#finds the warmth in what took his home and his pride

[cowgurrrl]

Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this. 

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles. 

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls. 

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle. 

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head. 

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates. 

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise. 

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be. 

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face. 

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired." 

"Why didn't you tell me that?" 

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you. 

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head. 

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you. 

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod. 

"Okay." 

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to. 

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles. 

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss. 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller comfort #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal cinematic universe

[yawnderu]

"Quit lookin' at me like that." He demands, accent growing thicker by the minute at his frustration.

"Like what?" You manage to gasp out, cheeks swollen and bloody at the beating you just took. Your hands are clasped together on your lap, forced to sir on your knees as you look up at him.

What stared back at you wasn't your loving Simon, no— this creature was much different. Ghost was glaring down at you, eyes cold and devoid of emotion other than pure, raw anger.

"Like a fuckin' lost puppy. Like you don't know what you did." His grip on the trigger tightens, holding the muzzle to your temple.

Please, tell me it isn't true. For the love of God, tell me it's all a lie.

"You leaked our information to fuckin' Konni?" He asks in disbelief, just wanting to confirm what he knew all along. It all connected once he found out; the late night escapades, the detached look in your eyes, how you kept missing every single celebration with the team claiming you were busy. Maybe if he noticed sooner, things would have been different.

Your silence and the way your head hangs low in shame is all the confirmation he needs. His gloved hand grips the pistol harder, the rough material almost merging with his skin.

You don't even have the courage to look at me.

"Everythin' we did together... I trusted you with my bloody life. I told you all my secrets and let you see all of me, and this is how you fuckin' pay me?" He doesn't even wait for an answer, three silenced gunshots ringing in his ears as he dumps the bullets into your chest, looking away before he hears the familiar thud of a body hitting the ground.

Goddammit. God damn it all to fucking hell.

Simon chokes on a harsh breath, the corners of his mouth twisting into a frown underneath his balaclava, jaw slackening. He doesn't dare look at you, unwilling to let his last image of you be a pool of blood with dead eyes.

He cried all his tears when he was a little kid, yet he can somehow feel the familiar sting in his eyes, causing him to sigh loudly and shake his head. His pistol goes back in its holster as he turned to leave, not sparing you a single glance.

Dying alone is a scary thought. You come to the world in a room full of people, your mother's happy face looking at her own creation, nurses and doctors smiling and celebrating you even when all your tiny body can do is to cry.

The thought of death isn't what scares you, no. Being a soldier for the special forces only ends two ways: retirement or going home in a box. That's something you came to terms with a long time ago, when your much younger hand held the pen, signing the contract that sold your soul to your comrades, a silent eternal promise of "we fight together, and we die together".

Your shaky hands grasp at the snow as you drag yourself forward, gear all of sudden heavier than ever; crushing you down like Atlas holding the sky. Your blood leaves a dirty trail on the pure, clean snow, marking you down as an easy target if Simon decides to come back for you— you know Ghost won't.

By the time someone manages to find you, your fingers are purple and your lips are painted an awful shade of blue, body adorned with burns from the cold snow digging into your bare skin. You allow yourself to rest as soon as the warmth of someone's hand makes contact with your skin, barely able to register the panicked scream and loud orders being barked.

Labeled as a hero after saving the country from Makarov's terrorist attack, Simon sported a new brand of chest candy on his uniform. Colorful ribbons adorned the right side of his blazer. His chest is still puffed out with pride as he steps into his small flat in London, all memories of you thrown away, including the ring he kept hidden in a drawer.

''Cute shoulder pads.'' Your finger hovers above the trigger, finally stepping out of the dark.

#cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #mw2 2022 #mw2 ghost #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw3 #modern warfare 2 #cod #mw2 simon riley #ghost angst #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #hurt/no comfort #cod angst #angst #mw2 angst #simon riley angst

[th3secr3th1story]

how gojo tries to get your attention after a fight

gojo messed up majorly. last night, he came home tired and stressed after a mission with a special grade curse. yes, it was successful (obviously. it's gojo.), but it still drained him.

he was so out of it and wasn't feeling like himself, but you, as a wonderful partner, tried to take care of him. gojo got frustrated, and sure, he felt guilty for it, but he was done.

and he took it all out on you. you would've gladly left him alone if he'd just asked you, but gojo was never one for good communication.

you eventually got the hint and realized it was best for him to be alone, but the words from last night still stung and the hurtful glares unforgotten. you decided you would just ignore him until he apologized. until he realized that you can't put up with this anymore.

so, the problem was now with gojo. he woke up that morning to an empty bed, curious, because you usually beg him to stay in longer.

and then, of course, it hit him. he can't remember what he was so upset about. yes, he was tired, but you were just there to help him after a long day. and he ruined it all.

sliding out of bed, he sidles up to you in the bathroom as you brush your teeth, trying to assess how much damage control was needed.

"last night was crazy, huh?"

"..."

"i absolutely destroyed that curse though, baby. nothing left."

"..."

okay...so maybe this was worse than he expected. but it would be okay because he would figure out a way to fix it all. he's gojo satoru; if he can kill special grade curses he can definitely get your forgiveness!

plan A--commence!

naturally, instead of apologizing like a normal person, gojo sneaks around the house tightening every jar he can find. your leave in conditioner, the pickles, jam...anything with a screw-on lid that he laid his eyes on.

all that was left was to wait for you to reach for one of the jars, realize it was screwed on too tight, and ask him for help.

an hour later, seated in the living room, he watches you enter the kitchen, looking for your favorite quick snack--pickles!!

he gets ready to see your angry but desperate face. should you forgive gojo and enjoy your snack, or save your pride but remain hungry? you'd debate with yourself for a bit, but eventually you'd begrudgingly walk over to him. "just open it," you'd say. he'd unscrew the jar, you'd smile at each other. he'd pull you into his ar-

oh. you opened it by yourself. the sound of a jar popping open snapped him out of his imagination, watching you pull out a few pickles and happily bite into them.

there may have been one small flaw with gojo's masterplan--he forgot that you're stronger than him.

no sweat! it's all good! he was already thinking up something new. it was time for plan B!

galloping over to your air conditioning, he cranks it all the way up (as much as your paychecks would allow, at least). he had seen this in one of those stupid romance movies he'd begged you to watch with him a couple months ago. it was only a matter of time before you ran over to him, shivering, begging for his warmth. he was sure of it.

20 or so minutes later, still nothing from you...odd! he walks around the house, curious to see what you're doing at a temperature like this. he finds you in one of his sweaters, curled up in your bed. his stomach sinks even more. he just wants to climb in with you, pull you into him, and smother you in his kisses.

"go away, satoru," you mumble. he sighs, sulking away back to the living room. at least you're talking to him?

he doesn't know how much time has passed but later when he gets off the couch his head hurts and he just wants to be near you. he'll do anything at this point. this is how he reaches plan C: apologize. what a novel idea!

he walks back into the room, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"hey."

"..." great.

"y/n, i know i messed up. i shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you and i should've just asked for space. i know you were just trying to help. i'm so sorry, baby. please forgive me, i miss you and i can't stand you ignoring me."

for the first time in what has got to be a thousand hours to gojo, you finally turn your head and look him in the eyes. you swear you can see sparkles in them. oh, the things he does to you.

"i just want you to tell me what you need, 'toru. i'm not a mind reader, i can't just know what you want from me. i need you to know that i would do anything for you and i hate when you put up these walls."

"i know, baby. i'm so sorry."

you sigh, smiling at him a little. of course you forgive him. you always would, no matter what.

"i forgive you. wanna get in here with me?" you ask, lifting up the covers a little. why was it chilly?

"absolutely."

plan C: success!

who knew that apologizing could actually fix things? certainly not gojo!

#jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #headcanon #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo fanfic #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo x y/n #reblog? #please? #this was so much fun to write #i love gojo i just want to punch him (lovingly) #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader

[itsswritten]

when the sea calls for three | intro

Paring: Azriel x Reader x Eris

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

I need you.

Those three words were all it took.

༄ 

In the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the room, flickering reflections of pinks and purples across the walls. Dawn Court had always been radiant, the sky, cobalt and rose. A sunrise all day long. You were proud to call it your home. 

You stood before the ornate mirror, fingers delicately adjusting the intricate buttons of your tunic. 

The decision to choose neutral clothing had been yours, a deliberate choice born from the realisation of what your new role weighed. You were to be a mediator, a peacekeeper, it only seemed fitting to don a uniform that symbolised your neutrality and dedication to maintaining balance among the realms.

The fabric shimmered with a subtle elegance, adorned with delicate motifs that whispered of the courts you now served. The tapestry of symbolism spoke something that words could not, of a new beginning, a new chapter– a time of peace.

The design along the back of your tunic, three majestic mountains rose proudly, their peaks reaching towards the heavens. Behind them, the sun emerged, casting its golden rays that spread warmth and light– a nod to your home.

In the left above, a fully fleshed sun beamed down upon the mountains, radiating its brilliance and vitality. To the right, three stars and a crescent moon were sewn with meticulous care, representing the rest of the solar courts and their celestial splendour.

On your left sleeve, leaves were hand stitched along your cuff,  bronze thread danced in a graceful swirl, climbing upwards towards your elbow, mirroring the silver icy shards that adorned the right sleeve. Autumn and Winter in perfect harmony. 

Around your collar, a delicate pattern of vines and roses intertwined, symbolising the beauty and vitality of the Spring Court's bloom. And along the trimmings of the tunic's bottom, waves swirled in a mesmerising dance, evoking the Summer Court's boundless energy and fluidity.

Your tunic jacket cascaded gracefully, halting just at your hips, while beneath it, a long, flowing cream pleated skirt billowed elegantly to the floor. With your hair initially draping freely, you gently pulled it forward, ensuring the intricate details adorning the back of your tunic were given their rightful moment to shine.

As you smoothed the fabric, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the role you had been given. Playing a bridge between courts, and worlds. A mediator between the people. 

Politics had never really been something you relished in, but you were good with people, and good with your words. Qualities that your friend desperately convinced you, were integral to this role.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your reverie, and you turned to see Lucien, your friend, standing in the doorway. His mechanical eye wiring at the sight of you. He was wearing a similar tunic, one that was longer on his body but mirrored the designs of your own.

It was Lucien who had told you he needed you. 

I need you.

He had written to you one evening. His correspondences were usually lighthearted and filled with friendly banter, but this weighed heavily in a way that was so unlike him.

“I could really use your help.” Lucien had breathed, when you came to visit after his letter.

I need you. I need my friend. I need someone to lean on. I need someone to laugh with. It’s been too long. I miss you. 

Was what you heard. His message had been simple yet poignant, a plea for assistance and companionship.

You had always had a way with words and sounds. Understanding the gaps in between the breaths, the underlying emotions and intentions woven into each syllable. Most didn't realise what could be revealed in their words. How the octaves and melodic tones of their tongues sung of unspoken truths.

Lucien and you had shared a friendship that spanned many years, reaching back to your earliest memories of childhood. As children and teens, you had been inseparable, playmates in a time that now felt like a distant memory. However, when borders grew stricter and tensions mounted, those days were abruptly halted.

It wasn't until the dark days of Amarantha's reign that fate brought you back together, through the intervention of Nuan, a mutual friend. She was a skilled Alchemist of your court, who had aided Lucein in his healing, crafting his beautiful golden eye. And because he was no longer a part of Autumn, you were able to reconnect and your friendship flourished, even if it was predominantly through ink and parchment.

"Ready to face them?" he asked with a tight smile, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

I’m nervous. Is what you heard under his words.

You returned his smile with a nod, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Of course, I was born ready Lucie” you replied, effortlessly flicking his nickname with a casual ease. 

Despite having a smart mouth now, Lucien was a name you often got tongue-tied in your younger years. Lucie had been a much easier sound to make, and you didn’t hesitate to use the endearing name when wanting to tease.

Lucien rolled his eyes, but your casual demeanour softened the nerves that had laced his previous words. That had been your intention.

Just one example of how your intuition always left you saying the right thing. Of course there were times this didn’t happen, but those occasions were extremely rare.

“We should decide which courts reside under our care before the meeting” Lucien began, striding in front of the mirror to adjust his own tunic. “And I have to say you’ve made more progress with Tamlin these past two months than I have in the past year," Lucien breathed, a hint of admiration in his voice while he smiled at you through the mirror.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "What, like it was hard?"

Tamlin's stubbornness had been a challenge, but your natural charisma and persuasion had proven effective in bridging the gap between his court and the others. His residents had at least started returning home, and thanks to your work, there was actually something for them to return to.

You huffed, before turning your friend around, pulling at his collar to adjust. Before tidying up his long auburn hair. 

"I can’t do both though Lucien. I'm not dealing with your brothers and Tamlin. That's too much, even for me” You remarked.

Lucien’s relationship with his brothers remained strained, the scars of their shared trauma running deep. Despite Beron’s demise, Eris was now Autumn’s High Lord. The brothers wounds were not so easily healed, and the weight of their history continued to cast a shadow over their interactions.

“Plus I do believe some forced proximity may do you and Tamlin some good” you pointed a look at him, referencing their damaged friendship.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at you. He couldn’t help but envy how effortlessly you seemed to navigate the complexities of every situation, every conversation. Always knowing the right words to say, and the right actions to take. Qualities that had undoubtedly drawn him to seek your assistance in the first place. 

Qualities he forgot he would also be susceptible to.

"I'll look after Autumn and your hotheaded brothers. You deal with the depressed blondie," you suggested, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

"Fine," Lucien conceded, begrudgingly acknowledging the wisdom in your words.

“I want Dawn, it’s my home and Thesan would be heartbroken if I wasn’t his courtier,” you asserted confidently.

"Then I'll have Day," Lucien negotiated, a hint of determination in his tone.

As the conversation turned to the remaining courts, you paused, considering the options carefully. The Night Court held a particular significance for Lucien, given his mate's presence there, but you were keenly aware of the tension that still lingered between them.

"I can take Night if that helps. I've already been the one updating their Spymaster recently anyway," you offered, your voice steady as you finally finished straightening up Lucien. Pulling your hands swiftly behind your back.

He mirrored your pose "Then I will manage Winter," Lucien conceded, a sense of resignation colouring his words. He wasn’t very fond of the cold, but neither were you. 

But he was happy to take this one for you, as you had taken Autumn and Night for him.

"Summer is mine. You can have the humans, your Band of Rejects or whatever they're called," you remarked playfully.

"Exiles," Lucien corrected with a humorous purr, a brief flicker of amusement softening his eyes.

“Apologies…band of exile…-d rejects” you humoured, before you felt him nudge you with his shoulder.

Your soft laughs filled the room before you tilted your head to look at your dearest friend “Look at you now. Exiled no more. Mr. Emissary of Peace” 

Lucien smiled proudly at the title, he had come a long way. This new chapter for Phrytian was daunting, but he was grateful to have you by his side “You ready?”

With a nod you grinned wide “Let’s go peacekeep the fuck out of them Lucie!” 

Next Part >>

a/n: Eeeekkkk so here's a little intro to set the tone and roles! Just a little disclaimer, there will be a few things in this series that haven't happened in the books, but it works for the plot. Only small things, so just go with it please! Excited to share this story with you all <3 - Lottie x

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel fanfic #angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #eris x azriel #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x reader x azriel #eris x y/n #eris x you #azriel x eris

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!! dealer’s choice <3

Steve is going to die again just a few short years after waking up in this new world and his death is going to be significantly less glorious the second time around.

“You don’t think he’s going to come,” Duke Rhodes says, tied up next to him and in even worse shape than he is. An unfortunate side effect of not being a sorcerer’s experiment and being nearly a decade older than him, he assumes.

“You do?” he asks, too exhausted to filter himself like he tries to do around him.

Rhodes raises an eyebrow. “I think his champion and his general are tempting enough bait, yes. Listening to their demands and showing up alone is also the most foolish choice he could possibly make, so I’m confident the king won’t be able to help himself.”

Those words would be treason from anyone else, but Rhodes has long been King Anthony’s personal confidant, and the one managing this war for the king from the beginning. Steve supposes that grants the man a certain level of leeway.

Steve is, now and always, exactly what he was enchanted to be. The King’s Champion. From the moment he woke up in a land at once so familiar and so different from his own, he renewed the vow he took seventy years ago. To serve his king and uphold the dignity of the realm so long as a Stark sat on the throne.

King Howard, however, had been an easier man to serve. He’d at least taken the time to meet with Steve, for one, had taken an active interest in the war he fought rather than delegating it and holing himself up in his castle. He’d been cold, and detached in many way from the realities of the war he’d started, but he was a king, and his attention, however brief, had always rallied the troops in a way that Steve admired.

