual about anything really: his gameboy, Swansea and his work, past events back on earth. The way he talks was slowly getting to you, something about him talking gives you comfort.

⠀⠀⠀“You know, you're really pretty like the Oirase Gorge back in Japan!“ Daisuke just blurted out. It was obvious that blatant that Daisuke often speaks before he thinks— You were a bit confused, not knowing much spots in Japan nor were you the geographic type. You also felt flustered, mostly focusing on the "you're so pretty!" part. Somehow it got to you, why did it get to you?

⠀⠀⠀“Ah- Uh, alright.. I'm sure that place is pretty!“ You tried to strive in confidence while you were breaking down from the embarrassment, you've never been complimented like this before. Somehow you find it endearing. Daisuke doesn't seem to notice the undertone of his words, he just continued on with his compliments with you. Pointing every aspect of you in an endearing way.

⠀⠀⠀Somehow, and I mean SOMEHOW. Somehow, the little complimenting propaganda Daisuke was doing? Oh it ended up turning into a damn ass confession that's what! Now you don't know how to respond; you need to say yes, yet the words aren't processing in your head which led you to just stay as solid as a statue...

⠀⠀⠀“Oh- Oh shit, yeah! Yeah.. I like you too!“ You blurted out, it was more a spur in the moment. It was like that was your automatically reply— Dare I say the ending was just you getting pounced on by your new boyfriend!

omg excuse me for being a lazy on the ending. I'm actually like tired asf!!! Hope this can satisfy you IM CRYING 💔💔

[stargirlrchive]

ocean eyes: chapter two ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ocean eyes masterlist

summary: widow!jake sully x female!reader, 10 year age-gap. jake is lowkey sunshine <3 reader is grumpy! arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, eventual smut + wc - 1,753

comments: part two lovers, i love reader, she's is slay girl boss fr ! idk what to say lmao but tysm for the love on part one, i hope you love this just as much! also omg pls check this out, @saltsacc drew what they think reader looks like and she's gorg! i litch cried ! but okay bye lovers <3 part three should be up on thursday <3

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The morning time had come quickly, the bright sun hitting your features and it disrupted your wonderful slumber. But if the sun hadn't woken you up, your sister's voice certainly would have. “Tsmuke! You need to be ready by now. Oh Great Mother, give me strength!”

You rubbed at your sleepy eyes, throwing her an annoyed glance, “Why are you being so strange? They are just other Na’vi. Or let me guess, Eywa has let you know they are of importance?”

Ronal pinched at her nose, “If you must know, he is Toruk Makto. He was the Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. He is important, more than you know!”

You laughed quietly, “Do not let Tonowari hear you, you sound enamored.”

“Stupid girl!”

You laughed louder, shaking your head as you stretched before getting up. “Make haste!”

You hissed at her lightly, your good-hearted nature wearing thin as she rushed you. You quickly washed your face, Ronal helping you by fixing up your hair. “Oh Eywa, you are preparing me like I am going to marry the man!”

She said nothing, her nervous fingers quickly braiding a few pearls into your hair. “What is so special about him anyway?”

“Did you not hear what I said? He is Toruk Makto.”

You huffed in annoyance, “Of course I heard you sister, but-” Your shoulders shrugged, “How mighty can he be if he left his whole clan behind?”

She smacked your shoulder roughly, “Ow! Ronal-”

“Must you always be so crass? His mate died a few years back.”

“How did she die?”

“Protecting her children, in the battle field. I do not know much else.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, instantly feeling guilty, “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. So be kind to him, to all of them.”

“You may think poorly of me sister, but I am not mean.”

Ronal’s fingers stilled in her movements, face scrunching up as she mulled over what you said, “I do not think poorly of you.”

You didn't say anything else, toying with your fingers as you sat in front of Ronal, “Tsmuke, I do not think poorly of you.”

You grumbled out quietly, “You already said that.”

“I-I just want what is best for you, and at times I do not think you know how to find that for yourself.”

“Ronal, I am happy.”

“You are reckless! You think I do not know why you behave the way you do? You want the attention you lacked as a child, but you are grown now. There are responsibilities and duties you must fulfill.”

Her harsh words caused tears to well to your eyes, pulling away from her, “You do not listen!”

“And you do not obey!”

“Why should I? You are my sister, not my mother! Just because you ended up happy with Tonowari does not mean I will end up happy with whoever you stick me with. I love my freedom far too much to give it up.”

She sighed in exasperation, “Well that is not your decision. It is the Great Mother’s and she has spoken to me.”

It dawned upon you then, what all this was about. The enthusiasm to have you meet the Toruk Makto, dressing you up. “You are planning to mate me with that man?”

There was a glimmer of guilt in her eyes, but it was shaken away as she nodded her head. “He is a good man, with a strong heart. He will be good for you.”

Your words were low, quite with disbelief, “I cannot believe you.”

Ronal said nothing, “I always knew you wanted me out of your life, too much of a burden for you and Tonowari but I did not expect you to push me into the arms of the first man you saw!”

A spike of pain ran through Ronal, this is exactly what she feared. She made her way to you, the apology already starting to fall from her mouth but your shaky finger pointing at her stopped her movements. “Stop! Don’t-do not come near me!”

Your ears flattened against your head, the words getting caught in Ronal’s throat as she watched your eyes pool with tears. “Please get out so I can change.”

Ronal’s fear of hurting you even more had her walking out of the marui, leaving you to wallow in your own pity as you dressed yourself.

Tonowari instantly wrapped Ronal into his arms, rubbing against her back to soothe her, “Wari, she is going to hate me for the rest of her life.”

He shushed her quietly, having heard everything that happened, “No she will not, Yawne. You know how nervous you were before we actually mated. It is a big step in our lives, we just need to let her be.”

Ronal let herself bask in the warmth Tonowari provided, pulling away just a few seconds before you stepped out. Ronal’s eyes scanned over you, you looked so beautiful. She wanted to compliment you but knew you'd take it as mockery, some sort of jab to make you feel worse. So she said nothing, walking besides Tonowari and you followed quickly behind the two.

You were far more quiet than normal, and it hit Ronal just how much she actually enjoyed your inability to remain quiet. Tonowari called your name, “Did you hear me?”

“No-I did not.”

“I said I think he will be good for you.”

“If you say so.”