King Anthony at least delegates well, he’ll give the man that. Rhodes does not come from noble blood, something they share, but by the time Steve woke up here it was long past something others were willing to hold against Rhodes. His title of Duke had been a gift from the king. His title of General had been one he earned.

“Steve?” Rhodes frowns, eyeing him like he’s looking for injuries that he hasn’t noticed.

Perhaps Steve is more injured than he thinks, because he doesn’t have the good sense to stop himself from saying, “He did not come for his alchemist.”

He tenses, but Rhodes just sighs, shifting in his bonds as if trying to find a more comfortable position even though if that existed, they would have found it by now. “You hold a grudge for something that happened not only before your time, but for something that Edward does not.”

“Edward is too forgiving,” he says stiffly and doesn’t say the same of Rhodes even though he thinks it often.

He sees the warmth and tenderness and affection between Rhodes and Edward clearly and it galls him that Rhodes has so easily forgiven his king leaving the man Rhodes loves to die. Edward is often trying to coax Steve and Rhodes into a more affectionate relationship, but it’s a hurdle Steve can’t quite overcome.

When he’d first awoken there had been nothing but mourning and determination and another war and then there was Edward. Infuriating and funny and warm and completely irreverent, the only person who seemed to treat him as more than cursed and made his terrible circumstances feel like home. Alchemist, armorer, blacksmith – he seemed to do everything and anything required by the crown and with a speed and skill that left Steve breathless. Rhodes may be directing and managing the war but without Edward’s tinctures and potions and weapons and armor, the war would have been lost long ago.

And when he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, their enemy demanding the king’s presence to free him, the king had stayed safe in his castle.

Steve understood it logically. He’d had no queen or heir at the time and was the last legitimate Stark. Even if he’d been the type of king who cared about his people, he could not risk himself for a subject, no matter how valuable, no matter how much that subject sacrificed or gave or how valuable he was.

But that was just as true for him and Rhodes as it was for Edward and the king had left Edward to be tortured. They had tried to force him to make weapons, to betray his king, and Edward had refused. Steve saw some of the marks of that torture even now, years later, and he could not bring himself to love a king who did not care for that devotion, who hid away in his castle and let better men fight for his kingdom.

He was not required to love his king, only obey and serve him, and that Steve had always done.

He’d earned his title too. Both under King Howard and King Anthony. Being the King’s Champion did not mean being his friend. Not that was something he could claim to be, when he’d never even met the man.

“The Iron Mage saved him and the Iron Mage serves the king,” Rhodes points out, as if Steve doesn’t know that. “Isn’t that enough?”

The Iron Mage is his battle brother and his friend and yet another pillar keeping the kingdom steady while King Anthony can’t seem to be bothered. He holds the light of a star in the center of his chest and uses magic like a blunt weapon, the elements of the star sliding over his body, shifting and changing metals as he brutalizes the battlefield. Those that had captured Edward had found their base reduced to rubble and the Iron Mage appeared wielding a power that not even Sorcerer Strange could explain.

They said he was Goddess blessed, sent from the heavens as a shooting star to aid the king in his war, to ensure victory for the Starks who ruled by divine right of the Goddess Herself. Steve wasn’t sure of all that. The Iron Mage seemed man enough, for all he was constantly covered in his strange shifting, shimmering metal. His voice came out raspy and too low, as if he was in pain, and Steve often wondered if holding the core of a star was worth the consequences, but he was the last one to ask questions like that, considering what he’d allowed Sorcerer Erskine to do to him. The Iron Mage’s humor was wry and ever present despite that, and Steve often thought that he and Edward would get along, if the Iron Mage could ever be coaxed into spending time off the battlefield with the man he saved all those years ago.

But he couldn’t quite lay that victory at King Anthony’s feet. If anything, it seemed like the Iron Mage had used saving Edward as a way to secure his place at the king’s side, rather than that he’d been sent by the king in the first place. No one had heard of such a mage before that, after all.

“Perhaps the Iron Mage will come for us,” he says instead of answering. It’s possible. But the Iron Mage is supposed to be on the other end of the battlefield by now and by the time he hears of his and Rhodes’s capture, it may be too late.

Rhodes shakes his head. “You need to have a little more faith in your king.”

“Why should I?” he snaps, knowing starting an argument when they’re literally tied together is a dumb decision, but like most of his dumb decisions, he can’t help himself. “When King Howard dragged us to war, he at least let us see his face, he made an effort. I hardly expect a king to take to the battlefield, but King Anthony stays in his castle, with his drink and his women if the rumors are to be believed. Queen Virginia has introduced herself to the soldiers several times but the king has not. What sort of man is he to ask faith from me?”

“Well, I said faith, not trust,” Rhodes says tiredly. “Tony didn’t start this war and he’s doing his best to end it.” It’s rare that Rhodes will slip into the familiar name for the king, but it startles Steve every time, the reminder of just how close the general and the king are, and how little that closeness had mattered when Edward was captured. “Although I’ll grant you that you’re right about one thing.”

Steve is exhausted suddenly, in a way that has little to do with his lack of sleep or his injuries, but he’s too grateful for Rhodes keeping his temper while he can’t to ignore him now. “What’s that?”

“Tony is nothing like his father.”

#god i love identity shenanigans #prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #avengers

[miguelswifey04]

gabby’s first grade teacher asking her to write down her parents name for a “my family assignment”

miguel o’hara & cariño (or like any of the various nicknames miguel calls the reader)

she shows it off proudly to miguel during school pickup. He sees her answers and just laughs, realizing he needs to clarify things later when they get home.

fem! reader x miguel o’hara and gabriella o’hara

gabriella is proud to show miguel that she did her “my family assignment” but, she accidentally writes down the nickname that miguel calls you instead of your actual name. miguel, finding it funny still clarifies to his 6 year old daughter.

as the day came to an end, miguel arrived at gabriella’s school for pickup, his thoughts consumed with work and other responsibilities. weaving through the crowd of children and parents, he spotted gabriella, her face beaming with excitement, clutching a piece of paper. “daddy, daddy!" gabriella called out, running towards him with the paper in her hands. look what i wrote for the 'my damily' assignment!"

curiosity piqued, miguel took the paper and read the words gabriella had written. his eyebrows shot up in surprise, quickly followed by a deep chuckle that escaped his lips. it seems he hadn't been clear enough with gabriella about his and your relationship.

taking a deep breath, miguel squatted down to his daughter's level. "gabriella, sweetheart, i love that you're proud of our family, but let's clarify something," he began, his voice gentle yet firm. “cariño," he said, using one of the nicknames he often called you, "is not your mother’s actual name. it’s more like a term of endearment, like 'sweetheart' or 'darling.' my name is miguel o’hara, just like yours, gabriella o’hara.”

gabriella's brow furrowed in confusion as she processed her father's explanation. "oh," she replied, her voice tinged with disappointment. miguel quickly held gabriella’s tiny hands in his. "but that doesn't change anything about how much i love you and your mother," he reassured her, his eyes warm with affection. "we’re still a loving family, no matter what names we use."

a small smile blossomed on gabriella's face as she looked up at her father. "okay, daddy. i still love you and mommy, no matter what." miguel's heart swelled with love and pride for his daughter. he gave her a tender hug, cherishing the warmth of their bond. "i love you too, gabriella. always remember that." walking hand in hand out of the school, miguel couldn't help but reflect on the importance of open communication within their family. it was a reminder for him to be clearer with gabriella and ensure she understood the intricacies of their relationship.

arriving home, miguel made a mental note to have a conversation with you, ensuring you were both on the same page when it came to talking with gabriella about their family dynamics. their love, communication, and understanding would continue to guide them as they navigated the joys and challenges of parenthood - a journey they embraced with open hearts.

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit @meeom

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #lin’s asks #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel o’hara x wife!reader #miguel o’hara and gabriella o’hara #gabriella o’hara #miguel imagine #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara drabble

[elizabethwritesmen]

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 8: November 2, 2024

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: you meet soap at the bar and finally see simon. turns out, he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. he takes you home and you find out just how much.

warnings: smutty smutty smut!!! beware!! p in v, fingering, all the good things. degradation and praise, size kink if you squint, probably a few more things but that’s all i can think of! let me know if i missed any!

series masterlist

November 2, 2024

It was cold outside, so I near sprinted from the cab to the bar, rushing in and hoping for some kind of warmth. I sighed in relief as the heat rushed around me, like a big hug.

I wasn’t accustomed to such cool temperatures, it never got super cold in my little beach town and if it did it was only in late January and lasted for about a day but London had been consistently chilly since I got there.

I looked around, noting that the place was a bit packed. I couldn’t see Soap or Simon or any of the guys anywhere, and I started to get discouraged, preparing to just leave with whatever pride I had left. Then I stopped myself. This was my only chance to see him. I wasn’t going to get another one, and if I blew it, who knew how if we’d ever cross paths again?

I steeled my resolve, making my way further into the pub and scooting past people as politely as I could. Finally, I saw him. They had a little booth in the corner, all of them with drinks in front of them.

I stood there for a second, nerves aflame and telling me to turn around for whatever it’s worth. I tried to push them away but the longer I stared at him the worse they got. Then, Gaz noticed me, his face lighting up as he nudged Simon on the arm and gestured in my direction.

Then, his eyes were on me. It was almost too much, the weight of them. The way they widened, he was clearly shocked. I took a deep breath in, telling myself to just walk over there but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t cooperate.

I must’ve stood there looking dumb for a whole minute before someone ran into me, knocking me right down onto the floor as they stepped past me, not even acknowledging what they’d done. Drunk off their ass, probably. I huffed, trying to pull myself up but someone else ran into me, knocking me down again.

“Here,” I looked up and it was him, offering me his hand. I took it carefully and he pulled me onto my feet, watching quietly as I brushed the dirt off my clothes.

“Thank you,” I offered shyly, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re here,” he sounded like he didn’t even believe it, the words a whisper on his lips, a ghost of a thing that couldn’t possibly be true.

“I’m here,” I nodded, finally looking up with a smile and he visibly relaxed, pulling me into him and hugging me. I wound my arms around his neck, returning it tightly, relief flooding over me and healing all of the wounds that had formed since I last saw him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, pulling away. He looked tired. He probably felt tired. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through.

“I got accepted to the law school at Cambridge.” He thought over my words for a second, eyes widening when the meaning of them sunk in. “I live here now, Simon.”

“I was gonna come back for you,” he rushed out the words like an apology, “I promised and I intended to keep it. I just got back from deployment but I was gonna go the second I got clearance.”

“I know. I never doubted you for a second. I just…. I just thought something had happened to you and I worried a lot. I don’t know how to contact you, I don’t know what you look like. All I have is a first name that may not even be real.”

“I promise, it’s real,” he chuckled, “Come on, sit down. I’ll order you a drink.”

He ushered me into the booth and then went to the bar, leaving me alone with the guys who were all giving me knowing looks.

“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” I asked Soap.

“I thought it’d be better as a surprise.”

“He told us, though,” Price pointed out and I narrowed my eyes.

“So you told everybody but him? That’s so mean!”

“Not really,” Soap shrugged, “Bet not knowing he was gonna see you made it a whole lot more special.”

I rolled my eyes, sinking into the cushion of the seat, chatting with them about what had been going on with me. Finally, Simon returned and handed me a glass.

“What’s this?”

“It’s sweet, you’ll like it,” he said, slipping in beside me. I shrugged, taking a sip and grinning when I realized he was right.

“You know me better than I give you credit for,” I giggled, sipping again.

“That I do.”

We spent the next few hours catching up. He seemed like he really wanted to know what I’d been up to. It seemed like he thought he wasn’t ever gonna see me again, just like I’d thought about him, and it made the night feel more loaded than it was. I’d come to London for him, whether I admitted it or not, and I wanted to be with him. I had no delusions that he felt the same way, only the tiniest bit of hope that had dwindled in the year he’d been gone. It sparked back to life, though, every time his eyes landed on me or his hand gently brushed my hair away from my face.

“You wanna get out of here soon?” he leaned in and asked me, and I nodded.

And a few minutes later, he stood, holding his hand out for me to take, and lead me outside to his vehicle. He helped me into it then got into the driver’s side and took off out of the parking lot.

“So.. you’re based here? In London?”

“For now, yes. I still go everywhere, though. It’s just… of all the places I am, I’m here the most.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“You get lost in your head and your nose scrunches.”

“No it doesn’t,” I defended, and he laughed.

“I’ve spent a lot of time looking at your face, I think I know better than you.”

“Whatever.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head o’ yours or what?” he asked again, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous.

“You think I’ll see you more?”

“Well I suppose so, since we live in the same place now.”

“But you said you’re gone a lot.”

“Yeah. But I always find my way back home.”

I grinned slightly, “So no more waiting a few months to see you for a few hours?”

“No more.”

My grin turned into a full on smile, heart pumping a little faster as that spark of hope grew even more.

He pulled up to my house a few minutes later and walked me to my front door, waiting patiently as I unlocked it. He didn’t ask if he could come in and I didn’t stop him, we just made our way inside together like it was second nature.

“Make yourself at home,” I hummed as I pulled my shoes off and tossed them into the basket beside the door. “I’m gonna get comfy.”

I walked into my room and found a pair of sweatpants and a cropped tank top, changing out of my cute clothes and into the soft and cozy ones. When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch waiting for me. I somewhat awkwardly plopped down on the other side of the couch, feeling the butterflies twenty fold, making me almost nauseous.

He raised a brow at me, eyeing me suspiciously before turning back away. It seem almost like he was nervous too.

I cleared my throat and spoke, “I know you probably have other girls here that you like more than me. Or anywhere, really. Maybe one in every country, I’d believe it. But…”

“But?” he urged me on after I paused, and I sighed, preparing to further embarrass myself.

“I just.. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to say. I guess I want to know… if I’m different than them? I don’t have any misconceptions about us, I promise I know where I stand and I know you don’t want anything real but do you at least… do you at least want me here?”

He stared at me for a moment, thinking about his answer, then gave it to me bluntly. “There are no other girls.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Not even one?”

“Not even one. There were none before you and there won’t be any after you.” I looked at him like I was stupid for a moment, in a bit of disbelief.

“But you’re Ghost. I - I see the way women look at you, and on top of that you’re this badass super soldier with the coolest mask ever. I’m just… I’m just me. How could there not be anyone else?”

“You’re just you, huh?” he snorted, and I furrowed my brows at him. “You’re just the girl who dances on bars and jumps in pools half naked to prove she isn’t scared? Just the girl who moved to the other side of the world to find me?”

“I didn’t come here to find you.”

He raised an eyebrow, and I faltered under it. We both knew that was a lie. “You’re the best girl I’ve met. I want you here.”

My eyes met his and I couldn’t fight off the smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and relaxed a bit, turning to face him.

“So we have all the time in the world now,” I mused.

“We do.”

We locked eyes, and my breath caught in my throat as the reality settled in my bones. We really did have all the time in the world. He’d still be there tomorrow. No sad goodbyes.

“Come here,” it was an order, low and rough, and I jumped straight into action, scooting closer to him until I was right beside him. He grabbed my thigh, pulling it over his lap until I was straddling him and I about choked on my own spit. “Such a good girl for me.”

Fuck, I forgot how good he was at turning me into a puddle. I let out a whine and he laughed, grabbing my hips and pulling them forward to rest right on his, pulling a gasp from me.

“Been too long, huh?” I nodded, my hair falling all over the place from the force of it, “I know, baby. It was so mean of me to leave you for so long.”

“So mean,” I whined, unable to stop the way my hips moved back and forth against his, my eyes almost rolling into the back of my head because he was already hard and the angle was hitting my clit just right.

“Breathe, baby,” he reminded me and I nodded, making an effort to inhale and exhale as I kept going. “Look at you, my little slut, cock drunk already.” I nodded, groaning as he held my hips still, eyes opening and peering into his. “You been with anybody else since I last saw you?”

“No.”

“You were waiting for me?”

“Yes,” I nodded, trying to move again but he didn’t let me.

“You been making yourself cum?” I looked down at my lap, shaking my head slightly and he grabbed my chin and yanked it back up, forcing me to keep eye contact. “Why?”

“Nothing works anymore now that… now that we…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but he understood.

“Now that I wrecked you?”

“Yeah,” I bit my lip, squirming against his rough hands. “Hated you for leaving me like that, don’t think anything else will ever do.”

“Aww,” his voice was patronizing but it sent heat straight to my center, “I’m sorry, baby. Let me make up for it.”

“Please,” I asked, my voice a broken moan, barely audible.

His hands stayed tight on my hips but started rocking me slowly, an agonizing pace, and the noises I was making were obscene.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he was in awe staring down at the spot on my sweatpants, “Need it bad, huh?”

“Nnhgh, uh huh,” I was close to collapsing on him, a mess of nerves that felt like they were going to snap. I needed him and I needed him right that second.

“Take your pants off for me,” he pushed me gently off his lap and I did as asked, slipping them off and kicking them away. “Shirt, too.” So I pulled it over my head and it joined my pants. He leaned forward in his seat, his hands closing around the band of my underwear and ripping. I gasped as he threw them in the pile.

“Those were expensive!”

“I’ll buy you ten new pairs,” he shrugged, kissing my tummy and then pulling me back onto his lap.

He made a show of pulling off his belt and undoing his pants, pulling himself out of his boxers and he was just as huge as I remembered. I gawked for a moment and he laughed, pulling me closer.

I was all too eager to get to it, setting myself up but he stopped me.

“Gotta stretch you out some, baby, don’t wanna hurt you.” Before I could complain, his fingers found my entrance and began stroking back and forth before pushing in, fucking into my already very wet hole and making me come undone in seconds. I felt like I was on fire as I gripped his shoulders, barely able to keep myself up. He kept that pace going, bringing his thumb to my clit, and I about jumped out of my skin, grinding down on his hand pathetically. “Just like that, baby, such a filthy little slut for me,” he coaxed my orgasm out of me with his words and I leaned down to kiss him, lips rough on his as my hips spasmed and I finished on his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean and I gasped, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

“Please fuck me, gonna die if you don’t fuck me Simon,” I begged and he nodded.

“Let’s go to bed.”

I grinned and stood up, eagerly sprinting to my room and he laughed, following me. He looked so good in the doorway, large and taking up what seemed like all the space in the room just by being there. I scooted back against my pillows, waiting patiently for him in the dark room only barely lit by light outside of the window.

He walked in slowly, climbing up my bed until he was propped up on his arms on top of me, leaning down to capture my lips in his own and it felt sweeter than the rest. Our tongues slid together in harmony as his hands wandered, touching everything they could reach and it was a lot.

Though it embarrassed me, I was past the point of caring as I started begging, my cries muffled by his mouth as he grabbed my thigh and pulled it around his waist. He lined himself up and I cursed the clothes he was wearing, wanting to feel more of him.

He slowly pressed himself in, but I was gone from the tip alone. I squeaked as he made it farther and farther, letting out a whimper of pain once it got too much. I hadn’t done anything like that in a while, so I was still a little tight even with him opening me up first, and he halted.

“Tell me when,” his words were simple but they were loaded and I nodded.

“Just give me a second, please,” I whispered into the dark, how sweet it was that he was waiting for me to tell him I was okay. “Okay,” I nodded a moment later, “Fuck me.”

He growled, pushing in the rest of the way until I could feel his pelvis pressing against me, brushing my clit tantalizingly. He pulled out after giving me time to adjust and pressed in again a little faster, until he was slamming inside of me and I was a moaning, whimpering mess under him. He seemed to like me that way, holding my face tight in his hands so I couldn’t look away from him, swallowing my sounds with his kisses as he went harder.

I was close, so close I was clenching around him, and he grabbed me under my waist and tipped us over so he was sitting against the headboard and I was on top. I let out a shaky breath as the new angle sent him even deeper inside of me and started greedily grinding on him.

“That’s it, take what you need baby, make yourself cum on my cock,” his words sent ripples of pleasure through me and I could feel that peak inside, ready to tip over it. “Gonna cum with you, you want that? Want it inside of you?” I nodded desperately at his words, clawing into the fabric of his shirt as I started bouncing, needing to go over the edge more than I’d needed anything else, ever. I needed everything about him more than I was accustomed to, and I already knew that I’d never be able to do what we were doing with anyone else. Nothing else would ever do.

“Fuck, come on baby, cum for me,” his hand wrapped around my throat and my vision went white, eyes rolling back as my hips stuttered and thrashed, my orgasm bubbling up and I could feel his close behind. I rode out the high, not giving him a second’s break from my screams as his hips jutted inside of me, filling me up with his own cum, fucking me full.

We took a second to breathe when it was over, just gazing at each other. He brushed my hair out of my face, wiping under my eyes.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he smiled, and I nodded, climbing off of him and making my way to the bathroom with him close behind. “You wanna take a shower?” he asked me once we were inside and I nodded slowly, exhaustion settling in. “Okay baby, let me get it ready for you.” He turned on the spray, hand under it waiting for it to get hot before turning to me. “Wanna wash your hair?” I shook my head, and he nodded, grabbing a hair tie from the counter behind me and turning me around to face the mirror as he got to work, pulling all my locks into a messy bun on the top of my head. I giggled, it looked a little silly but it was nice to see he didn’t have much experience with women’s hair.

He still hadn’t pushed his mask down, so I turned around and kissed him once, doing it for him and smiling at him once it was back in place. Then, I stepped into the shower and washed all the grime of the day off, along with all the evidence of the things he’d just done to me, shivering when I thought about it too much, missing his warmth already.

I half expected him to be gone when I got out and the thought scared me, but there he was, laying down waiting for me. I grinned, relief settling in as I pulled on a T shirt and panties, slipping in beside him and letting me snuggle me close.

“You must be uncomfy,” I furrowed my brows, gesturing to his jeans and long sleeve shirt, and he shrugged.

“‘m fine.”

“Are you sure? I can-“

“‘m sure. Go to sleep.”

I nodded slowly, smiling as he pulled me in closer, feeling like I was where I was supposed to be. This felt so different from the time he brought me home drunk, that felt like longing and this felt like forever. I tried to push the stupid thoughts away, knowing he probably didn’t want that but at the same time he was there, and he wasn’t leaving, because he didn’t want to. That thought alone was enough to send me into a peaceful sleep.

#simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut

[punktactical]

INSANITY , dracule mihawk

★

summary ; mihawk would do anything to get his lover back.

warnings ; gender neutral reader , angst , character death , implied depression , slight necrophilia ? ( kissing a dead person )

a/n ; this was gonna be smut but like . . . i wasnt ready to write it yet. i wanted the sadness to sink in first. maybe i'll do a part two if im convinced x3 ( im working on requests at the moment, maybe drop one if u want !! )

★

★

death is devastating.

to know someone will never come back and that you'll never see them in person again, it's agonizing. especially when you have unfinished business with them.

it's like mold, growing the more you refuse to clean it. to clean it would mean to rid of the thought, how could you ever rid of that person you love?

how could mihawk ever get rid of you?

the only person who ever stood by him, who kept pushing towards him, who understood him.

the day you died, you took a piece of him with you. the day they lowered your casket into the ground, they lowered him as well. 

it's been hurting, rotting. he needs that piece of him back.

he needs you back.

which is what leads him to the graveyard, with a shovel and an empty bottle of wine. his forehead was slick with sweat, mixing in the drops of rain pouring from the night sky. the thoughts had been plaguing his mind, spotting his vision with images of you, distorted and distraught. he needed to get rid of them, to bring you back for good.

the shovel plummeted into the ground, mud plastering itself onto his wet boots. the rain continued to pour, small puddles now surrounding him. the lightning cracked, shooting through the sky. on rainy days like these, you'd often beg mihawk to watch the rain pour. he'd always decline, but now he only wishes he could go back and sit with you all those times.

there's a pile of wet dirt growing and growing, the longer he scoops its up, growing closer to where they put your body. the shovel wasn't enough, it couldn't pull enough dirt. so, he tosses it to side, gets on his knees, and begins scratching and shoveling through the dirt with his bare hands.

dirt finds itself under his usually clean nails, but he could care less. he couldn't wait any longer. his sweetheart was only a casket away.

the rain soaked his white button up, sticking to his toned body. his hair was damp, loose strands falling over his face. nobody would believe it, that the world's greatest swordsman was on his knees, digging up his deceased lover. it was pathetic, sad, how someone as simple as you had him throwing his pride away.

his fingers felt the touch of a hard surface, his stomach dipping. there it was, the box that held the only thing he wanted. for a moment, a grin stretches across his face. it's maniacal. his eyes were blown, the once hazel orbs now full-on gold, glowing in the rainy night.

his hands grip the sides of the casket, nails digging into the wood. with all his might, he pulls over the lid, finally revealing it. you.

there you laid, eyes closed. mihawk chuckled sadly. you were as beautiful as you were the day you died. your skin was drained of color, sickly looking. he only stared at you for a moment, taking in your image. he couldn't believe it. you were finally back, in front of him. with him, right where you belonged.

a droplet of rain falls onto your face, breaking mihawk out his trance. he scrambles to grab your limp body, holding you close to his wet body. he kissed your face, lacking the warmth you once carried with your presence. mihawk spoke softly, voice slightly cracking.

"shh . . . i know it's cold, my love. we'll be back home soon, in warmth, together."

the world's greatest swordsman had lost his mind.

★

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #light angst #one piece angst #angst #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #mihawk angst #one piece smut #hes lost his mind #dark content #punkz postz

[rainybyday]

It started with teenage trivia. 

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were all hanging out and playing games with each other. At first, it was just pvp games with the trio taking turns beating each other and gain more points in their score board. As time went on, Danny was the only one play a level based game with both Sam and Tucker mindlessly watching him go through the ‘Underworld’ level. It was when Danny faced his first pop of color in contrast to all the black and gray did he raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. 

“Why are there red flowers in this level?”

“Their Spider Lilies, they mean death, Danny.”

“Huh.”

And that was that, 

He really didn’t think much of it afterwards, the small fact tucked away in his mind, never to resurface again. 

Until it did. 

He took notices of some red spider lilies that were left behind after defeating Undergrowth. A lightbulb went off in his mind and made the connection that maybe that's why the plant-based ghost grew such flowers in his attack. 

Then he started to wonder if the other types of plants Undergrowth used in their fights also have similar meanings.

Chrysanthemums, he later searched on the internet, also symbolizes death. Crimson roses symbolize mourning and Hyacinths symbolizes deep longing. Danny also felt amusement when he found that some lilies symbolize rebirth and new life or how Carnations and Gladiolis mean remembrance.  

But it really hit home when he found out that some flowers can mean resurrection. 

He closed his phone after that. 

Yet, just like any other teenager who faced the rabbit hole called the internet, Danny found himself going back to search other types of flower meanings and symbolizes over and over again. When it wasn’t enough, he later had a stack of books about the meaning behind many other flowers scattered around his room. It was soon after did Danny started to detail the more interesting stories and meaning behind some flowers into an empty journal. 

Slowly, Danny started to learn the study of florigraphy day by day. 

Then one day the trio of friends were walking down the street from another ghost alert (turns out to be Cujo) with Sam explaining once again why the two boys should think of becoming vegan with Tucker explaining why meat was to amazing to give up. Danny only listened to the two bickers for majority of the walk, humming once in a while. 

Then he randomly inserted himself in between the two with a question.

“Hey Sam, what's the easiest flower to grow?”

It ended with Danny going home with three types of flower seed packets and small indoor pots, curtesy of a quick trip to the store.  

Surprisingly, with some help from Sam and Jazz, he did manage to grow some blossoms in his rooms. Even with an ecto-contaminated home and ghost running around the flowers manage to survive which left Danny with a sense of pride every time he wakes up to look at the arrangement of sweet alyssums, blue morning glories, and marigolds. 

(Sweet alyssums mean ‘Sweetness of the soul’)

(Blue morning glories, while short lasting, means infinitive love, trust, respect, and honesty.)

(Marigolds have so many meanings to them, yet he likes to think of them as ‘beauty and warmth of the rising sun’.)

His pride grew into affection, and soon he was growing more pots of flowers in his room - some by his window side, some handing from hooks on the upper walls, and some growing in a small dark spot with uv lights giving them light. It didn’t take long for his room to smell of flora which Danny loved. 

His small window side garden became a room/green house. Unfortunately, with his growing obsession with growing even more flowers he had to either move his hobby somewhere else or be satisfied with the small garden he has now. 

And so, Danny picked up his packets of newly bought seeds and started to plant even more flowers in a clearing near their hid out. 

So now Danny would always tend to his garden, always find time out his day to care, trim, weed, and water his flowers with gentle hands. He would pick the ones that were always done blooming and gift them to his friends or Jazz, not wanting the flowers to go to waste. Sometimes he would press some of the flowers dry, and once he found out how, he started to take his time picking and drying the flowers that were able to become teas. 

Truly his curiosity had blossomed into a sort of obsession for the boy. 

What he didn’t expect was for ghost to like said obsession. 

Maybe like is too much of a strong word but it seems to fit more or less. 

First it started with Cujo who Danny was chasing once again for digging up holes all over some poor guy's yard. Danny didn’t even realize that the chase was leading Cujo to his outdoor garden until they were right there. Danny was already panicking thinking that Cujo was going run right through his poor flowers when Cujo did the unexpected. 

He ran around his garden. 

Danny almost lost Cujo with how much he was gawking at the scene. 

Then it was Ember who refused to fight him since Phantom had some roses at hand (he didn’t think ok! he didn’t have time to shove his flowers somewhere safe from getting burn to ash thanks) because she didn’t want to burn them. 

Danny thought it was a Cujo think, after having even more weird encounters with other ghost and their avoidance to harm his flowers, he left to ask Clockwork about it. Turns out that ghost respect flowers because they are a common gift to those that had died, and when a flower is placed on their graves, they considered it a token of respect and acknowledgment. 

That really turned his perspective a full 180. 

(Maybe that's why he felt at peace when tending to his garden.)

Since then, Danny always grabbed a basket of flowers to take and place on empty graves routinely. On Halloween he would leave bundles of marigolds, on death days he would leave forget-me-nots, and on New Year's he would place daffodils. 

His actions didn’t go unnoticed by the ghost or the rest of the town. Soon, elderly would wave him over and ask him if he could place certain flowers on their loved one's graves, small elementary kids would give him common daisies to take with him and some adults thank him when he makes him rounds. 

Heck, even some ghost started to attack less and would sometimes watch him place some flowers on the graves, and every time he placed one on their graves they would puff up with pride at the token.

Danny never felt so at peace before. With a single blossom he can hold the peace he wanted in his town. With just a little bit of respect, slowly the tricky and pranks started to slow down. 

Little by little, Amity was able to breath. 

Slowly, the death was coming to rest. 

Now 18 years of age and Danny wanted to leave Amity. Already he established himself as a peace maker of sorts, with most of the ghost staying at the Ghost Zone with a few floating around. His rounds to the graveyard because a business of sorts with people asking to buy certain flowers for special occasions which he happily gave. By now, Danny was finically stable and thought it was time to move somewhere. 

But after a bit of thinking he choose a surprisingly reasonable place to set shop. 

Danny set his sights at Gotham and her ever growing graveyard. 

(While he may be a human boy with a love for flowers, he was also a King who wish to help his people bring a Balance.)

Add more in another post: Flower Shop Au Pt2

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #flowers #flower shop #dp x dc #dc x dp

[sarawritestories]

Read For Me

Cassian xFem Reader

Summary: You and Cassian have the House or Wind to yourselves. When he finds you alone in the library with a smutty romance novel, he comes up with a fun game to play.

This is heavily inspired by one specific scene in King of Pride by Ana Huang (if you want a good romance 10/10 would recommend her books)

A/N: I'm still working on writing smut so I apologize if it's awful!

Content Warning: smut, M entering F, teasing, Fluff, not deeply proofread

Word count: 2.1k

 Cassian landed on the balcony of the House of Wind shaking off the chill breeze of the winter evening from his wings. He stepped into the house and was met with a peaceful quiet, but he could feel your presence. He was always acutely aware of your presence, and it was no different here. He knew you were at the House; Feyre had insisted you take a break, you had been working yourself ragged and everyone could see that it was waning on you, which is why you didn’t argue when she brought it up and Cassian whisked you up to the House of Wind.

The General was keenly aware that you were upset that him and Azriel had to leave for Windhaven for a few days and that she would be alone. After the second day at Devlon’s camp Azriel offered to oversee the training and checking in with the families. The Shadowsinger had smirked sensing Cassian’s eagerness to head back to Velaris, “Go home, Cas, wouldn’t want your Princess to be all alone in the big scary house.” Cassian had flicked him off and bolted home. 