The pair shared a look, your tame behavior caused a sense of worry to nestle into Ronal. They entered the marui of Jake Sully, the Na’vi was sharpening his knives but other than that, it was empty. Tonowari cleared his throat, Jake’s head snapped up and was greeted with the three of you. “Tonowari, Ronal-oel ngati kameie.”

His eyes shifted to you, your eyes were already locked on him and Jake felt his ears twitch. Ronal uttered your name out, “This is my Tsmuke.”

“Oel ngati kameie, Jake Sully.”

“Oel ngati kameie.”

He noticed your intricate top, your pretty hair and how your skin glowed beautifully against the sun. He felt his throat instantly dry up the more he took you in. “We spoke briefly yesterday of your stay here.”

“Oh, yes.”

“The Tsahik and I have discussed what we wish for you to be able to stay. We know you have come seeking Uturu, a fresh start but we must also ensure this is safe for the clan. Beneficial to our people. You understand?”

Jake nodded his head, he more than most understood what it was like to make decisions that he did not entirely want for the prosperity of the clan. “Well, we can allow you and your family to stay if you mate with a woman of the Metkayina Clan. More specifically, with her.”

Your ears turned downwards slightly, but still you held his gaze. That was certainly not what he expected. “We understand that it may be hard to just thrust this upon you, so we will give you both time to adjust. She will be the one to train you, help you adjust to life near the water.”

A swift flicker of anger made its way to your eyes, turning towards Tonowari, “I do not have time to train him.”

“Well then you will make time.”

Your eyes rolled back, anger seeping into his family home from you alone. Jake would be lying if he said he did not enjoy seeing you so agitated, especially when it came to him. He fought the smile that was trying to make its way to his face the more he watched you. “What do you say, JakeSully?”

Your eyes jumped back to him, there was a look in your eyes that he could not quite place but it excited him beyond belief, “If that is what you wish. I only hope I can speak to my children about this before the clan is made aware?”

Your mouth dropped slightly in disbelief, confusion webbing its way into your mind as to why he would agree to this so willingly. You thought you'd have time, time to be on your worst behavior around him so he can back out before he even agreed. But no, he had already said yes to you.

Your arms crossed over your chest stubbornly, huffing out a breath of annoyance as you watched the smallest of smiles fall across his features. Ronal was trying her best to contain her excitement, she had always wanted you to mate with someone, and it appeared that the time was soon.

She turned to look at you and was unsurprised to find you glaring at the Toruk Makto, your lip jutting out in an angry pout. “Very well, JakeSully. Make your preparations and we will announce it during a feast a few weeks down the line, yes?”

He only hummed, eyes still locked onto yours. You rolled your eyes at him, he was clearly enjoying himself, “Can I leave now?”

Ronal called your name but you ignored her, walking fast out of the home and towards the beach.

Tonowari’s mouth turned into a thin line as he sent an awkward look towards Jake. “She is very kind, just-strong willed.”

A quiet laugh left Jake’s mouth, “I can see that.”

He walked with the two out of his mauri, his eyes scanning the waters and he locked onto your form, jumping head first into the water as an ilu swam towards you. Ronal tsk’ed quietly, “She is going to ruin her clothes.”

Jake watched you retreat further into the water, your animal easily gliding along as you got smaller and smaller. “Are you sure she will show up to train me?”

Jake’s eyes moved over to Tonowari, “Yes, I will make sure of it.”

Jake’s fingers reached his forehead, signing them goodbye as they walked away. He let out a quiet breath, his thoughts consumed with excitement and wonderment at just how these next few weeks may play out.

Your feelings on the matter were entirely different, anger coursing through your veins as you swam out past the reef.

Ao’nung and Tsireya shared a look, noticing the angry glare on your face when you didn’t even bother to stop and talk to them. “Should we tell Sa’nok and Sempul?”

Ao’nung shook his head at his younger sister, “Ma’ will pluck her eyes out for real this time.”

Tsireya fumbled with her fingers nervously, “Ao’nung, it is going to storm, she didn’t look to be thinking clearly-”

He watched your form retreating farther and farther, heading towards the Three Brothers rocks. “If she does not return in an hour we will call for father.”

Tsireya sighed quietly but listened all the same, returning back to her task at hand. “So, you must learn to breathe from here.” She pointed to her stomach, “Take deep breaths, fill your lungs and slow your heart. It will assist with staying underwater longer.”

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Three hours had passed by and you were still out past the reef, finding refuge in the mountains as the waters turned violent, your ilu having swam away as it noticed the dangers of the water. You huffed out in frustration, Ronal was truly going to kill you now.

Ao’nung was the first to notice just how late it had become. By the way the sun was hitting just a few moments ago, he could tell that well more than an hour's time had passed, and you were still not back. The water rocked them violently, and Tsireya’s sharp gasp of air at seeing a lone ilu swimming back only furthered his fear for you. His parents were going to kill you.

“Tsireya-”

“We must cut the training short, we will see you all tomorrow.”

Both Ao’nung and Tsireya swam quickly back to shore, leaving behind four confused Omatikaya Na’vi. “Their aunt, she’s-how do I put this nicely-rebellious?”

Rotxo laughed quietly, shaking his head as he watched his two friends swim as fast they could back to the beach. “Lets head back, no point in training with the waters like this.”

The two siblings entered their marui, surprised to find Jake sitting with their parents, they both dipped their heads to the former Olo’eyktan before turning to their parents, “Have you seen Tanhí?”

“That is why we are here, Sa’nok.”

Ronal’s brows raised in question, noticing the tremble of worry in her daughter's voice, “She-she left past the reef a few hours ago.”

Ronal swore she felt her blood pressure go up, feeling woozy at her sister's complete disregard for rules. “But-”

“But what?”

Ao’nung watched his younger sister's ears pin to her head, losing her voice, “But she has not returned, and the ilu she rode on did. She rode in the direction of the Three Brothers.”

Tonowari let out a deep breath, his head throbbed roughly as he looked out to see how violent the waters were. “I will be back shortly.”

“Sempul-the water is dangerous.”

“Yes, but knowing your Aunt the trouble she is in is more volatile than the waters.”

Jake noticed how calm the breeze was despite the rain, it was perfect weather to take flight. “I know where Three Brother’s rocks are. I can fly on my Ikran, it is safer than you riding out on a Tsurak.”

Ronal protested quickly, knowing her sister, “I do not think that is a good idea, JakeSully.”