Shaking off his boots of the lingering snow he made his way to your favorite place of the house, the library. Fae lights illuminated the doorway and a small smile crept over features as reached the book infused room and leaned against the door frame. You were sitting on the couch with a nose stuck in a book not taking in his presence. Cassian took a moment to soak in your appearance, your hair was up in a messy bun, an oversized emerald sweater, that exposed your bare shoulder, dark leggings and fuzzy socks that Cassian got you for Solstice, knowing your love of being comfortable and cozy in the cold months.

For the first time he couldn’t remember you looked so relaxed and peaceful. In a flash your scent shifted into arousal, you were shifting in your seat and Cassian knew that you were reading one of those romance novels Nesta and the Valkyries are always gossiped about. He cleared his throat and Your head shot up at first with embarrassment than excitement at seeing the General. “Cas!” You gave him a bright smile and Cassian was grateful he was leaning as that smile made his knees weak. You put a bookmark in your book and raced to him and leapt in his arms.

Cassian wrapped his arms around your waist, “Hello Sweetheart.” Your stomach did a flip at him you always loved when he called you Sweetheart or Princess. You met his hazel eyes, “Are you enjoying the time off?”

He reluctantly set you down as you shrugged, “I mean, I’m sure at some point this week, I’m going to get extremely bored and read every book here.”

Cassian chuckled a draped an arm over her bare shoulder, heat rose in your cheeks from the contact. “Well let me know if you want any of my war tomes you can sift through. When you know you get tired of your smut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.” You flicked his nose, and quickly, he began tickling you. The sound of your laughter was music to his ears. He tickled you until tears pricked your eyes, “Okay, Okay, I yield.” He stopped and your smile didn’t leave your face as he presses his forehead against yours. “I yield.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two were breathing heavily, Cassian pushed off you and you found yourself missing his warmth. “Tell me about your book.” He said plopping on the couch grabbing your book you were reading.

Your eyes widened, and your crawled on the couch trying to grab, it from him but his forearm sticks out to keep me from grabbing the book, “Cassian, give it back.”

You noticed that his nostrils flared, and he looked at you and back at work, “Well, Y/N, Aren’t you a naughty little thing?”

You sat back on you heals and cross your arms your face warming up and avoid his eye contact him, “Asshole.”

Cassian looked back at the book and then back at you, “Would you be willing to play a game with me?”

You turned back to face him, your brow quirked, “What kind of game?”

He grinned and handed you your book. “You just have to read for me.”

You grabbed the book and your brows furrowed, “How is that a game, Cassian?”

The General leaned against the couch his wings tucked comfortably, “Well, the game would be if you stumble over the words or lose your spot, you have to strip an article of clothing and start over.”

Your breath hitched, “What if I can read through a page with no issue?” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I have to take off an article of clothing.” Cassian saw the panic look on your face, “Princess, we don’t have to if you’re not interes- “

You moved to press a hand to his mouth practically straddling him to do so, his hands instinctively moved to your waist holding you in place, “It’s not that I’m not interested.” You slowly moved his hand from his mouth down his chest where one of his Siphons resided focusing on the red stone than his assessing gaze, “Just never thought you were.”

Cassian hummed in response, then raised his hand to the nape of her neck his callouses pressed against your skin as your eyes met. He moved his head towards yours and pressed his lips chastely to yours only to pull away, “Are we playing, Sweetheart?” You tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth as you nod. He grazes his thumbs on your bottom lip, “I need words.”

“Yes, General,” his growl of approval of his title reverberated against your hand splaying on his chest. “I want to play.”

He smirked, and whispered against the shell over her ear, “Then go sit with your back against the armrest,” he gave your ass a tap and released his other hand from your waist. You moved to the other end of the couch and your back was against the armrest.

Cassian stood, and stretched out his wings as the setting sun illuminated the warmth color and the membrane of his wings. You were enraptured with them, and you whispered, “Beautiful.”

The General turned to you and noticed how you were staring at his wings, “You’re drooling,” You snapped out of your stupor and opened your book. “Whenever you’re ready, Princess.”

You begin reading the passage you left off on before Cassian arrived. You were about halfway through the page when muscled hands began to massage your shoulders. You paused as his fingers eased the tension out of your neck and a moan escaped your lips. Cassian chuckled and his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, “That was definitely a pause, an article of clothing has to go.”

You sigh dramatically and peel off one of your socks and lean your head against his shoulder, “Socks count especially when you’re not playing fair.”

Cassian’s laugh warmed your skin, “Do you want me to stop?” He hit a point that was extremely tense, and another moan escaped your lips.

“No, I’m just pointing out you cheat at games.” You raise your head and begin to read from the page again. Cassian hand continues to massage your shoulders sand your neck and you managed to read a full page with no interruption. “I have read a whole page, General” You lean back again and face him. “Strip.”

Cassian’s hands left your shoulders, and he walked in front of you and removed the top of his leathers revealing his chiseled frame and his tattoos. You forced yourself to meet his gaze and there was mischief in his eyes. “Like what you see?”

You stick your tongue out at him and continue reading. Cassian stepped closer to you, and you stayed focused on the words. His fingers grazed up your legs and raised up to your thigh and grazes the apex of your thighs, “Cassian,” you whimper as you raise your hips to get more friction.

Cassian tsked, “I highly doubt that my name is in that book,” You lift your leg with the socked foot when he gently grips your ankle to stop you, “I pick this time.” He eyes your sweater, “Sweater. Off.”

The low register of his command sent warmth down your core, as he places your leg back down. “Yes, General.” You close your book and take off your sweater revealing that you were not wearing any band underneath. Your bare breast exposed and Cassian’s eyes darkened hazel barely peeking through his erection rubbing against his fighting leathers. “Cassian?” His eyes met yours. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Disappointment flooded him. “Of course, we can stop.” He tapped your leg and gave you a small smile as he rose, “I’ll leave you to your book.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from the couch and gripped his wrist before he could leave, “Cassian,” He turned and before he had time to react gripped his head down and crashed his lips against yours. Cassian’s hands gripped your covered ass, and you moaned leaving your mouth open for him to slide his tongue.

Cassian growled, “I need you, Princess.” He pulls down your pants, your panties dragged down with them. He breaks away from you for a moment as he pulled his own pants down. Cassian gripped your bare hips and presses a bruising kiss on your mouth gripping both hands behind your thighs as he presses you up against the bookshelf. The tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

You two pull away for air, “Cassian,” You moan as he trails kisses down your neck. He places you down his cock entering and stretching you causing lewd noises to escape your lips your hands tangling in his hair. Cassian keeps you there letting you adjust as he slides a hand up your stomach and groping your breast.

“You are so perfect, Y/N,” Cassian murmured between kisses, and began to thrust inside her. The grip on his hair tightened as he began to get a rhythm. He pinched your nipple, and your moan was silenced by his lips molding to yours. He pressed his forehead against yours, “So. Fucking. Perfect.” Cassian said between thrust. “Open your eyes, Sweetheart” you didn’t realize that your eyes had closed until you opened them to meet his and he smiled accentuating his beauty. “There’s my pretty girl.”

His hand moves from your breast, and you bring down your hand to intertwine with his. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze as he picked up the pace, you watched his wings flare and with a free hand you touched the top part of his wing and he sputtered. “Keep doing that and this will be over before it’s even started.” You retracted your hand quickly and he chuckled kissing you, “Wing play will be a game for a different day.” He kissed you again, his thrust becoming more erratic.

“Oh Cassian,” Pleasure was building with every thrust sweat coating both of your bodies, and he slips his hand between your legs and pinches your clit as you scream as stars entering your vision as you reached your climax. Cassian meets you in stride as you whisper, “I love you,” you kiss his neck.

Cassian roars his siphons flaring to stop the books from hitting you both, with a shield as his cum coats your walls. There was a moment where the two of you didn’t move from that position until he lifted you off him. He still carried you, bridal style and moved you to the bedroom leaving the discarded clothes in the library. You tucked your head in the crook of his neck. When you both got to the hall he whispered, “Did you mean what you said?”

You lifted your head, “When I said what?”

Cassian reached his room, and he lowered you but kept his hand clasped in yours. “That you love me?” You met his gaze and there was fear in his eyes.

“Cas, I have loved you for years.” Cassian’s face lit up, “Of course I meant what I said.”

Cassian pulled you close, His wings cocooned us, “I love you too, Y/N.” His lips tenderly found yours as he held you like he could lose you at any moment.

Something in you snapped and you felt the shimmering gold bond connect between the two of you. You leaned your head against his chest, his arms rubbing your bare back, “Looks like the Cauldron and Mother approve.”

Cassian kissed the top of your head, “I guess so.” He pulls you away and cups your face, “Any chance you’ll read for me again?”

You giggle and turn your head to kiss his palm, “Anything for my Mate.”

Cassian’s wings flare out and he picks you up and takes you to bed where you stay for the rest of your time off, with your mate, your General.

#cassian smut #cassian imagine #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian x you #acotar smut #acotar fanfiction

[enhahooninurwindow]

Love's Serenade: A Gentleman's Date Night

Pairing: Jay x reader 🍓MASTERLIST

Genre: fluff

Wc: 763

Summary: You and Jay have been dating for over a year and he knows when you’re upset and decides to push your stress away 🎀

Jay had noticed that you, his girlfriend, had been feeling stressed and overwhelmed lately. He knew that you deserved a break from your hectic schedule, so he decided to plan a special date night to help you relax and unwind. On a crisp Saturday afternoon, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a note that read, "Let's escape for a while and forget about the world together." Your face lit up with delight as you read the note and hugged him tightly, grateful for his thoughtful gesture. He had planned a romantic evening at a cozy restaurant by the waterfront. As you sat down at your table overlooking the serene view of the lake, he could see the tension melting away from your shoulders. He made sure to order your favorite dishes and engaged you in light-hearted conversation, making you laugh and forget about your worries for the time being. After dinner, he took you for a leisurely stroll along the waterfront promenade. The cool breeze and the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore created a tranquil atmosphere. He held your hand as you walked, occasionally stopping to admire the stars twinkling in the night sky. As you reached a secluded spot by the water's edge, Jay spread out a blanket and invited you to sit with him. He had brought along a small picnic basket filled with your favorite snacks and a bottle of sparkling cider. You shared stories, dreams, and aspirations, lost in each other's company and the peaceful surroundings. The night was magical, and you felt a sense of calm and contentment you hadn't experienced in a long time. His thoughtful gestures and unwavering support made you feel cherished and loved.

After spending hours enjoying each other's company, you decided to head back home. He drove you back in comfortable silence, allowing you to savor the memories of the beautiful evening you had shared. Back at his place, he dimmed the lights and lit some scented candles to create a cozy ambiance. He wrapped you in a warm embrace, feeling you relax against him. You cuddled on the couch, watching a movie you both loved while sipping on hot cocoa. He gently stroked your hair, whispering words of affection and reassurance. He reminded you that you were strong and capable, and that he was always there for you no matter what. As the night progressed, your found yourselves lost in conversations about your aspirations for the future, and laughed about silly moments you had shared together. He listened intently to every word you spoke, his eyes filled with admiration and love. He admired your resilience, your passion for your work, and your unwavering dedication to everything you believed in. He made sure to express his pride in your accomplishments and reminded you of your strength whenever you doubted yourself. You, in turn, opened up about the sources of your stress and anxiety. You spoke about the pressures at work, the challenges of balancing your personal and professional life, and the constant self-doubt that crept in during difficult times. He listened empathetically, offering words of encouragement and support without judgment. Your bond grew stronger with each passing moment, fueled by trust, understanding, and genuine affection. He knew that being there for you meant more than just planning a date night; it meant being your rock, your confidant, and your biggest cheerleader. As the night wore on, you cuddled closer, finding solace in each other's arms. He gently kissed your forehead, sending waves of warmth and comfort through you. You talked about your future together, envisioning a life filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures. With each shared laugh and tender touch, the stresses of the outside world faded into the background. You were in your own little cocoon of love, where nothing else mattered except the bond you shared. As dawn approached, you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in a blanket of love and contentment. He held you close, grateful for the opportunity to show you how much you meant to him and promising to always be there to chase away your worries and fears. The morning sun cast a soft glow through the curtains, signaling the start of a new day filled with possibilities. He woke up to find you snuggled against him, your peaceful expression bringing a smile to his face. He knew that your love was a source of strength for both of you, and he vowed to cherish every moment you shared, making each day more special than the last.

#enhahooninurwindow #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha fluff #enhypen #enhypen jay #enhypen reactions #jongseong #park jongseong #jay fluff #jay fanfic #jay x reader #jay x y/n #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios

[apocalypseyoshia]

OLROX X MALE READER

female or she/her presenting people please DNI

Any blogs that ignore this will be blocked explanation why here

I can’t stop imagining Olrox from Castlevania: Nocturne x male reader angst so here

He was a peacemaker one that never respond nor resorted to violence he was kind to everyone around him always having his door open to anyone brother’s by blood or not anyone at all

He was patient and quiet even though he never resorted to violence he was not weak no on the contrary his believes where strong and he had fought for his and other peoples land no matter how hard the fight was he would always be there

 that determination had ended up catching one of the eye of a certain Aztec vampire



Who could someone so quiet be so passionate about fighting for his people even going so far as to find a way not to hurt them or others, making deals, agreement’s and finding middle ground that work out for both sides, he had to see this man for himself

So one day he went to meet him himself and he hadn’t expected what roses from the situation, a night of laughter and meaningful conversations the man’s warmth was like a disease one that had even affected the manipulative Aztec vampire simply because it was genuine it was kind it was warm and it felt so much like home

Years pass and the man is not as strong as he once was but still as passionate, he had still kept his door open to anyone, maybe that’s what aloud Olrox to because so close with him, maybe- no Olrox definitely took advantage of that fact he as he stood beside him throughout the years trying to brake him but nothing ever seemed to work he had tried to use his sliver tongue and his fake soft touch to brake him and his believes down but it paled in comparison to the man’s loyalty to his believes 

“We all live on this earth, we’re pout here as a race for a reason”

Olrox had never understood why or even how the man had gotten to this conclusion but slowly bit by bit it didn’t matter he just wanted to be near him close to him

Slowly Olrox had developed feelings for him but had never told him, his pride being to high, but no matter how much he tried to deny it everyone knew they saw the way his eyes soften as the sight of the man playing and taking care of the orphans of the tribe, he might have indulged in helping out to indulge his desire to speed more time with the man, maybe he did not realize how Much he was indulging himself in as the orphans started calling him father, he did not stop them no he couldn’t see the face’s of those children being crushed as he told them to stop, so he never did.

Who knows maybe the time he spent with the man of his dreams had made him go soft but he didn’t care not anymore he would spend every waking minute with his man if he could, that’s why that’s why he had to tell him eventually

So he did just that

And he never regretted anything after

No he never regretted anything after, not The moment’s of endless bliss or the passionate love making, MOTHER FUCKING LOVE MAKING, he couldn’t even call it sex because everything everything with that man was deep was beautiful and was free

The life they lived together was a now oddly blurred mix of happiness, endless happiness,

oh how he missed that 

He misses everything, he misses waking up with someone cuddling him in bed, he missed someone walking with him at the darkest depths of night, he missed someone hushing him when he would try to talk over the tribe’s elder’s, he missed someone braiding his hair and helping him put on his earrings, he missed the soft touches and the quiet morning’s, he missed making bad jokes that would inevitably get him a hit on the head

He missed his love

He should have never let him go on that boat he should have forced him to retire his title of peacemaker and even after all of that he should have turned him but he didn’t

HE

MOTHER

FUCKING

DIDN’T

He trusted his lover’s words, he shouldn’t have, if he didn’t then maybe just maybe he wouldn’t be standing in front of the empty grave plot where his lover’s body was supposed to be held, they couldn’t even find a body, it was to broken to mangled it was too burnt and too gruesome to even be called a body it was past a corpse at that point,

but even after knowing all of that he fought with the captain’s of the ship to go back and retrieve it he wanted to hold him close one last time just one last time but the captain had said no so he slaughtered him and everyone else on the ship

because why, why should they get to live why should they’re family’s get closure why should those body’s get to be buried while his lover’s body is in an unusual place that will because his unmarked gave?!

His anger took a hold of him and he didn’t hold back, he didn’t want to Olrox hated humans for what they did, for taking away their one saving grace in his eyes so he wanted to take everything back from them

#gay #gay mlm #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #olrox x reader #castlevania olrox #angst #Castlevania nocturne x reader

[glittergelpensblog]

In the Dark (II)

Eventual Azriel x Reader

Witch!Reader Word Count: 2,122 Summary: You were a witch made into High Fae by your family, kidnapped by the King of Hybern. After he attempts to use your power, you are saved by the Night Court Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, canon violence, graphic descriptions of death, torture, fire, scars, mentions of SA, but nothing happens to reader, panic attack, please let me know if I missed anything! Note: Finally some Azriel interaction!

Prologue Part I

The fire was too much. 

You tossed and turned into the sheets, unable to find any position that was comfortable enough to lull you to sleep.

Perhaps you should’ve told Amren, but your pride shoved your voice down. She wouldn’t understand, and if she did, you didn’t want to confront her pity filled face.

The fire that had burned your home, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of your people being burned alive.

It was too much, too recent, and it was dragged into the present by conjuring your magic in that form.

Perhaps that was why she did it, a way to make you stronger, face your past. 

But by the Mother, you would’ve given anything to try to conjure your magic in a different form, any form, in the thousands of ways you could wield your power.

Pure magic was what you were cursed with. Magic that you could bend to your will, take any form. Fae had been trapped to gifts passed down through blood, taking form in healing, bending water, or even the darkness of night as Rhysand’s power had manifested. 

It was magic one could kill for.

You shivered at the thought, and then shoved it down.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You got no sleep. 

You looked at the sunrise from the garden of the townhouse, the orange and the pink on the horizon blending into the purple that eventually kissed the blue from the leftovers of  night. The last of the stars were beginning to twinkle out, and you swear you had never seen stars that shone so bright before. 

“You missed breakfast.” Azriel stepped onto the patio, softly closing the door.

You turned to face him, a gust of winter wind biting straight through the leathers that had been left on your dresser the night before. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as your eyes met Azriel’s. 

“Yeah,” You muttered. “I didn’t want to get sick before training.”

“Sick?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, and heat filled your cheeks at the question.

“I wasn’t really… fed in the dungeons.” You looked down at your boots. “It’s been hard to keep anything down after barely eating for months.”

“We have a healer,” Azriel stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body reaching yours. You almost flinched at it, how little distance there was between you. “She can make you a tonic, to help with the nausea.”

You were still looking down, your gaze brought to his hands, covered in whirls of scars, almost as if they were burned. 

No, they were burned. 

The flames flashed in your mind, the heat kissing your face, the screams of people, the burning flesh–

“Are you alright?” Azriel stepped even closer to you, you were almost touching, the guard was touching–

Your breathing quickened, shallow frantic breaths, and you felt your magic bubble, going up to the surface, up up up.

Azriel gently took your hand, and you squeezed your eyes shut. It was him, it was that nasty sentry–

“Don’t touch me,” You rasped, your knees almost buckling beneath you as you took a step back. “Please, please.”

Azriel’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, the smell of fear rolling off you in waves, felt the rumble of power as you shook.

You are not weak. You are not weak. You are not–

“Y/N, it's Azriel, you're not there anymore. You’re in Prythian, you’re not in Hybern.”

You couldn’t hear him, you couldn’t hear anything over the screaming, your family, your aunt, your nephew, the crackling of wood, the shattering glass–

A hand was on your shoulder, and the power, you couldn’t stop it. “I said don’t touch me.” You shoved against a chest at the word, your power shooting behind it.

You heard a grunt, and rumble of a male as he was slammed against the far wall of the patio. The ground shook from the force, and you opened your eyes. 

Bright morning from the sunrise, the harsh winter breeze, and the smell of jasmine filled your senses.

And to the wall was Cassian, currently being helped up by a wide-eyed Azriel.

Cassian, he must’ve come outside, to investigate the surge of power–

“Oh my god,” You rasped, rushing over to the males. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Now imagine what that can do on a battlefield.” Cassian's eyes met yours, and there was no pity, no fear. Just amusement and that cocky grin he constantly wore.

“Are you hurt?” You were now kneeling by him, peeling his head from the brick wall. 

“No, Y/N, I’m fine.” Cassian assured, stretching out his wings as he stood up. 

“I don’t believe you.” You stood on your tiptoes, your fingers examining the back of his head once again. You were proven correct when blood met your fingertips. 

“Oh, mother,” You gasped, as you stepped away turning to Azriel. “The healer.” You stated, your voice firmer. “You said there was a healer, where is she?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The world was miles beneath you. 

Beautiful, long, distant miles. Azriel banked, the force of the wind ripping your braid free. 

“Are you okay?” He spoke over the wind. He seemed hesitant to fly you himself, but Cassian’s wings were still healing, and it wasn’t worth the risk for him to carry you.  

“Yes,” You breathed, “It’s– perfect.” 

The world was nothing but a map beneath you. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, his voice almost a whirl of the wind itself.

You looked up from the land beneath you, meeting Azriel’s gaze through your locks flying in the wind. You didn’t dare let go of his shoulders to push the hair back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You stated, “I was the problem. It wasn’t you, I wasn’t scared of you. It was…”

You swallowed your pride, as if you hadn’t already been destroyed earlier. Leashing your magic out on a man trying to help you. 

Pathetic.

“I was back there. In my village. And it  wasn’t you touching me, it was that damn Hybern sentry, Aruhn. The thought of him being there, of his hands on me, I just…”

His eyes hardened, “Did they, did they ever–”

“No, not like that.” You swallowed, not wanting him to finish his sentence, to say the one thing you were spared from. “Aruhn specialized in torture, but no, never that.”

He heaved a sigh, and his eyes softened. 

“I should be the one apologizing,” You said, glancing at Cassian flying to your left, and he gave no indication as to whether or not he was listening to your conversation. “I couldn’t contain my power, couldn’t control myself. What happens next time? When will I take it too far?”

“That’s what the training is for.” Azriel assured. “Not just with us, but with Amren, also. She may be… harsh. But she knows what it's like. To wield power in an unfamiliar body.”

And unfamiliar yours was. You had barely been a fae for a few months before Hybern came to take you. The sneers of your village did nothing to help you accept your elongated limbs, your pointed ears. 

“And you?” You asked, “Cassian told me most Ilyrians needed one siphon to harness their power. He said that when you’re in battle, you wear seven.”

“Mine is a different story than Cassian’s.” He stated, flying lower to the streets of the city, “I started training a lot older than most Illyrians start.”

“I think that makes your story more similar to mine, then.”

Azriel landed softly on the cobblestone street, before gently guiding you to stand from your spot curled in his chest. You shivered in the absence of his warmth in the winter morning. 

“I guess it does.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel took note of every step you took as Cassian guided you to Madja’s healing quarters. 

The trip was useless, as Cassian’s head wound had most likely healed on the flight there, but the sheer determination in your eyes when you demanded the male see a healer kept every arguing word from leaving his mouth. 

And even if Cassian needn’t be healed, at least you were doing something other than trying to control that unworldly power. 

It had been almost a week and a half since Hybern, and all you had done was sit in the living room with Amren, conjuring your power. And when you weren’t doing that, you were reading with her, learning of the history and inner workings of Prythian. Unsurprisingly, living in a secluded village with distaste for Fae, you knew nearly nothing of the history. Just exaggerated stories of the abuses of magic and your kind. 

What was once your kind. 

How did you handle it, being the one creature hated by everyone around you? Nevertheless, being made into the one you were raised to fear? Azriel’s chest ached at the history similar to his. To be hated by all around you, left with no family, to be feared by everyone because of a rare but deadly gift. 

And Hybern of all people had found it, probably using the very Cauldron he dipped Feyre’s sisters into. 

And he had tortured you for months, trying to break you until you did his bending. A weapon of no other by his side. 

What would you think of him once you knew his job was to do the same? Not just the spymaster, but one who carved up men just as it had been done to you? How sometimes, when the torturing went too far, he would revel in the pain of those at his hands. 

For the first time in almost 200 years, the thought of torturing someone made his stomach churn. 

You turned around to look at him, hair still wind blown and cheeks still red from the flight. And while Azriel was keeping an eye on you for any spouts of anxiety in the bustling city, your eyes were shining bright, and a small smile graced your lips.

Azriel remembered it too, his first visit to Velaris. His first time seeing life outside of the Illyrian mountains and Windhaven. The awe of the happy city, the joy of its citizens as they milled about their day. 

Maybe this was what you needed, to be out in the world, to see life, rather than being cooped up in the townhouse all day. Azriel tucked away the thought for later.

He gave you a reassuring smile before you turned around and followed Cassian into the healers quarters.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

While Azriel didn’t say it, you knew from the look in his eyes that he thought a trip to the healer was useless. 

But you didn’t think it was, as you watched Madja patch together the small remnants of the wound on Cassian’s head, taking note of the way her magic patched him back together. 

And after that, you watched how she made a quick inspection of his wings, noting the differences she spoke of that showed the healing of them, and sneakily swirled out an invisible strand of your magic, just as Amren taught you, and examined her power with your own. Whether or not the healer felt what you were doing, she didn’t say anything. 

If you could truly bend your magic into any form, then you were sure you could use it for healing, and that the power would be useful if Hybern truly wanted war. 

If you could use your magic to heal, not hurt. 

The ride up to the House of Wind was just as cold as earlier, your re-braided hair whipping behind you. 

“So you had other intentions of seeing Madja other than Cassain?” 

He really doesn’t miss a thing.

“Of course,” You feigned, meeting the Shadow Singer’s eyes, “You said she could make me a tonic for nausea.” Indeed, in the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Azriel’s neck, you clutched the tonic and a tin of salve for sore muscles–one that Cassian stated you would need after today with a wink.

“I am the Spy Master for a reason, you know. I saw how you watched Madja, and my shadows could sense your magic.”

You swallowed at his words. Were you truly that much of a threat? That Azriel constantly had to monitor your magic? Why had they even taken you in? Just so that Hybern didn’t have you as a weapon? 

You kept your face cool. “If my magic can turn into anything, it can turn into healing. I might as well learn to clean up the messes that I make.” You shot a glance at Cassian.

“Y/N, that could’ve happening to anyone learning–”

“Not everyone is as powerful as me.” 

Azriel didn’t reply as he neared the house, shooting down for the training ring.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list: @lizziesfirstwife @waytoomanyteenagefeels @starryhiraeth @knmendiola @bionic-donut @caosfanblr @lena-davina @starriestarlight @younxii @starsdoulikedem @lucyysthings @esposadomd @naturakaashi @carolinaflicker @missusbarnes-rogers @vlysseve @lollipop974 @whydohumansss @spaxxxi @graciereads @dumb-sailor-jay @jesssicapaniagua @we-were-beautiful @judig92 @littlemisslovestoread @toriluvsfics @nightless @cassiefromhell @in-luvais @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @poshestpigeon @alainabooks143 @princesslolaasworld @thelov3lybookworm @vickykazuya @fussel9913 @hayley-jadee @cleverzonkwombatsludge @hereticdance @kodokunarisu-blog @alainabooks143 @forsiriussake @fussel9913 @marvelouslovely-barnes @blurredlamplight @i-am-infinite @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @the-hidey-hole @amieinghigh @rorel1a @microwaveallthedemons

#acotar #acotar imagine #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acomaf

[luimagines]

A Kabedon Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Time, Twilight and Legend.

Content under the cut!

Time

There was something that you wanted to try, but you weren’t entirely sure how you were going to go about it.

Sure it would be fun- but only in your head. What if you came on too aggressive? What if he took it the wrong way?

You were stuck in your thoughts as you walked with Time through the small village. It was small enough that it could hardly be called a village. There was no way it could support your group as it was, so you all were camping nearby.

The locals were hospitable and humble but there was little trade to be done between the two parties. You both managed to get more food but the other supplies were lacking.

You sighed and shook your head. Whatever.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” Time speaks softly.

You turn to him and tilts your head. “They’re not that interesting. It’s a bit disappointed that we couldn’t get everything we need. Although I can’t say that I’m surprised.” 

Time hums in reply and nods his head. “I can agree with the sentiment. But we’ve all dealt with worth. We can make it work.”

You want to fight that idea but keep your mouth shut. Instead, you feel like following through with your midday fantasy and you push Time to the side. You shove him up against the tree and trap him there with both of your arm on either side of his body.

Now what?

Time is shocked to say the least but he’s quick to recover. “And what is this about?”

You begin to fluster- not having thought this through. “Hush. Let me think.”

“I don’t recall saying much.” Time raises an eyebrow- beginning to see through you.

“Shush!”

Time bites back his smile and waits. You poke his chest, leaning to appear intimidating but you don’t any words to say. It’s so awkward.

“You may have dealt with worse.” you settle on saying your earlier comment. If only to save your pride. “But my little brother is all that I have. I have to make sure that I get back to him. It’s going to increasingly difficult to do so when the supplies are split between ten individuals.”

You nod for good measure. There. Told him so.

Time’s expression doesn’t change. 

When you pull back, ready to pitch yourself into the sun, time grabs your wrist and pulls your back. You find yourself face first in the tree you had just pushed the man against. His body is flush against your back and he has your arms pinned.

His breaths is hot against the shell of your ear. “Do you not trust us to make sure you can get home?”

You still and suddenly find yourself growing anxious. You didn’t anticipate this. What is he planning? 

“Do you have anything to lose by being with us? Is it not better to be in numbers than by yourself. I certainly wouldn’t mind looking after you.” He leans closer to you. His arms press against your body, highlighting the raw strength they contain. His lips dance across your skin as he speaks. For a brief second you think he’s going to kiss you but he pulls away.

The sudden lack of pressure and warmth is dizzying. You find yourself taking in a deep breath as he moves away from you.

Your heart is pounding. How did he turn the tables on you so quickly?

“The others are waiting.” He says calmly- as if he hadn’t merely taken you against the tree in broad daylight. “Come on. Before they start worrying about us.”

You slowly roll around and watch him go. He doesn’t wait for you.

...What is it going to take to get him to do that again?

Twilight

“Excuse you- but I have a bone to pick you, farm boy.” You chase after the Rancher.

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you with a concerned and confused expression.

You storm up to him and grab his arm. The other boys steer clear, avoiding you in your tirade.

Twilight follows you anyway. He doesn’t try to stop you even as he stumbles to keep up with your pace. “Can I know what I did-”

“No.” You leave no room for argument. “Not here.”

Twilight shuts up. He’s never seen you like this. Frankly, he’s afraid of learning the answer. He keeps quiet just in case he may say something to set you off even further. He hopes that you plan on explain yourself first because he was under the assumption that everything was ok between the two of you

You dragged him along the forest path, not looking towards him even once.

When your reached a far enough distance, you pushed him up against a tree and trapped him there. “You better listen up Link, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Twilight gulps. His eyes drop to your lips for a second before your eyes command his attention once more. “Y-yes.”

“If you have any reason to hate on the animals in this group then you have another thing coming. So help me I will personally kick your butt, do you hear me?” You poke him in the chest with each emphasis.

It only serves to confuse him further.

Animals? In the group? There’s Epona... but she’s his horse. And he loves her. Surely that’s not who you mean though. Where did this come from? Who are you talking about?

The confusion must show on his face for longer than you’d like because you shove him again. “Link, I mean it! He didn’t do anything wrong. Why do hate him so much?”

Well that doesn’t clear things up.

You begin to love your nerve.

“...I’m lost.” Twilight finally speaks.

“Wolfie.” You spit. your voice is not lacking any venom and it sends Twilight’s brain into a whirlwind. “You’re never around when he’s here and you never want to talk about him. If anything you avoid him at all cost. What did he do to get you to hate him so much?”

Twilight stays silent. Slowly, he begins to grin. Fangs on full display. “That’s cute.”

“What?” You growl, stomping your foot in anger. How dare he? Can’t he see you’re pissed?

“I thought.. no, I knew I wasn’t exactly being subtle.” Twilight puts his hands on your hip, trapping you near him. “Why do you think I’m not around?”

He pushes himself forward and leans into your face. The action throws you off guard. Before you can even register what’s happening, you’re backed up the same tree with Twilight blocking any means of escape. 

You lose your bravado completely. “Because you don’t want an-anything to do with him.”

Twilight smirks. You gulp and squeak. “My... what big teeth you have...”

“Thank you.” He growls, taking a little nip of your nose. “If you haven’t figured it out by yourself then I have no reason to explain myself.”

The sound shakes your core, awakening something with you.

Twilight pulls away before you can dwell on the thought much longer. “Come on. Let’s head back. I don’t hate him. but it’s quite personal. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You slide down the tree trunk. ...Well that was new, wasn’t it?

Legend

You had wondered if there was something you could get away with. You had been pushing the boundaries with what the Veteran would let you do and what you would call you out on.

You were beginning to see that he was much more lenient when it came to you versus anyone else in the group.

So naturally you decided to try and push him further.