He felt a bit of disappointment settle into his chest, he couldn’t help it, he was so intrigued by you. And truth be told, maybe it was a stupid part of him, but he liked the idea of saving you. Or at least helping you. From what he had heard, you were more than capable to fend for yourself. “It really is no big deal, I will be back quickly.”

He was hoping his eagerness was not evident in his voice, and with the worried look Ronal shared with Tonowari he was sure it wasn’t. “We should let him? Yes-might ease your sister's resistance if he’s the one to go for her?”

Tonowari was asking, but Ronal knew he had already made up his mind. She sighed quietly, “Fine-sure. Just-I cannot guarantee she will greet you with a warm smile.”

Jake refrained from thumping his tail in excitement, “It’s fine. I will not take it to heart.”

Jake quickly made his way outside, calling for Bob just as his children made their way towards the beach. “Sir?”

Neteyam, his oldest, was looking at him in confusion. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I will be back shortly.”

He sent all of them a smile, instructing his Ikran to take flight. The air got colder the further he was from the beach and it caused a shiver to run down his spine. He was well past the reef, and searching for you within ten minutes. As his Ikran gently flew around he caught the blur of teal blue amongst one of the tall rocks. His head shook, a laugh threatening to fall from his mouth, as even from this far away you looked upset.

He did not know you, but he was curious, beyond interested in knowing you. There was a deep itch in the back of his brain that seemed to only simmer at the thought of you. Call him stupid, he had only caught a few glimpses of you, but he felt the pull. He hoped you felt it too.

With quick glides he was by your side, dismounting Bob with ease as he sent you a smile. Your eyes narrowed in on him, annoyance clear as day on your features. Jake’s lips tugged gently, refraining from cracking you a toothy smile. “Why are you here?”

“Hello to you too.”

You grumbled out angrily, arms crossing along your chest as you looked away from him. “I am here to take you back.”

Your thick tail swayed behind you in annoyance, “I was perfectly fine here. Waiting for the storm to pass.”

“I am sure you were, but I am here now. So let me take you back.”

You did not like the tone he had with you, his accent thick with humor as he watched you. It only caused your irritation to spike up. “I do not know you. Plus I am not used to riding on-those bird things. I rather not.”

Bob huffed at your words, clacking loudly at you. “They’re Ikrans, and very smart.”

Jake was sure his voice was dripping with his amusement, he couldn’t help it. You made him laugh. “I know what they are!” You all but shrieked, “Does not make me trust them anymore so.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head at you. Your eyes narrowed in on him, irritation flowing through you so deeply you refrained from yelling at him. You hissed at him, and it caused a harder laugh to leave his lips.

“If you keep me here for any longer, Tonowari will come searching for us. You are already in trouble with your sister. Do you wish to make it worse?”

“I am not a child!”

“That is very obvious, so why make this harder than it needs to be?”

Jake quickly mounted his Ikran, he was almost positive you would follow after him. You weighed your options, you knew Ronal would be angry with you, should you really test your luck?

You groaned out in frustration, walking towards Jake and his Ikran. This was far scarier than taming a Tsurak, you would have no control on the animal. His five fingered hand extended to you, and you could not help but stare. His fingers were scarred, and calloused, slipping your fingers together as he pulled you up.

You swiftly threw a leg over the Ikran, shifting farther back on the animal as you were pressed too close to him. “Hold on.”

“I am fine as I am.”

He shook his head, creating Tsaheylu with his Ikran and the animal instantly jolted forward. You were thrown back lightly, hands instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep you steady. If you could see Jake’s face he was sure you’d hiss at him once again. The smallest of smirks fell onto his features.

The cool wind caused a shiver to run down your back, admiring how beautiful the island looked even in the darkness of the storm. You peaked your head to look ahead, frowning deeper the closer you arrived to the beach. “I hope you know I could have made my way back without you.”

“And I do not doubt that.”

“Good.”

As you both landed, you could see Ronal’s angry face as she stomped towards you. “Here we go.”

Jake helped you dismount, jumping quickly down after you. “See what I mean! Reckless!”

You rolled your eyes at your sister, walking straight past her and towards your home. Jake could see the exhaustion on Ronal’s face. He would be lying if he said he did not sympathize with her. It was clear that she cared for you deeply, but there were some lines blurred between the two of you. “Thank you, JakeSully.”

Jake only dipped his head down at the Tsahik, watching your figure retreat farther away.



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🏷️; @mashiromochi @midhito @neteyamforlife @adaiasafira @ambria @sillyfreakfanparty​ @fanboyluvr​ @jakescumdump​ @itscheybaby​ @iwanttohitmyself​ @janeety​ @haitanismainhoe @daribakugo @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @lemonmoonmochi​ @dazedshoon @amanda-678 @randxmthxughts @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @wekiamo @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @theroyalbrownbarbie @1ntefly @nyylovestowrite @rianapntn @crazy4books1 @jakesullylongjuicyshlong @kikookii @ducks118 @bucky12345 @elegantkidfansoul @bold-writing @1-800-fandomsdestroyedme @graysonmalik2550 @milequaritchsslut @23victoria @kamcrazy123 @annamarieisbae @k----a27s @tojigirl @lynbubble @outspokenmatters​ @amanda-678 @alexandra-001​

[itostea]

never mad (isagi x reader)

warnings: a tad bit suggestive, isagi just being the best bf, he comforts you

a/n: image from Our Secret Alliance! childhood friends to lovers omg so cute pls read it.

You’re not sure when the argument started or why you’re even angry. 

Angry might be an exaggeration but you were feeling a smudge of irritation directed at your boyfriend who was far too calm at the sight of your scowl. He has that sweet smile of his, the kind he wears whenever he’s holding your hand or parting a strand of hair away from your face. It’s the kind of smile that you can’t ever stay mad at. 

“Yoichi I’m telling you, she was a hundred percent hitting on you!”

“Right, right,” he lets himself be dragged by your hand and he can’t help but sigh at how good you looked with the necklace he bought for you. The streets were crowded and there were couples left and right, holding hands or chatting on the side. The two of you blend in perfectly–though there were times where a fan of his recognized him and you stood on the sidelines, letting them take their photos.

The drink you hold in your other hand swirls around in the cup and you bring the cup to your lips, taking a long sip. “I mean, she even winked at you! Who even does that? And I was right beside you, holding your hand!” 

“Uh huh,” he mutters absentmindedly, tilting his head when you swing your head to face him with a frown. He blinks and just smiles, a bit confused as to why your frown grew deeper. 