“Hey Vet, can you come here for a moment.” You beckoned him closer.

Intrigued and none the wiser, Legend dropped what he was doing and walked over to you. He tilted his head and put his hands on his hips. “What’s up?”

“This way.” You gestured to him and he followed you without question. So naïve. So trusting.

It was hard to keep your mischievous grin off of your face as you lead him away from the others in the group.

“Ok...” Legend looks around and tries to guess as to why you’ve called him away. “So tell me why we’re all the way over-

You attack.

You shove Legend against one of the trees and place your hand square by his head. Legend zeros in on your face with a wide eyed and nervous expression. You smirk. “I’ve been watching you, Hero.”

“....oh...”

Your smirk widens. “And what I’ve noticed is that you like watching me too.”

“...oh...” Legend gulps. Something switches in his head then and he fights back.

He wraps his arms around your neck, bringing you closer than you originally were going to go. He smiles back and puts his foot against the tree to gain purchase against he pressure. “What can I say? I like what I see.”

This is not how this was supposed to go. You blink, unsure what to say to that.

Legend takes the silence to keep at it. “And since you’ve been watching me as well I can only assume that you like what you see as well?”

“..Um...” How.... How did he do this? And so fast too. He’s still against the tree but somehow you’re the one who’s flustered.

“If you didn’t-” Legend pushes it. “-then by all means explain to me why you pulled me aside. Explain to me why you wanted me alone. At your mercy. Explain to me why you wanted to be pressed up against my body.”

“Hoooo my god...” Your voice cracks and you looks away from him.

No. You hadn’t accounted for this. You were supposed to make him blush and lose his nerve. You were supposed to have the power here. Why is he like this? 

Legend sees your reaction and pushes his face closer to yours. There’s a smirk on his face and a special glint in his eyes. You’d try to look away is he wasn’t holding onto you.

“What?” There’s a laugh on his breath. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You mAde yoUr poINt.” You cough and hide your face in his shoulder.

Legend laugh and chances a kiss to your temple. “Two can play at this game, sweetheart. But thank you for this enlightening experience.”

You whine and sag into his arms. He pats your shoulders and the top of your head in mock sympathy. Something tells you that he’s still enjoying himself. “If it helps you feel better, I don’t plan on telling this to anyone.”

“...ok...” You sigh. “I can live with that.”

“You still haven’t answered my question-”

“Shut up!!”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu x reader

[rrxnjun]

two people ;; mark lee

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader genre: wedding planner! mark, fiancé! jeno, strangers to lovers au | slice of life, slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort word count: 16.8k warnings: swearing, a break up a/n: i broke my own heart with this one. also, the blue monday series is finally over, after more than a year passing since i started it haha <3 sorry it took so long, but im happy to finally have a series that i managed to complete :) thank you for everyone that read the series, all of the fics are insanely special and to me and i hold them very dear to my heart. hope you like a painful hurt/comfort as our last stop!

synopsis: two people under bedsheets: one suffocating lover, one fool in a wedding gown. in other words, where you find the courage to get over your guilt and break free from your own promise, all becasue, in true irony, your wedding planner.

blue monday series | playlist

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE SHIVERING WITH COLD FEET

You’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

When your body hits the cold sheets of your bed, stumbling to your side of the mattress, you wonder if the heater broke again and you’re going to spend another night alone, shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling is quite uncomfy. It makes your bones itch, it makes you wonder what is wrong and why you’re suddenly so deep in your thoughts, wondering about all the different paths you could’ve taken. You try to battle the feeling, but there’s no use– it’s too strong and you’re too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements, wondering if you’ve woken him up. Feeling momentarily bad, you get ready to mumble a whispered apology for going to bed so late when you know that he has to wake up early for work tomorrow, acknowledging the fact that your arrival to bed always startles him and makes him wake up in the middle of the night, when a strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug.

His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaching your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes still closed, noticing his breathing being steady. You haven’t woken him up, you sigh in relief, eyes traveling along his face for some time, studying his features as if this was the first time he’s so close to you. 

His eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face making him perhaps one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen. You remember all the girls in university being jealous of you, for you’ve managed to catch Lee Jeno– the Lee Jeno everyone had been pining over ever since before you enrolled, feeling pride for how long your relationship has lasted. The shape of his lips is now a familiar sight to you– you bet you could recognise his mouth even with your eyes closed, knowing his warmth and his mannerisms while kissing you by heart now, for it’s happened more times than you can count; more times than you can remember. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on your bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the weird feeling starting to dangerously spread across your insides again. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight the sigh that desires to come out of your chest.

Shimmering in the cold– because your body doesn’t let you absorb the hotness of his love anymore– you nervously play with the silver on your ring finger, twirling it around and feeling for the little pedant in the middle.

Almost like every other day, not being able to fall asleep, you’re quite certain you’ve rethought your decision more times than you can count.

Heels clicking on the shiny white floor, you walk through the narrow hall of the building in the very center of your hometown, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. As you near the service you’re supposed to visit today, your heart starts doing little tumbles and turns, your hands shaky as you think of the appointment right in front of you. Taking a deep breath in and out, you run your hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down for the last time as you open the door and step inside of the room, telling yourself that there’s no turning back now and you’re in it for good.

The bell above the door rings, making you cautiously look around the room, noticing the whole store decorated in white and nude tones, plants and flowers potted everywhere across the spacious room. In the corner of the whole store, you see a little light wooden desk with three cushioned chairs, a desktop computer in the corner, various catalogs scattered across the surface with some more in a little white IKEA bookshelf right behind it all. 

Admiring everything, you almost don’t notice the man peeking his head out of the door on the right, a hesitant look playing with his features. 

“Good morning,” he says, bowing to you out of politeness.

Caught off-guard for no reason at all, you turn your lips into a tight-lipped smile, greeting him. “Good morning! I’m… uh… I’m supposed to have an appointment today,” you say, playing with your fingers as you clasp your hands together at your waist.

“Oh,” he nods, finally coming out of the room, furrowed eyebrows and all, “Ms… and Mr Lee?” he asks, confirming, earning himself a hurried nod.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m- I’m Ms Lee to-be,” you clarify, licking your lips in nerves.

The man in front of you nods, ushering you towards the little station in the corner, leading you to the chair and inviting you to sit down. “And Mr Lee is…?”

“At work,” you mutter, putting your hair behind your ear, “he’s- he’s quite busy with work, usually, so he wasn’t able to come and I didn’t just want to cancel it, so I figured I can come alone, but- but he’ll be here the next time, I promise!” you hurriedly explain, suddenly feeling shy under the stranger’s gaze, not wanting to be judged by, who you assume is, your wedding planner.

His smile is gentle and reassuring, nodding as he stares into your eyes. “No worries! It’s okay, it’s just… unusual to come alone to a wedding planning, but I suppose we can work with only you today, then,” he says, his voice calm and sending shivers down your spine.

Clearing your throat, you take your eyes off the stranger in front of you, letting them travel all across the room, desiring to find something to put your attention towards. The whole situation feels weird and awkward. Who even comes to plan their wedding alone? It’s not like it’s only your wedding– there’s two of you that are getting married, and it’s only expected for you two to do it all together. And that’s how it was supposed to go anyway– the appointment at the wedding salon was scheduled a little over a few weeks ago, with Jeno reassuring you that he’s free that day; but when the day came and he told you he has work, you wanted to cancel it and come some other day. He refused, though, telling you that you can start on it alone and he’ll just compromise with you and follow what you’ve chosen.

It all feels like it’s supposed to be about you, but when your own wedding is the thing on line, it almost looks as if your own fiancé isn’t even interested in being a part of it. 

“My name is Mark Lee, by the way,” the man says after clearing his throat, catching your attention again and offering you his hand to shake, “I’m the person in charge of your wedding, it seems! I hope you find working with me on this important day fun and that we can arrange something you two have always dreamt of,” he smiles as you take his hand and shake it, noticing the warmness of his touch.

Mark Lee doesn’t seem like your typical wedding planner. The ones you see in the movies are almost always female, with long acrylic nails and blonde hair pinned up into a funky hair-do, with bright eyes and smile lines imprinted into their face. Mark Lee, on the other hand, is a male– which is unusual, to say the least– and he also seems nothing like the movies. He’s calm and gentle, although still excited to work with you on the day of your dreams, with a shy smile and honest eyes that are slightly covered by the fringe of his chocolate hair falling into them, making him look young and lively.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, “my name’s ______ ______,” you introduce yourself with your first and last name, not taking Jeno’s just yet and shuffling a little in your seat.

“Okay, so,” Mark says as he takes out a notepad and types in the password into the computer that’s sitting in the corner of the desk, “I suppose we can start brainstorming today? Maybe tell me your main ideas, what you want for the wedding and what you don’t, how you want it to be decorated, just- just the general idea, nothing too detailed. We can move further when your fiancé is here as well, to make sure your ideas align and stuff. Sounds okay?”

Humming in approval, you watch him click around for a bit, opening some documents, while also twirling his pen in his other hand, the movement of it through his fingers fascinating you. The steady motions of the blue plastic of the pen catch your eye and make you zone out for a few seconds, completely making you forget about the task at hand and clearing your head out.

“So, anything you have in mind?” Mark perks up your attention again, making you swiftly take your eyes off the pen in his hand and instead look into his eyes again, finding yourself having a hard time maintaining eye contact with his deep brown eyes.

“I- I…” you stumble over your words, trailing off as you get lost in your thoughts. Wondering what your ideal wedding should look like, you chew on your bottom lip and try to imagine the day playing out right in front of your eyes. Your imagination tends to be crazy and wild, completely vivid, but for some reason, in this moment, you can’t seem to see the scene materialize in front of your eyes no matter how hard you try, all moments of it in your brain turning out blurry and hazy, making you sigh in frustration.

What do you even want your wedding to look like? How do you want it to play out? The questions run through your brain in a rush, not letting you focus and come up with answers, making the man in front of you silently clear his throat to get your attention. 

Noticing that you’re probably wasting his time with this, your cheeks feel hot as you point your eyes towards your shoes, sighing. “I’m- I’m sorry. I think… I… I don’t- I don’t really think I have an idea of how the wedding is supposed to look like?” you mumble out, sounding more like a question than a firm answer.

“I see,” Mark answers, nodding in acknowledgement, “you have all the time you need, don’t worry. We’re here to make it perfect,” he says, smiling at you.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you realize you’ve never really fantasized about your wedding. You remember all your classmates at school sighing and gasping about the idea of a big wedding, marrying the love of their life; but you surely don’t remember ever engaging in those conversations. It’s like you never really cared to get married, you never really wondered how it would feel to kiss your loved one at the altar, you never really thought of it as a big deal. And now, when the day is supposed to come that those imaginations are to come true, you find yourself torn and confused, because how do you even chase a dream that was never there in the first place? How do you fulfill expectations you don’t have?

“To be honest, I have no idea about what I want, I just- I kind of know what Jeno would want, so I suppose I can just follow that, but- but I never really…” you trail off, seeing Mark nod and bite on his lower lip. 

“Uhm,” he hums in understatement, “I see. Maybe… maybe you can look through some catalogs and see what you like the best? I understand that you know what your fiancés' imaginations are, but I also want both of the parties to like the big day, so I need your input as well.”

Gulping, you hurriedly nod, sweaty palms reaching over to the magazines on the desk, desperately flipping through the pages and pointing your gaze towards the pictures, trying hard to admire the big ceremonies, the pink and red decorations, the flower crowns and red carpets on the beach; but once again failing, noticing that this is nothing close to what you imagine when you think of what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your whole entire life. 

The pages of the catalog stick together, making you desperately try to peel them off of each other with your clammy fingers, your breathing getting quicker as you notice the eyes of Mark Lee on your figure, watching over your every move. 

This is not at all how you imagined the appointment to go. You’re only wasting his time and embarrassing yourself– there’s no way you’re ever going back.

“Hey, I’ll send you this quiz, okay? It’s like a- like a little questionnaire where you pick and choose what you like and answer some simple questions and then it gives you a rough idea of what your wedding could look like based on these answers,” Mark says, making you halt in your motion, “I know this is probably a lot of pressure on you right now, since the whole process could be scary and stressful and you’re out here all alone, so don’t worry about not giving me an answer today, alright?”

You find yourself nodding, averting the hands off the pages of the catalog and pressing your body further into the chair. “Alright.”

“And you can also take some of these catalogs home and look through them, mark what you like, take notes in them… whatever you want, okay? And the next time you come with Mr Lee, you can tell me what you both like and we’ll work from that.”

Following his lead in the conversation, you nod again and watch him close the catalog you’ve been frantically searching through for the last few minutes, stacking some more on top of it and pushing the pile towards you so you can take it home. 

“Tell me your number so I can text you the link to the test and the next time you come, it will be easier, I promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, desperately trying to take your attention off the fact that you probably look like a little child, following each instruction that’s been given to you, too scared to take a move.

Paying your goodbye to the wedding planner and taking the pile of catalogs back to your car, your heels meeting the ground resonating all through the empty hallway as you walk out of the building, your mind flashes with the thought that Mark Lee already had your email address and he could’ve just sent you the link there.

Sitting in the silent car for a minute before you drive off, you try to battle the memory of what happened just a few minutes prior out of your head.

Fixing up your lipstick in the mirror of Jeno’s car, you get ready to enter the premises of the wedding salon once again, but this time, with your fiancé by your side. You suppose that the last meeting was completely useless- Jeno told you so as well, and you agree, in a way– but if you wouldn’t have gone to that first meeting, you think that the second one would make you even more nervous.

You see, it’s easier to pretend that you know what you want when you’ve rehearsed what you want to say beforehand. Taking the quiz Mark Lee sent you, and also a couple of more, accompanying yourself with catalogs, magazines and Pinterest boards while your fiancé was at work, you tried hard to come up with something you wouldn’t hate as much. 

Maybe you just don’t like the idea of a wedding. That doesn’t mean you should crush your fiancés dreams to the ground and make the whole thing more difficult than it should be. You’ll just go along with it, get married, and then, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It's as simple as that– you’re good at compromising, after all.

“Ready?” Jeno asks you as you put the cap of the lipstick you’ve been using back on, shooting you a quick look before you nod and open the door of the car, climbing out of the vehicle.

Following Jeno’s footsteps, so confident and easy it almost makes you feel like he’s been here before, you reach the entrance of the wedding salon in no time. You texted Mark about the time of the next meeting a week ago– you figured it’s easier to communicate like this, instead of emailing each other back and forth. Finding a time when it would be fine with both Jeno and you, and also looking for a free time in Mark’s schedule was quite difficult, but you managed to find a spot on a Thursday afternoon. 

You hoped the day would come slower than it did, but as we all know, life doesn’t work like we want it to all the time.

Hearing the ring of the bell above the door, your wedding planner is already waiting for you at the computer, a welcoming smile adoring his features. You find yourself smiling back at him, easing into the situation. The man in front of you is wearing black jeans and a white button-down, opting to a more professional look, as he shakes his hand with your fiancé and introduces himself. 

“Hello!” Mark smiles, sitting down at the stool, pointing his eyes towards the computer and clicking around for a bit, seemingly opening some document where he can note down everything you two tell him about the vision you have for your wedding. “So, as I already mentioned with Y/N the last time, I’d like to hear some brainstorming from both of you right now, just to see the general idea that we can build off of next. Sounds good?”

Jeno offers him a nice smile, the one where his eyes crinkle up into moon crescents, turning into the adorable samoyed you fell in love with in university. Reaching for his hand, you try to calm yourself down by playing with his fingers– an action you always used to practice whenever you were nervous about something– ready to continue with the planning of your wedding. 

“Sounds great,” Jeno agrees, making Mark nod at his answer, glad with the reply he got. Resting his back against the chair, the man in charge of your wedding looks at you with expecting eyes, ready to hear your answers.

“So, what comes into your mind when you think of your wedding?” Mark asks.

Jeno looks at you for a split second, smiling, as if he was waiting for you to go first and say your ideas. When you don’t comply and stay silent instead, he wastes no time in turning to the other man in the room, talking enthusiastically about what’s going to be the most important day of his life, making you stare at him in examination and interest.

“I think of something romantic. I like grand gestures and big things, so I want our wedding to be one big party where everyone has fun and stays up the whole night,” he starts, making you hum. You knew that Jeno was into these kinds of things– he never missed a chance to celebrate anything with his friends Doyoung and Renjun. Even the way he proposed to you was a grand gesture in itself.

The whole thing played out on your vacation in Spain. You like Spain– the architecture, nature and the sea. Everything about it is your ideal vacation spot, a spot that makes you relax and reset after the whole year. Your first vacation with Jeno was in Spain, and so to be proposed to in the same spot you two walked across together a little over 4 years ago was only fitting and romantic. The beach spot you two found together when you graduated from university was decorated with flower petals and fairy lights, making you wonder how and when your dear partner managed to set all of this up, and when he kneeled down and asked you to marry him, you didn’t have it in you to say no. 

Not that you wanted to say no, of course. You’re in love with Lee Jeno– you somehow think that you always have been and also you always will. Marriage is a big step, though, so you think that the status itself was what made you halt and hesitate for a split second before you replied a teary-eyed “Yes” and kissed your boyfriend with fondness and urgency.

“Alright, sounds good. When you close your eyes and imagine the day, what do you see? Anything specific?” 

Jeno hums, even closing his eyes and thinking deeply, before he replies with a grin. “I see people dancing. I also think I’d like it to be in a big venue, a lot of white and pink… something similar to what you have going on right here, to be honest,” he says.

“Great. Y/N?”

Raising your brows up, startled, you point your look to Mark and realize he wants you to answer his question as well. A wedding is a thing for two– at least– so it’s only normal for him to expect you to have some opinion and idea of what you want.

“I… I’d like it to be something small and comfy? With my closest friends, and stuff. I don’t mind it being decorated simply, since… I’m not really that about flowers and… all that romance stuff…” you say honestly, making sure the rehearsed sentences you made up in your mind on your way here sound gullible. 

It’s not that you’re lying– you just, frankly speaking, still don’t think you love the idea of a wedding. What you’ve said is just a thing you know you’d hate the least. 

Mark looks at you with an examining look, furrowing his eyebrows as he nods and notes down everything both of you have said into the computer. 

“That’s… your opinions are completely opposite, to be honest, but I’m sure we can find a compromise and create something both of you would like. I’ll show you some catalogs and you can both point to things you’d like, okay?” Mark says, rummaging through the drawers of his desk and offering you some magazines, almost identical to the ones you have at home from the last time you visited.

Seeing Jeno taking charge and flipping through the pages with much excitement, you watch his profile when he smiles and points to pictures of greatly decorated wedding halls, churches, tables full of cakes and a picture of the groom and the bride photographed together in a dramatic posture, dipped down and kissing. Flower petals, sparkles and fairy lights everywhere– this is the image of a wedding your fiancé would love, and you’re aware of the fact all too well.

“Isn’t this great, love?” he asks, not even tearing his eyes off the page he’s currently looking at, too busy with studying all the details, already imagining the two of you in the moment captured on one of the pictures in the catalog.

Eyes glazing over the glossy page, you bite down on your lower lip, sighing. 

Again, you don’t find it in you to disagree. He looks so excited and you wouldn’t want to break his heart with your decision.

So instead, you only nod and try to put on your best excited tone. “It looks amazing, Jeno.”

Your eyes meet Mark’s for a moment. 

The look is full of stern sympathy.

ONE SUFFOCATING LOVER ONE FOOL IN A WEDDING GOWN

The next part of your wedding planning journey is perhaps the one you, as the bride, should find the most exciting. How you’re gonna look on your big day is truly important, since you can only imagine full instagram stories of the wedding of every single guest invited, and also, the pictures you take on your wedding are what’s shown around to next generations, making your kids look at the moments captured in time, making them see the blueprint of what’s love supposed to look like while also simultaneously reminiscing of the feelings that died down over the years, simmered and a little washed-out into gray.

Maybe the last thing is what is making you despise the idea of marrying someone so much. What if, after many many years, when you’re at the end of your journey, the pictures would bring more pain than joy? What if it’s a painful reminder of something great that you no longer have in your grasp?

You don’t know what’s making you feel so conflicted about the whole thing. Thinking about it is scary, but the underlying stress of everything is still present and makes you constantly feel like you’re walking on eggshells, bound to mess something up.

Standing in another wedding salon, joined by your closest friend Seori– because you despise the idea of a big group of screaming women joining you on your journey of your own remake of Say yes to the dress– and your wedding planner Mark, you wait for inspiration to kick you and set you off to hunting down the perfect wedding dress. 

“Hello, hello,” a man– lean in posture, wearing dress pants and loafers– joins your little group, a bright smile sitting on his face as he speaks to you, “I’m Na Jaemin, nice to meet you!”

Bowing to the man in formality and shaking his hand, introducing both yourself and your best friend of many years, you grow hesitant in your place. Eyes roaming around the room– walls painted a light peach color, creating a beautiful contrast with the white dresses hung all around the room– you take a deep breath in and out, taking a glimpse of Mark Lee standing by your side and saying something to you.

“This is where we usually go with our brides to pick out dresses, since Jaemin here has the most amazing assortment of all kinds and styles,” Mark explains, making you notice that the two men seem rather close. As you nod and walk around the salon with Seori, they catch up for a minute before the one with blonde hair walks up to you with a bright smile.

“Do you have any preferences about the dress? Any image in your head?” he asks, making you startled. This is not the first time you’ve heard someone ask you about your preferences for the wedding, yet, the question always surprises you and catches you off guard. Usually, you’d consider yourself a woman with strong opinions that’s not afraid to voice them– you’ve gotten into multiple arguments about feminism over your university years– but suddenly, you feel weak and disheartened, shrugging.

“I’ve looked on Pinterest the last night… and the last couple of nights, actually,” you softly laugh, trying to ease yourself into the conversation, “I found more styles that I liked, but I’m not sure if they would fit me well.”

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaemin encourages you. “Just pick up whatever you like and we’ll help you try it on! Any adjustments needed will be done here, so don’t stress about it.”

Gratefully smiling and nodding at the man, you turn to the rack full of pearl white and shades of cream, your hands start working before your brain does, moving the hangers around and taking a look at all of the dresses available, taking your time. You’re not quite sure what would look good on you, not really able to imagine the dresses on your figure, and you feel the mental block of not being excited enough about all of this holding you back and tying you down. 

“What about these?” Seori asks, an excited glint in her voice. Turning around to her, seeing the dress she’s picked out, you can’t help but giggle, since the dress is awfully similar to the obnoxious gown you wore to your senior prom, just in white. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, coming up to her and taking the hanger into your hands, “one look and I’m back in high school,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief and hanging the dress back onto the rack, giving up on that option already.

“I still remember how funny you looked,” Seori laughs, poking fun at you, “I can’t believe you wore that.”

“I can’t believe you let me wear that!” you argue back. The memories of your senior prom hit you with a sense of weird nostalgia. It was all so easy back then– you went with Jeno, and you had a lot of fun together. It felt like an end of an era, and it truly was just that, even though the reality of it didn’t click for you back then. You’ve lived through multiple stages of your life with Jeno, and to think you’re going to be with him until the end of your life, seems oddly unbelievable on your insides. 

“You were unstoppable, girl,” Seori grins, shaking her head. Continuing to look through the dresses, you pick out a few that you like, hesitantly moving them to the separate rack that’s emptied out for your options. Catching a glimpse of Mark sitting at one of the sofas, alongside with Jaemin, your eyes meet as he offers you a warm smile. This works as a reassurance, making you walk back to the dresses, standing next to Seori, seeing her pick up another white gown, showing it to you.

The dress is long and lacy, decorated with mesh on the shoulders, flowery details scattered all along the skirt. You can’t help but find the dress a little obnoxious, a little too much, perhaps, yet, you’d still call the piece of clothing beautiful, for you can see the appeal of a princessy look for most women your age. Hesitantly scanning over the many details, Seori speaks up to you.

“Jeno would love this on you.” 

Meeting her eyes, she looks at you warmly. She’s known Jeno for as long as you have, all of you being friends since high school, so you can’t say she wouldn’t know. Because, frankly speaking, it’s true– Jeno would love that dress, and he would love it on you. It fits the image of his ideal wedding perfectly, with all the romanticness, all the grand gestures matching with the long skirt and the girly detailing across the neckline. You hate the dress, you feel sick as you’re looking at it, it makes you feel claustrophobic and dizzy, yet, the words that came out of Seori’s mouth resonate in your head over and over, making you pick up the hanger and move it to the rest of your options.

Jeno would love that dress.

“I… I think I have enough options now, I’m gonna try some on,” you say, smiling at the men sitting on the sofa, being met with eager nods of acknowledgement. The two of them seem to talk like old friends, and you can’t help but wonder why Jeno doesn’t meet up with his friends anymore and why he no longer has time for anything other than work. You’d like to see him like this– immersed into a conversation, yet, still playful and happy to just… exist.

Seori helps you into the dresses behind the curtain of the dressing room. The first few of them are a miss, you don’t like the way they look on you and the way some dresses enhance the features you dislike on yourself, saying no to them almost instantly. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get through all the dresses; it feels like infinity, like the time’s stopped and you’re stuck in this loop forever, when only two dresses are left: the one Seori picked out and your own, personal favorite.

Choosing the one Jeno would love the most, you wear it and hear Seori squeal out with excitement. “This looks so good on you! Oh my god!”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look like the woman Jeno would want to marry. Like a cut-out from the wedding magazines he likes to look through on his free days, you spin around like a princess, fitting the image of Jeno’s ideal wedding almost perfectly– with all the flowery details and romantic style. 

“Do you like it?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. You must seem unsure– but on the inside, you are screaming. The claustrophobic feeling settles into your chest again, making you feel like you’re suffocating on the inside, making you desire to rip the gown off and never see it again. 

“Let’s show them!” Seori says, opening up the curtain and making you step outside of the dressing room, turning you in your place so you twirl like a Disney princess. “Doesn’t she look magical?” 

Jaemin instantly nods, a happy glint in his eye. You wonder if he likes his job so much– he certainly looks like it, from the never-disappearing smile on his face and the enthusiasm he walks around the place with. You’re quite jealous of him. He seems like the perfect image of what you’ve dreamt of being when you graduated university– a person with their life together, loving their stable job and starting a family. Yet, you’re here– seemingly put together in a wedding dress that makes you panic, the eyes of everyone on you feeling judging, not sure of what to do and to which direction to step towards to finally get yourself together.

“She looks amazing!” you hear Jaemin say, making you nod with tight lips. “Is this your favorite one?” he asks.

Opening your mouth to agree– even though it’s a lie– you blink a few times to calm yourself down. The mental image of your favorite dress still waiting at the empty rack, waiting to be tried on, burns in the back of your brain, but you’ve said goodbye to it the moment you dressed up as Jeno’s bride. 

“It can’t be,” Mark says, making you look at him with glossy eyes, confused.

“B-but-”

“You have one more to try on. You’ll see which one you like better after, okay?” he says, almost as if he was reading your mind, seeing the hesitance you tried so hard to hide.

Nodding, you step inside the dressing room again, changing the dress for the one you picked out with the help of your best friend. Taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your eyes almost start to water, the A-line of the skirt and the simplicity of it all making you feel the best, like you could actually imagine yourself getting married, if you were wearing this gown. Turning around in your place, admiring the silk fabric, you don’t think you could ever find a better one. 

Yet, the other dress still sits in the back of your mind like a bad memory, not letting you leave without it. It’s there, pettily kicking it’s foot against the flooring of your brain, bringing you headache and making you nervous as your clammy fingers move your hair away when you step outside of the room, ready to be criticized by the other people at the salon.

Eyes shaking, they find solace in the features of your wedding planner, his eyes like big pools of honey when he softly traces over the lines of your body, his lips parted agape. The expression makes you shy away from his gaze, heat rising to your face when you notice light pink dusting the man’s cheeks, quickly breaking his gaze from you.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. The compliment should sound more casual than it has, the three words making your hands shake as you turn back to the mirror, forcing yourself to watch your surroundings through it instead, shielding yourself from the situation.

“Thank you,” you say.

“So, which one do you like more?” Jaemin asks, walking up to you and tightening the dress around your waist, showing you its full potential. 

Locking eyes with Seori, you see that she’s not up to the simplicity of the dress you’ve got on. You see the suggesting look to the other dress, the one that makes you drown in despair, the one that you should be wearing, logically; the one that Jeno would love to see you in, the one you should be wearing to be his wife. 

Pupils shaking as you take your reflection in for the last time, you’re ready to say goodbye. You’re ready to take the dress off and force yourself to forget about it, force yourself to never think of how pretty you thought you looked wearing it, force yourself to never see the image of you in your brain– to not cause yourself the bittersweet feeling you’ve been getting used to recently.

“Y/N, you should… You should only think about yourself right now, okay? Our opinions don’t matter,” Mark says from behind you, your eyes locking in the mirror. He uses the word ‘our’, suggesting that you shouldn’t think about the people in this room, that you shouldn’t think about what Seori, Jaemin, or Mark himself thinks, but somehow, you feel as if the words had a deeper meaning.

Perhaps he’s telling you to forget about Jeno’s opinion for a minute. To truly let yourself get lost in the planning of the wedding, to let go of the opinion that’s weighing you down the most of them all. To pick the dress you like, and not the one your fiancé would.

“This is the only part of the wedding that’s completely up to you, after all. Maybe you should take advantage of that,” Mark completes, sending an encouraging smile towards your figure.

And he’s right. You can’t be fully in charge anywhere else– almost to the point of feeling like your opinion doesn’t matter if it’s not the same as your fiancé’s– and maybe, that’s what’s making you feel so restricted in the whole process.

Maybe you should take your favorite dress. Maybe you should do at least one thing for yourself.

The trips to Mark Lee’s wedding salon are a usual thing now. It’s your first time planning a wedding for yourself, and while you also truly hope it’s also the last time, you can’t help but feel a little weirded out at the ordinariness of it all. You get used to the trips to the salon, you get used to the time it takes you to drive there in your small car– letting you time the songs in your playlist almost perfectly until the last moment when you park and turn the engine off– only when you’re driving there alone, though, because Jeno likes to pick the music when he drives and compromise is one thing you two can’t do when it comes to a playlist. It’s okay, though. You drive to the wedding salon more times alone than with your fiancé, and while it’s unusual and you’d really want him to be there, you guess you can’t really do anything about it now. It’s not like he was the one to ask you to marry him, after all… 

“What about the honeymoon?” Mark asks one day, looking at you from under his eyelashes. The weather outside is cold and he’s wearing a thick hoodie, his whole outfit looking twice as cozy as your little thin jacket that you threw on yourself quickly before leaving the house. The image of his sweater paws makes you wonder how it would feel to be in the soft material of his light gray hoodie, making you almost slap yourself when you're caught on your own with the thought in your brain. It’s not like you’re thinking of another man when you’re on your way to get married, that’s not it– it’s just the simple jealousy of the warmth Mark radiates that’s gotten you to this point. 

Shrugging, you glance at him, meeting his chocolate eyes. “I bet Jeno would love to go somewhere to the sea. We got engaged on a beach, so I guess that’s the right way to go.”

Scribbling on the notebook that’s sitting on his table– you wonder when he switched from his laptop to written notes; maybe it’s the power crisis– he hums before he turns back to you with an examining look. “And you?”

After working for you for a couple of weeks, the man should already know that it’s no good to ask for your opinion when it comes to your wedding. You don’t really have an image in your mind, and when you do, there’s no use in pushing through with your view, since Jeno’s would always be stronger, and what Jeno says, usually goes. And you love him– he’s the one dreaming so much about marriage. So you do what he wants, naturally. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Earning yourself a sigh from Mark, you almost laugh at his annoyed look. “How many times do I have to tell you that you need to tell me something I can work with, Y/N?” he asks.

After so many days spent at the wedding salon with Mark Lee, you two have come to a state of a casual friendship. It’s not all so formal and stern anymore, leaving you two space for jokes and snarky comments about cliche decorations shown on the shiny pages of magazines, making you two comfortable with each other enough to joke about looking dead when the other one is tired and telling each other about your days when you have time. Ever since you two have met, you’ve been the most indecisive person Mark Lee’s ever known– and he’s met a lot of people in his profession of a wedding planner so far. The only thing you’ve ever had a straight opinion on was the wedding dress.

He can’t get the picture of you in your dress out of his mind. Sure, he’s seen a lot of brides before, the image not really impacting him as much anymore as before– for the look on the bride’s faces never failed to make him emotional with the premise of the fact that he’s a part of something beautiful. He’s seen a lot of brides and weddings before, but in the white lights of the bright salon, he couldn’t help but think that you’ve been the most beautiful one so far, and he can’t seem to imagine anyone ever beating you. It’s a silly thought– one that he finds himself battling more times than he should, but it’s still there, in the back of his mind, whenever you two meet eyes. 