Your footsteps slow down in pacing. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Of course I am babe.”

You let out a huff and turn around too swiftly, colliding into him with a yelp. In a normal situation, you would’ve swooned over the fact that he caught you–his arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other one holds the back of your neck. Yet, you can’t help but feel your stomach plunge deeper when you see the brown stain on his favorite shirt. 

“Are you okay?” He mumbles, widening his eyes when he sees how your features morph into a frown and how you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. This time, he takes your hand in his, guiding you to an occupied bench. “Let’s go sit down.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, letting you clean the splatters on his arm with a tissue. 

“It’s just…” you start, leaning back when you’re done cleaning. “I…”

Isagi sees how your eyes gloss over; how you part your lips to release a shaky sigh. He’s quick to cup your face, smiling so gingerly that you felt like you could cry even harder. “Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your make-up.”

The sniffle you let out makes him chuckle. You nod. “Okay…” 

“Start from the beginning,” his hands leave your face and he watches you patiently–letting you catch your breath. 

“I’m so stupid Yoichi,” you sighed. “I don’t even know why I couldn’t forget about that girl like I usually do. You weren’t even paying attention to her and now I ruined your favorite shirt. I also ruined our date together and you’re probably mad at me so–”

“Why would I be mad at you?” He interrupts, maintaining eye-contact with a serious gaze. 

You blink, sniffling again. “You’re not?”

He smiles, nodding his head until his hand tilts your head upward so the tears wouldn’t spill from your eyes. “I can’t get mad at you even if I tried to.”

“Even if I steal your food?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Even if I tell you Michael Kaiser is a better player than you?”

His lips curl into a sarcastic smile and he squeezes your cheeks. “Don’t push it now…”

You laugh and the sound brings joy to his ears. He ushers you up with a hum, letting you take his hand. He presses a kiss to your forehead, bringing you close to him. “How about we spend the rest of our date at home? We can watch a few movies and eat some snacks. You know, Netflix and chill,” his lips fall into a smirk and you forget your boyfriend sometimes derives joy from seeing you flustered.

You slap him lightly, averting your eyes. “Okay fine we can watch movies and eat snacks. And maybe Netflix and chill…” you mumble the last part loud enough for him to hear, earning a laugh from him. 

He squeezes your hand midway in between your walk back to the car. “Did I ever tell you that you’re cute when you get jealous?”

“Shut up.”

[brights-place]

Okay so I watched the whole trolls trilogy and am down EMBARRASSINGLY BAD for Trollex. It’s ROUGH.

If possible (I’m sorry this is so highly specific) could I get Trollex x a male techno troll reader who is very sound sensitive, shy and antisocial but totally comes out of his shell and becomes super caring and nurturing to Trollex when they’re together? Especially how SCARED TROLLEX LOOKED WHEN THE ROCK TROLLS ATTACKED OMG!! I see a bubbly, confident always positive man and go “no I should care for and comfort him really” lol

Sorry if this rq is a mess—

Trollex X M! Techno S/O

Pairing: Trollex X S/O

Warnings: Lots of Fluff, Mild cursing

A/N: TROLLEX LOVER UNITE!! FUCK YEAHHHHHHH and oml I love this idea it's so cute anyways I haven't written for trolls in awhile *this was a draft I forgot to upload sorry pooks) ── .✦ Part 2 - Trollex loves you and understood how you were shy and not very open yet he helps you grow out of it - The way he always beams at you when you speak up more coming out of your shell but he also panics when he saw you cover your ears fast due to how he accidentally boosted the music up - He slowly helps you get use to loud music and would take you out in small group parties which will expand that will help you out - As soon as you came out of your shell more he got so excited and his eyes sparkled when you pampered his face - the way you nurture and care for him how he does back to you cuddling and pampering you - Little dates every now and then as he does have royal duties he always escapes thats why lagoona always searches for you when she can't find Trollex - She always finds him being near you or draped over your back grinning

- Trollex and You have a special connection and when together you both act like little kids and often seen doing dumb things which makes some people confused

- King Trollex and you have a certain nickname or inside joke between them that is special for eachother

- Due to your appearance you have certain things that your very insecure about, and may be more self-conscious than you let on but trollex loves every part of you - When the rock trolls invaded he looked panicked so when you held his hand and stared ahead with an expression that said 'we got this' he couldn't help but feel prouder - When he was getting taken you slammed into a rock troll throwing yourself infront of him as you both got put into the same cage together - so here you were in the same cage holding trollex is hand with teary eyes as he cupped your face wiping your tears as he muttered to you in hushed voices - Barb didn't hesitate to hit the bars of your sell "Well look here" barb lips twitched up "Lovers? I assume don't worry rock n roll can help bind it stronger-" "Shut up... just let us be you ahev teh string " "hm... fine Put this techno troll in a different cell farther from trollex" - The panic in Trollex eyes as he grabbed your hands trying to keep you in his arms before you were dragged away from rock trolls into a separate cage horrified him as he was calling out for you as you were chucked into a separate cage hidden by many others

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

hi ! i’ve never actually requested before, so i apologize if i’m doing this incorrectly 😭 i saw that you were asking for tbosbas asks and i’m starving for content atm lmao. anyway, i was wondering if you could write some fluff headcanons for sejanus plinth and reaper ash (separate) with a fem! reader (romantic is preferred, and gn is okay as well if you’re more comfortable with it) ! i’m sorry again if i did this wrong, but i love your writing and you seem so sweet so i wanted to give it a try !!

Thank you so much! And yes, you did ask in the correct place!

Sejanus Plinth x Fem! Reader x Reaper Ash (separate, romantic/fluff headcanons)

Mention of the public hangings in Reapers part

Sejanus Plinth:

He understands love and knows how to express it, he just didn't expect it to be so difficult. Like, why is Sejanus so scared to give you a note to go out with him? Why is he so nervous when he needs to talk to you? Why can't he just be smooth and not scared shitless?

Whenever Ma makes sweets, he'll give them to you as a gift. No matter the treat, if you like it, it's yours. Ma likes it since she doesn't have to worry about fridge and cabinet space and she can bake as much as she wants

If you're from one of the districts like he was, Sejanus will want to learn about your district or reminisce about District Two (if you share a district)

If you're from the Capital, he'll tell you about what life was like for the brief time he was in District Two. He’ll even ask Ma about Two just to tell you more

When Strabo eventually finds out, it's a very awkward talk. If you're from the Capital, he'll ask if you're from a wealthy family. Generally, Strabo will be calmer about it. If you're from a district, it's far worse. Strabo thinks it's an act from Sejanus wanting to stay district or keep part of it with him.

Nervous when he started going out with you. Sejanus had the worst anxiety the entire time. What if he tripped and embarrassed himself? What if he choked on food at a diner?

He constantly asks to do basic couple things. Sejanus asks to hold hands even years into the relationship when it's normal to not constantly need to ask anymore. But he does it because he's still nervous, you're still the prettiest girl he's ever seen and he will forever always be shy around you.

Reaper Ash:

FINALLY, someone talks about him omg

You're extremely lucky to be able to date him since he doesn't go out of his way to get a lover

Even then, he is the sweetest man in the world, especially in relationships. Treats you very well and forever will

Since you both live in District Eleven, one of the poorest districts, there isn't much that goes around. But even then, Reaper constantly saves up for a potential wedding. He's never gonna tell you where the money’s going. “It's going to be for a good cause for us.” Reaper constantly says, never evaluating the matter. But he'll make comments about how your future will go

Reaper wanted to win the Games not only to take on the Capital but to go home and marry you. He's said it many years before, every year before reaping day

“I'll come home and I'll marry you. We'll have a nice wedding and then we’ll live together for the rest of our lives.” Reaper smiled at the idea but looked away from embarrassment. “I hope that doesn't sound too cheesy.”

He takes his values very seriously and it affects how he sees you too. If you're sympathetic towards the Capital, you wouldn't be in a relationship in the first place. Simple as that

Reaper has a habit of going to you whenever he gets upset throughout the day. Another public hanging, he's going to you to rant. He rants about everything. He goes on about the cruelty of the Capital and how the districts are still the animals but don't kill Capital children every year

If he got the moment to talk to you before he was on the train, he would have asked for you to never watch his games. It wasn't normal to be that violent and didn't want to have your views of him altered by the violence he would need to attain to win

Every year, just before the reaping ceremony, he kisses you. He gives you a simple goodbye if he's ever reaped but it means a lot. At least there's someone in District Eleven rooting for him to come home.

[daydreamingyuta]

https://x.com/0802lees/status/1743095874845356399?s=46&t=5yLLu9pHrqQsC9EZ6m0bDw

you write the best fluff fics of mark that i instantly thought of you the moment i saw this tweet!! could you pleaseeee write about friends to lovers mark inspired by this?🥹🫶🏻

First Snow | Mark Lee

summary: fluff, having a secret crush on your best friend, mark always made things a little complicated but when you spend the first snow of the season together, it leads to your feelings for each other to become a little more clearer. wc: 1,800 a/n: omg first off thank youu! you saw that tweet and thought of mee?? 🥹 that's literally so sweet you don't understand! I hope you like this fic <3

Your friendship with Mark had been filled with white lies, from both parties, for quite some time now. As you both steadily fell harder and harder for each other, the truth was smudged more and more. 

Every time Haechan jokingly asked if you were secretly in love with Mark you would be untruthful and say no, laughing it off as if the idea was unseemly to you. Every time you asked Mark if you looked nice enough to go out, he would nod his head yes trying to seem as indifferent as possible, as if his heartbeat didn't grow faster every time you got too close.

Your white lies worked a little too well, causing the both of you to be absolutely sure you both had no romantic interest in the other. At least, that was the case until tonight.

Mark was always down for anything, so when you got a sudden craving for some ice cream, he was adamant that you both get some, nevermind that it was the middle of winter. The weather had actually been a few degrees warmer than yesterday, so you figured your sweatshirt would be enough to keep you warm. 

“Y/n, are you sure you don’t want to bring your jacket?” Mark asks, putting his on.

You shake your head no at him. “I’ll be fine. The store isn’t too far away.” But as soon as you leave his apartment, you’re hit with the coldness of the night and it makes you instantly want to go back inside which makes Mark look over at you with an ‘I told you so look’. You’ve always hated being proved wrong, so you fake a smile and start walking ahead of Mark. 

You hear Mark laugh to himself at your stubbornness and then does a little run to catch up to you. “What flavor are you gonna get?” 

“Hmm, guess.” You say, challenging him to see if he really knows you. “I wanna sayyy, Mint Chocolate Chip?”

Although that does sound good, you shake your head no at him. “It’s too cold for Mint Chocolate Chip.” 

“What?” He asks in his high pitched voice. “All Ice creams are the same level of cold.” Again, you shake your head at him. “No, the mint in it makes it extra cold, Mark.” 

Your statement makes him laugh which in turn makes your heart flutter. You always loved Mark's laugh, and being the reason why he’s laughing holds such a special place in your heart, you almost forgot for a second that you’re freezing. “Then, I think you’ll get… Cookies n’ Cream.” 

“Hmm, If they have it, sometimes they're out.” 

As the store comes into sight, you race Mark to see who can get inside faster. Mark is most definitely a faster runner than you, but you always seem to win every time you race each other. This time is the exception though as Mark reaches the door first and holds it open for you. As you start to go into the store, he puts his hand on the small of your back, leading you inside. It’s such a small gesture and you try not to put any meaning to it, but part of you can’t help but get butterflies from his touch. 

However, his touch left you as quickly as it came as he walks towards the ice cream section and opens the door, grabbing your Cookies N Cream ice cream for you. “They didn’t run out!” He says happily, waving the ice cream at you. 

You share his excitement and go to grab it out of his hand but he doesn’t let you. “If your hands aren’t already frozen from the walk here, holding this will definitely freeze them.”

“No, really I’m fine!” 

He tilts his head at you and challenges you to lie to him again. You two have a mini staring contest before you finally just let him hold your ice cream for you. “Thank you.” He says, even though you should be the one thanking him. 

You practically hide behind Mark as he picks out his ice cream, trying your best to avoid the icy blast from the freezers. There was a moment when he looked back at you and you swore you heard him mummer the word ‘cute’ to himself but you couldn’t be sure. You were about to ask him about it, but then he picked out his flavor of ice cream and headed towards the register to pay. 

Right as you head out the store, a snow flurry falls onto your sweater. You grab Mark's arm to make sure he sees the change in weather as well. “Mark, it’s snowing. They said it wasn’t going to snow this winter.” You say in a whisper, almost like if you spoke louder the snow would be scared away. He looks up at the sky and sees for himself that it is starting to snow. 

It hits you instantly that it’s the first snow of the season, and you're spending it with Mark. You try not to think about the silly cliché too much but a part of you can’t help but hope it will be true, that the person you spend the first snow with is the person you’ll fall in love with. 

A smile forms on both of your lips, snow has such a nostalgic feel to it, always bringing you back to childhood. Memories of past snow days fill your mind and you’re only brought back to reality when you feel a jacket being draped across your shoulders. You turn to a jacket-less Mark and give him a surprised look. 

“What? I obviously can’t have my girl getting cold.” He says, almost like the words left his mouth before he could stop himself. 

“Your girl?” You ask, gripping onto his jacket. 

“No I like… didn’t mean it like thatt. I just meant like you’re my girl. My best friend.” He says, trying to save face. You can both feel the awkwardness of the conversation, so you start walking back to his place, trying to hide the disappointment on your face. You thought you were doing a good job, but Mark can always sense when somethings wrong.

 “...wait. Why do you look kinda sad?” You brush off his question by offering him a smile, confusing Mark even more. You can all but see the gears working inside his head as he tries to figure you out. “Did you want me to mean it in a different way?” He says, without making eye contact.  

You stop walking and turn to him, shrugging your shoulders at him, not wanting to say your feelings out loud, but wanting so badly for him to know your feelings towards him. Mark stops walking as well and finally makes eye contact with you again, even though he doesn't say anything for a good minute, the snow around him falling harder. 

Mark goes back and forth in his mind whether or not he should ask you the question he really wants to ask. Apparently, he’s feeling brave today because he works up the courage. “Like…hypothetically speaking would you want to be… or like could you potentially see yourself being my girl?” 

Your mind races at his unexpected question. “Hypothetically?” 

“Yeah. Like if I asked you, would you say yes?”

“I don’t know Mark. I guess you would have to ask me for real, not hypothetically to know the answer.” You say, and you two walk in silence the rest of the way back to his place. Usually the silence would kill you, but the two of you had so much to think about from your conversation that neither of you even noticed the silence. 

~~~~

You came up with an excuse to leave Mark’s place early which left you both feeling confused about the conversation you just had. You thought about it for the rest of the day and into the night, unsure of where you stood with Mark. You wanted to text him, but each time you built up the courage to do it, you decided it was best not to. 

Even though you were left confused, you couldn’t help but feel giddy as well. The idea of Mark liking you back was enough to make your heart burst. You even wrote it down in your journal, feeling like a little kid again with a huge crush. 

What you didn’t know was how Mark was feeling. As you were trying to sleep your mind came up with a million scenarios of what was going through Mark’s head. Your heart sank as you thought of the possibility of him feeling regretful of his words, but then your spirits rose again at the thought of the possibility of Mark being relieved that he finally let his feelings out. 

These “what if’s” filled your head until you fell asleep. What your mind hadn’t come up with though, was what Mark was going to do when you woke up. 

~~~~

Since your thoughts kept you up later than normal, you found yourself sleeping in past your alarm. In fact, you don’t even wake up until you hear a knock on your door. 

You begrudgingly get out of bed and go to answer the door, still in your pajamas. You open the door and there stands Mark. It takes a minute to process that he’s here, slightly dressed up and with your favorite flowers in his hand. “Hi.” He says. 

You can’t help but notice that Mark is looking at you as if you're the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, not unlike all the other times he’s looked at you, but this time you allow yourself to actually see it. 

Your eyes go from looking at Mark to looking at the flowers and back to Mark. “Those are my favorite.” You say, so softly. “Yeah. I dunno… I just.” He motions the flowers towards you and you take them, but all of a sudden you find that your eyes can’t be pulled away from him. 

“You got me flowers, Mark.” You really couldn’t stop your heart from melting at the thought of him going out of his way to get you this beautiful bouquet early in the morning. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation and I just- Would you be my girl?” 

You feel your cheeks flush at his words, the words you’ve been wanting to hear for so long. You don’t want to speak, you want to savor this moment so you nod your head and smile up at him. You take a moment to look at him and gosh, you’ve never seen Mark’s eyes light up like this before. 

He engulfs you in a sweet hug and you close your eyes, feeling like you are finally where you’re supposed to be.

[mynameismisty]

- SUCH A RIP OFF -

warnings: none, mostly terry being a flirtatious a-hole, friends-to-lovers kinda, fluff, mentions of light violence

sidenote: writing dc for the first time :''), also I suck at writing fighting scenes im so sorry guys, the divider was made by @dollywons!! credits to them

i got the inspo from that one mlbb episode with marinette and cat noir so just think of marinettes balcony thingy while reading the last few parts T>T so think about terry being a cat noir rip off if ykwim

im sorry if its bad guys omg this was supposed to be a 100 follower special, and on that note, TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS I LOVE U ALLLL

You walked down the streets of Gotham, sighing as you clutched your sling bag in one hand and a few bags of groceries in the other, a few things your mother asked you to pick up coming home from school today.

Nothing exciting happened at all, just simply a boring day, where teachers taught, students listened (and maybe slept) and the bell rang like it always used to. Terry wasn't there to walk you home, having left immediately just after the bell rang, kissing you on the forehead and muttering an excuse about Mr. Wayne.

You weren’t really dating Terry, both of you knew that. But there were alot of moments where you thought he showed signs of liking you in the same manner you liked him too. Though, thinking about that now seemed too difficult as breeze after breeze brushes against your neck, making you shiver.

It wasn't a problem, before you met Terry you always walked home alone, so nothing was new. No biggie. Now, though, you couldn't tell why your heart was beating so hard as it is, why it pounded against your chest and made your skin crawl as you walked cautiously back home. Was something about to happen? If so, what the hell was it?

A sharp gust of wind zooms behind you, and you stop in your tracks, whipping your head around. "Hello?" You call out.

It must've been some motorcycle. Just going home like you. Right?

Another gust of wind, and another. This time, accompanied by the sound of a roaring engine and maniacal giggles.

It was the Jokerz, three of them, all circling around you like little devils on their bikes.

"Didn't your ma ever tell you to not walk home alone?" One of them taunts. "You're in Joker territory, lady."

"Though a nice payment would be the cash in that bag along with those groceries ya got. 'Long with the wallet o'course." Their eyes looked like they were about to eat you whole behind the whole clown make up. Just hand it over. You're sure your mom would understand, right?

Your own hand shakily reaches for the money in your bag as they point their weapons at you. Their bikes were fully at a halt, instead focusing on you, whether you ran or ducked nothing would happen. You were cornered.

At least that's what you thought, before you saw a faint shadow from one of the rooftops. "I thought guys were always supposed to be gentlemen to women?" A familiar voice, it was Terry!

You look up, blinking as you saw the batman. Hey! You swore you heard Terry's voice. But what—

Snapped out of your thoughts as the black figure jumped down from the ledge, landing near the Jokerz. With no other words at all, he sends a punch to the one taunting you earlier. A fight ensues, with Batman getting hit in some places but not backing down as he eventually finishes it, leaving all three Jokerz knocked down, ripped lip, bleeding noses and a few black eyes.

At this point, you were backed up against a wall, breathing heavily, not daring to move during the earlier action. Batman turns to you. "You alright, miss?"

You nod. "Yes— yes, I'm fine. Thank you, thank you, really. Thought I was a goner."

"It's not a problem, just doing what the Batman does." He says. There was an awkward tone to his voice. Hands on his hips as he turned to you. Almost reminded you of someone. You couldn't put your finger on it. 

"Could, uh, carry you home, only if you want to. Besides, I'm only doing a few night patrols." The Batman was talking to you like you were someone he knew personally.

"Sure." An awkward, half smile etches itself into your mouth, as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You'd expect from his offer that you'd get into the Bat-mobile and tell him where you live, but to your surprise, as you agree, he puts an arm around your shoulder and under your thighs as he picks you up bridal-style.

For the first few minutes that he carried you, he seemed to know which ways to go, shortcuts not many people who went this way knew, even flying with the jetpack attached to the black suit.

He only asks little about your home, about the path, about the way. Vague directions you're sure would probably confuse anyone else who would try to walk you home like this. 

In no time he's at the roof of your house, landing carefully at the slanted top, cautious not to make a roof tile slip. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Batman places you down, with an almost unnerving delicate swift like you were a glass sculpture.

Batman places you down onto your feet, patting a few stray, miniscule hairs from the sweater you had on. The seemingly dark, brooding Batman now stood in front of you, you swore you could hear a few breaths. The whites of his mask looking deep into your soul, who was the person behind the mask?

You shake your head, leaving your thoughts as you nod at him curtly. "Thank you, uh, Batman. I'm glad I got home safely. And you know, thank you for saving me from the Jokerz."

He clears his throat, his voice sounding dramatically an octave lower than earlier. "No worries, I do it to protect the citizens of Gotham."

Before you could get another word out, he scrambles away (in embarrassment?) and off the balcony, flying away with that jetpack of his.

And you're left wondering why your heart adorned a familiar beating pattern you only had for only a special someone.

Oh, whatever. You're probably being delusional, right? You think as you turn on your heel into your room.

"Goodnight, doll." Terry mutters, a hand over the part of his suit where his heart was. He could feel it pounding against his chest, threatening to pop out and sing its love out to you. "See you tomorrow." He spares another quick glance at your shut windows just as the lights turn off before he finally decides to retreat back to the Bat cave.

dividers from @dollywons!!!

[1overgirl]

daylight

pairing : trevor zegras x famous!reader

summary : you and trevor announce your relationship with lyrics from taylor’s song daylight

notes : omg hi !! ive literally had this idea for forever but didn’t know how to start it until recently. hope you like it !

y/nofficial

liked by conangray trevorzegras taylorswift gracieabrams radvxz and 4,876,592 others

y/nofficial dont wanna look at anything else now that i saw you.

radvxz ur still my gf right😔

y/nofficial dw bae your still my number 1😉

taylorswift miss you! hope to see you soon💗

y/nofficial love and miss uu tay!

gracieabrams entering your lover era

liked by y/nofficial

conangray we thank this kind gentleman for possibly giving us new music

y/nofficial u know me so well

soury/n 1ST AND 3RD SLIDE?!

y/nfan13 IK AND BEA’S COMMENT KINDA MAKES IT SOUND LIKE SHES DATING SOME1

westany/n KINDA?! she most DEFINITELY is dating someone

swiftiestan13 mother found her daylight🥹🥹

liked by y/nofficial

trevorzegras

liked by jackhughes colecaufield _quinnhughes jamie.drysdale y/nofficial and 92,954 others

trevorzegras don’t wanna think of anything else now that i’ve thought of you

_quinnhughes theres no way

jackhughes why was this not mentioned when we were on ft😐😐

trevorzegras well… you know now😁

jackhughes ANSWER MY FT🤬

liked by trevorzegras

colecaufield congrats!!

liked by trevorzegras

loveforz PAUSE HE GOT A GIRL

hughesandzegrasfan THE TAYLOR LYRIC OHMYGOD

y/nfan13 HOLD UP DIDNT Y/N POST SOMETHING WITH A DAYLIGHT LYRIC TOO?!

soury/n U RIGHT AND SHE LIKED THIS POST AND TREVOR LIKED HERS

hockeylover it’s a field day for us y/n and trevor stans

y/nofficial

liked by trevor zegras jackhughes radvxz conangray gracieabrams lola.tung and 5,349,160 others

y/nofficial and now i see daylight, i only see daylight<3

you tagged trevorzegras

trevorzegras my girl💞 • pinned

y/nofficial i love u

jackhughes ur my new best friend

y/nofficial let’s hang out when i go to NJ

trevorzegras jack back off

radvxz cuties ( me and u are cuter )

y/nofficial we can go on double dates (jake and trevor can sit at a separate table )

lola.tung dragging you to that hockey game was the best thing i did

y/nofficial i literally love u with my life

trevorzegras thanks lola!

conangray what happened to the soft launch

y/nofficial i had too many cute pics

gracieabrams now this is couple goals

y/nofficial ur so sweet gracie we needa go back to long pond soon

taylorswift with me too right?

soury/n OMG NEW MUSIC WITH TAY AND GRACIE

liked by y/nofficial

livelaughlovey/n mom and dad fr

trevorzegras

liked by y/nofficial jackhughes cole.caufield jamie.drysdale radvxz _quinnhughes and 1,893,654 others

trevorzegras i once believed love would be burnin red but it’s golden like daylight

tagged y/nofficial

y/nofficial my love💞 •pinned

trevorzegras ily🫶🏻

jackhughes does this mean we aren’t boyfriends anymore 😔

trevorzegras you’ll always be my bf

jackhughes good

_quinnhughes im not gonna lie you and y/n are actually cute together

trevorzegras wow i get a gf and now ur nice to me

_quinnhughes just wait till i see you again

jamie.drysdale u love me more now bc i told u to ask her out

trevorzegras love u bro and thank u for that

y/nofficial thanks jamie!!

cole.caufield my man looks so happy now

trevorzegras never been happier

lhughes_06 does this mean i can sit in vip for y/n’s tour

y/nofficial i’ll save a seat for u!

radvxz she’s so happy w u

trevorzegras she’s happier when u guys talk trust me😭

y/nofficial bea hes right but ur also right so��‍♀️🤷‍♀️

loveforz crying he got a gf😔😔

zegrasisbae idk if i wanna be trevor or y/n bc they’re both bad

liked by y/nofficial & trevorzegras

[incarnadin3]

L Is For Love - Pt.1 (Soulmate!Au)

A/N: I saw this idea on a Tumblr post and omg I wanted to write it so bad. This probably will turn into a short fic, and my replaced au fic will be on hold for a while cuz I need to reset my brain (I have commitment issues) Anyways, enjoy~ (Also I'm not familiar with writing gender neutral reader so if you spot a mistake please let me know!) Also it refers to furries at one point, and it isn't meant to be derogatory or anything, trust.

Pairings: Lucifer X GN!Reader, Leviathan x GN!Reader

"Oh I can't believe it happening to me"

A tattoo. One simple letter, inked into your arm the day you turned 18.

What value does one sole letter hold?

Everything.

That one simple letter becomes the reason you breath, sleep, eat, live.

Some call it a scam, saying a letter can't define who your lover should be. But of course, only the ones who haven't experienced it, will judge it, no?

They say fate holds the reins, deciding who will meet who, when and why. So when you get your letter, don't stress! All will fall into place when it has to.

No one can change what is written in the stars....

As the sun shone through the pastel curtains, you groaned, covering your face with your hand, still half asleep.

Suddenly, a throbbing pain shot up your hand, and you cursed, pressing into the pained area with your other hand to deviate the pain. Grumbling, you stumbled to their feet, cursing as you nearly tripped over your own dirty socks, as you opened the bedroom door. You stumbled into the bathroom, squinting at the harsh white light of the bathroom, as you heard your annoying brother shout,

"Oi! You think you can be any less louder?! What are you, King Kong?! Stop stomping around the house!"

"Shut it!", you yelled, or more like groaned, sleep clouding your voice.

Blinking quickly, you tried to make sense of your surroundings, your eyes travelling over the sickeningly white walls and countertops, with speck of black marble in them.

Another round of pain shot up your arm and you hissed, quickly running your left hand under the water. Your eyes went to your wrist to see what was making it hurt so bad.

A black mark.

You frowned. Had your idiotic brother drawn on your hand while you were fast asleep? Was that it? But upon closer inspection, you noticed a very messy letter inked into your wrist.

L

"Some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this"

A soulmate mark is an inscription in one's wrist, of their fated soulmate. One cannot pick his soulmate, for it is decided by fate.

You scoffed, slamming the book shut, and instantly regretting it when a plume of smoke shoots up and you cough, face red as other people sitting near you shoot you a dirty look.

You hated this library with a passion. You loved reading, yes, but this library sucked. It made it seem as if talking was a crime, and dropping a book, a sin.

Grunting, you grabbed the heavy book and lugged it back to its original spot, because god forbid you placed the book in those bright yellow plastic carts. Even though they were made and placed for the very reason that you could place books in there instead of heaving them back to their original spot, you'd much rather commit arson that use the cart. It was for show anyways.

As you walked out of the library, your eyes fell on your wrist again, tracing the L inked into it.

It annoyed you greatly that you didn't know your soul mate's name, just the letter.

"If fate wants to decide my soulmate for me then why the fuck can't I know their full name?"

You suddenly yelped, stumbling into something that sounded a lot like coins, and cursed. Kneeling to pick up the coins, you realised you had tripped into some beggar's coin jar.

"Oh my gosh I'm so sorry!", you apologized, quickly picking up the coins and dropping them back into the jar. You raised your head to look the homeless man in the eyes, his haggard white hair and beard covering his face. " Are you okay?!"

"You cannot change fate. You will meet him when it is fated. Don't fight it."

Taken aback, you blinked once, then twice. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Don't question fate. Fate is decided, you will meet him when the time is right."

Your breathing quickened as you stared at the man, still kneeling. His beard was too white to be related to old age. His hair was too full and too shiny to be old. His eyes were too bright, his lips were too full, his skin was too-

You gasped as if someone had pulled you out of water right as you were drowning. You quickly jumped to your feet, backing away from the man.

"I-I'm sorry, I have to go!"

Quickly dropping a coin into his coin jar, you turned and took off running, cold sweat dropping down your face. It wasn't until you were a good three blocks away that you calmed down, panting.

Crossing the street, you murmured to yourself, "psycho old man, what the fuck was he try-"

Beep!

A horn sounded as you turned, car light's blinding you as the last thing you saw was a horrified expression of the driver as he surely ran you over.

For some reason, you felt no pain. Did you die? Probably...

You groaned, opening your eyes to see a dark mahogany ceiling, with floating candles. Hogwarts? Was Hogwarts heaven suddenly? Was this some software update you didn't know about?

"Ah, it seems your awake..."

You shrieked, jumping six feet into the air, and saw a man with bright red hair, and....horns?

Your wrist tingled, and you internally thought, was this furry your soulmate?

"My name is Diavolo, future king of Devildom, or as you humans may call it, Hell."

Your eyes widened. So you did die. And you didn't even go to heaven! But at least on the bright side, this furry...or whatever he was, wasn't your soulmate. So, yay?

"I know you must be confused right now, but allow me to explain. We were planning on bringing you here for some time as a part of an exchange student program. However, while we were about to summon you, you nearly got into a terrible car accident. Thankfully, albeit some mysterious reason, we were able to save you before you died. Now, let me introduce you to the demons you'll be living with."

And just like that, you were a human exchange student in Hell. The “demons” you were supposed to live with weren’t there when you first arrived, so you were told to live in the Purgatory Hall, with two angels and a suspicious looking human. After that day when you found your soulmate’s letter, you hadn’t seen it again. You knew two of the demons had their names start in L. Could one of them be your soulmate?

You were dying to meet them, but as that creepy old man, and practically everyone in your life had said, you had to wait for fate to make you two meet.

To be continued….