That’s why he couldn’t let you choose the dress Jeno wanted. Not because he would be selfish– at least he desperately hopes he’s not selfish for wanting to see you in that dress again, at least once, at the wedding– but because he knows that you wouldn’t feel like yourself in the other one. And why would he let that happen, when he’s practically the one in charge of the whole ceremony?

And so, the fact that you say you don’t know what you’d like for your honeymoon doesn’t surprise him. But still, he wishes you could let yourself get more in tune with your opinions than Lee Jeno’s. At least when he’s not present…

“I know, I know,” you roll your eyes at the scolding manner, “but I just… I’ve never thought about it before, I guess?”

“That makes sense, I mean, it’s your first time getting married,” he shrugs, “but you must have a place you’d like to see one day, no? A place both of you, with Jeno, would love to travel to one day,” he says, looking at you with expectations in his orbs.

Lost, shrugging at his question, you almost look full of despair and confusion. Truth be told, planning a wedding is not as relaxing as one would think. There’s many things to take in mind, a lot of things that can go wrong and need to be taken care of. And you keep telling yourself that it’s going to be alright and that it has to be the most perfect day of your life, but you just can’t seem but to be a little stranded, especially in moments when Jeno isn’t by your side; when he’s the one that should be in charge, and not you. 

Maybe Mark can read your mind. Or maybe, he’s just too good at reading people.

“Okay, relax,” he smiles, nudging your leg a little under the table, “then just… think about what you’d like to see. Your dream holiday destination. A place you always wanted to visit. Don’t think about the honeymoon thing or the wedding, if that helps.”

The grateful smile on your face is like a reward for the man, your eyes close a little as you lean back in the chair and think of the place you’d love to see the most. Not held by the grudges of the wedding, not holding on to the thought of a honeymoon, you find it easier to see the place right in front of your eyes, to focus on the noise of the destination, the crowded town centers and amazing architecture; you find it easier to be in tune with what you want, letting go of the thing you always force yourself to say.

“I’d love to go to France. Paris. I- I know they say it’s dirty, but frankly, I just want to see it with my own eyes at least once. And I think it’s quite romantic,” you say, opening your eyes to see the man in front of you glancing at you with a soft smile playing with his features, feeling yourself getting shy as your cheeks heaten up at the words you’ve just uttered out of your lips, “oh god, this might just be the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

Mark chuckles, shaking his head at you. “It’s a nice change.”

Scratching the back of your neck, you watch as the man scribbles down the word ‘Paris’ into his notebook, the lack of eye contact leaving you with your walls down and your soul in open. “But I don’t think- I don’t think Jeno would like to go to Paris. I’ll think of something else, so it fits…”

Looking back up at you, the shame mirroring in your eyes when he examines your whole figure, he lets himself shake his head in disbelief, showing you his true opinion on the comment. “I think you should compromise, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s not a compromise, Y/N,” he says, his voice considerate, “that’s just… you compromising. Not Jeno. Never Jeno.”

And while you’d like to tell him that that’s how it’s supposed to be, because you already agreed to the wedding despite not making your mind yet, while you’d like to tell him that you owe it to him for not being fond of the idea, while you’d like to tell him that what Jeno says goes, because you can’t imagine yourself breaking his heart with telling him that this is not at all what you want– you stay quiet. Shrugging, you avert your gaze to the ground.

“I’m fine with that. I’m more than happy to comply, if he’s happy.”

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE WALLOWING IN DEFEAT

Swirling the maroon liquid around in your tall glass, feet dressed in warm socks as you’re twisted into a blanket burrito, you overlook the figure of your fiancé sitting at your small couch, papers sprawled all around the coffee table. Taking a sip of the red wine, you feel comfortable for the first time in weeks– you don’t feel rushed, you don’t feel like there’s a burden on your shoulders– and you pray hard that it’s not just the effect of alcohol.

“Can you pass me that paper?” you ask Jeno, seeing him turn around with his half-wet hair, having just come out of the shower after work, his slight smile putting you at ease.

“Which one?”

“The list of guests. The one in the corner,” you point to the paper sitting at the coffee table, the contents of it another important step closer to your wedding. Mark advised you two to compile a list of all the people you want to invite to your wedding, so you know how big of a venue you’ll need to rent out. You complied to his request, sitting at your table one afternoon and scribbling down names of all the people you’d miss at your wedding, having the list not being that long– there was around 15 people, including your family, and you knew damn well that some of the people in your list will overlay with Jeno’s, for you have a couple of mutual friends.

“Oh,” he nods, passing you the list, “want to go over it? I did mine a while back, when you were at work,” he adds, making you nod.

“Sure.”

“Are you inviting girls from university?” he asked, looking at you from under his eyelashes. He knew some of your friends from uni, and while you could very well imagine your wedding full of people that you barely knew, it’s not something you strive for. Your wedding, at least in your head, is supposed to be a little safe haven– a place where you dance around and have fun, a place where you know each face that shows up, being able to let loose and enjoy the evening with your closest friends. So, to Jeno’s question, you shake your head in disagreement.

“Only a couple,” you say, “my roommates, yes. The other ones, I don’t really need there.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, squinting his eyelashes. In the midst of the scattered sheets of paper on the coffee table, he finds his own list, full of lazy scribbles in black ink. You can tell he took the paper you keep in the kitchen for when you need to write down a shopping list, because it’s a little greasy at the bottom. Looking over the names he’s written down, you notice that his list is significantly longer than yours, and you can also tell that some names, you barely even recognise.

“You want that many people to attend?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I want them all there. Besides, my family’s big, so I can’t really make the list shorter, if that’s what you’re implying,” he notes, taking you off-guard with the sudden protest to something you haven’t even started talking about yet.

“I-I wasn’t saying that, but I think we could… go through your list and maybe forget about some people? I mean, my list is only 15 people long, and if we go through with what you have, we’d have to rent a big venue, and I can only imagine how expensive that will be…” you mumble, trying hard to pursue him.

There’s a shadow of an encouraging smile somewhere in the back of your head, a soft memory of a voice telling you that you two should compromise– you bet it’s Mark Lee, but you won’t admit that to anyone. Something about his words on your last meeting struck with you, though, and even though you would love to comply to everything Jeno wants, because he’s the one in desire of a wedding, you find yourself protesting to his idea, because, frankly, maybe you do not want to spend that much money on a venue, and also, maybe because you wanted your wedding to be small and intimate.

“I don’t care how much it costs, Y/N,” he shrugs, “it’s our wedding. We can spend some money on the special day.”

Sighing, you chew on the inside of your cheek. “I just thought we could have a smaller wedding, you know. I always wanted it to be filled with people I know, people I can’t imagine the day go by without, so I was very cautious with the choice of my guests-”

“And I wasn’t?” he cuts you off, suddenly all defensive.

“That’s not what I said, Jeno-”

“Look, I don’t want to cut anyone off the list. You have your own guest list and I have mine. We rent a venue that can fit both, okay?” he insists, making you finally snap, annoyance for the first time slipping off your tongue.

“Why can’t we just compromise on this?”

The man looks at you with cold eyes, something you never imagined to see from a man you’re in love with. Sure, you’ve had arguments before. Yes, they scared you a little each time, but they weren’t anything you weren’t sure you wouldn’t get through. You and Jeno argue over small, blatant things, things you can fix in a second– nothing to make you worry. This time, though, there’s a hit in your stomach that makes you freeze in your movements, halt in your step. Maybe you’ve hit a weak spot in him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, full of frustration as he throws the paper onto the table and storms off, closing the door behind him as he walks off to the bedroom, ready to sleep.

Is this how your dialogue was supposed to go? With you stating your needs, and him telling you to get over it? Do whatever you want?

You scoff. As if you wanted to get married in the first place…

Drinking the rest of the glass, you shuffle further down into the sofa, trying hard to make yourself fall asleep in the living room, despite your thoughts running around like they’re on a marathon. The warmth that radiated off the man and the whole situation is now long gone, leaving you feeling like an unlit fireplace, hugging yourself as if to shield your body from the impact of the silent sobs that dare to cut out of your throat.

What Jeno wants, goes. How silly of you to think you can compromise.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re just not holding on to something that’s slowly burning out. Looking at your fiancé in the wedding salon right now, his side profile so perfect you’ve gotten used to it over the years, you reminisce about the memories you two have made together during your early stages of the relationship. The images flash through your brain in a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, making you desire a time of life that’s no longer here, because you’re getting older and settling down. It’s not like you can feel free forever, you just don’t feel like you’re free in the relationship anymore– and truth be told, you were free and in love in all those moments you think of with a soft smile, so why is the essence of it no longer there? Is it really just because the thought of marrying someone is so deeply terrifying to you, or is there something more to it?

“Do you like these?” Jeno asks, holding up a wedding invitation to you. It’s snow white and the corners are rimmed with a rose gold color, everything falling perfectly with the decorations and the whole theme of your wedding.

“I do,” you nod.

You don’t.

Everything about the whole day, the closer it is, the more scary it truly feels to you. You can’t bring yourself to think of it, to imagine it, to have the promise of staying with Lee Jeno until the rest of your life right there in front of you eyes, and it all makes you wonder– truly, deeply reflect on yourself– as to why you don’t want that, and why you’re so scared of staying with him forever, when in theory, he’s the one you love and the one you should want to marry. 

“And what about these ones?”

“They’re pretty,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

You wonder if this is just the aftertaste of the fight you had about the number of guests. Maybe you just don’t feel in tune with it because neither of you has acknowledged the argument yet, maybe because you feel bitter because you felt like your opinion wasn’t valid in the process. Maybe that’s what’s making you soullessly stare into nowhere, eyes trailing over the white walls and the clasped hands of your wedding planner sitting cautiously right opposite of you– maybe that’s what’s making you agree to everything Jeno likes; because your opinion will never matter in the first place.

But that’s okay. That’s your fate now– that’s what you signed up for, after all. You agreed to marry him. You told him yes, even though the reply wasn’t clear in your head, you said you’d love to spend your forever with him, even though the feelings battling inside of you were so conflicting, yet the one you were leaving more towards was the urge to run away. So now, you have to face it; you have to marry him, because you lied to him about your emotions, because you let him down with a promise you never wanted to keep; because you can’t face the reality of breaking the man’s heart when all he did was love you deeply.

And it’s not even that you don’t love him anymore. Maybe you just hate the idea of your relationship feeling ordinary. Maybe you’re selfishly just bored. 

“So, which ones do you prefer?” Jeno asks, looking at you with big eyes. If you stare into them for long enough, you could even see a hint of him trying to do better– asking for your opinion and ready to respect it, a hint of him saying sorry for the things he’d said without words, laying the opportunity of being in charge to you again. 

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek. You hate both. You hate the idea of every single wedding invitation, because you don’t want a wedding, and the idea of using these little pieces of cardboard to invite numerous people to see you lying into your partner’s eyes makes you want to dig a hole and lie in it, maybe even bury yourself alive. “I like both.”

“But we need to choose one,” he insists, putting a hand to your thigh, his grip soft, yet protective and comforting. You used to love his sudden touches, the affection seeping off his fingers any time his fingertips glazed the surface of your skin. Now, you find yourself wanting to shrug the hand off, for the contact of it with your body burns, making you guilty for a mess that’s currently going on in your head, making you dizzy and confused.

“I-” you stutter, “which ones do you like?” you ask, helpless.

Eyes scanning over your figure, Jeno almost pressures you for more. He almost asks for your opinion again, wanting to see the excited glint in your eye as you look through the magazines and choose your wedding invitations, but when he finds nothing in the endless pools of your eyes, he knows to step back and leave it be, a hopeless sigh escaping his lips. “I like the first ones better.”

You could guess the answer if you were asked to.

Smiling, you nod. “I was leaning towards these as well.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Totally,” you nod, trying to reassure him with a soft smile. You’re not sure if it reaches your eyes– you just know that if it doesn’t, Jeno can clearly tell.

“Okay, that’s all for today, I think,” Mark concludes, making you look at him. His chocolate orbs are plastered on your distressed face and you feel naked in front of him, you feel as if he can see right through your lies, as if he can tell that you really want to be anywhere but here right now. 

“Thank you,” Jeno smiles at your wedding planner, the two of them shaking hands in a formal manner before your fiancé stands up from his chair and reaches for his coat, ready to leave the office. When your eyes meet with Mark’s, you offer him a friendly smile– the one you always have saved for him– and turn towards your coat as well, ready for your departure. Just when you’re about to leave the room, Mark’s voice echoes after you, making you halt in your movements.

“Actually, I forgot… Can I talk with Y/N alone for a sec? It’s about dresses, so… you’re not really allowed to hear, Jeno,” he says, cracking his knuckles as he utters those words, making you nod as Jeno offers him a polite nod, telling you that he’ll be waiting for you in the car outside. Once the door closes behind him and the room falls silent, you move closer towards Mark, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“What is it?” you ask.

Mark takes a deep breath in and out, shaking his head as if to get his thoughts straight, before he looks at you again with softness in his eyes, his voice barely louder than a whisper– for the contents of his speech are something that should be banned to say, especially in a setting like this. “You know you can still back away, right?”

Looking at him for a few seconds, a few seconds that feel like eternity, you blink at him in shock and surprise. “What?”

“There’s still time to say no,” he says, now looking you dead in the eyes, the expression stern, yet considerate. 

His words can’t really process in your head, the whole situation making you break down your walls as you shake your head, running your hand through your hair. Scoffing in disbelief, you turn defensive– because who is Mark Lee to tell you anything about your upcoming marriage and why can he see right through you? Who gave him the right to see through your walls, through the facade you built up all those months ago; who let him make you feel utterly, completely naked in front of him, scared of what he’ll see inside? 

“What are you even talking about?” you snap.

“I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he says.

“I-” you stutter again, all words stuck inside of your throat, “why would I even want to do that? Why would I want to call it off?”

“Y/N-”

Nothing can stop the tangent that’s incoming out of your lips right now– not the soft, considerate look he gives you, not the eyes full of truth and honesty staring right inside of your soul, not the soft touch on your shoulder that you shrug off in the speed of light as your hands fly into the air in frustration. “It’s not your place to tell me to cancel my wedding, Mark, and I don’t know what’s gotten into your brain to make you think for just a second that that’s what I want to do, because- because I know that I’ve been out of it, I do know that, but I just- I just can’t do that to Jeno even if I really wanted to, you know?” you let out, tired voice echoing off the walls of the salon. “So don’t go around and tell me I can still say no, when I’ve already said yes, and don’t try to tell me that this is what I want, because I truly, deeply wish that I didn’t.”

The defeated look on your face is enough for the man to break, yet, he offers you nothing more than silence as you stare him down, wordless and empty. Breathing heavily, you turn to the door, shaking your head in disapproval of the whole thing.

Turning around one last time at the door, you try to burn Mark Lee down with your eyes, for the comfort he gives you with this new opportunity both sets you free and makes you suffocate at once, his words make your insides burn with ashes as you desperately try to breathe for fresh air– the whole thing leaves you mad and stranded, completely alone and left to lean on nobody, because the one that’s supposed to be there for you now and forever is the object of this mere conversation.

“Don’t- don’t mention this again,” you sternly say, reaching for the doorknob, feeling a stray tear falling off your cheek as you escape the pure white walls of his office. 

This whole time, you didn’t even notice you’ve been crying.

Voices of the people present resonate through the half-empty venue, pearl white pillars supporting the weight of the ceiling situated in calculated places all around the spacious room as you lean on one of them, watching your fiancé walk around with your wedding planner, observing the place. There are big windows on one of the walls, the glass panels providing you with a view of the outside– a pretty, long garden filled with flowers that will wilt once the cold season is over, tall trees shielding some places from the sun, providing a relaxing shade. 

Tugging your sleeves down to further cover your arms, since the place is kind of chilly, you try to catch up to the two men in the other corner of the room, both physically and in conversation. Listening to Jeno asking all about the technical stuff and how the place is going to look once decorated, Mark answers him with factual answers, showing him around and making sure the groom is 100% satisfied with his choice. 

You still think you’d prefer a smaller venue– you still prefer a smaller wedding. It’s not up to you to decide, though, and you’ve given up on that opportunity a long time ago. Maybe in the same moment you said yes to him on the beach– you think that was the moment where you decided your own destiny, the moment where you tied yourself down with a metal ball on your leg, and now it’s your fate to drag it around and pretend it’s not there and that you’re not bothered by the weight.

“It seems perfect,” Jeno hums, making you automatically nod with a mechanical smile, looking around the venue once again. In Jeno’s eyes, it sure does seem perfect– it fits all the criteria of his ideal wedding, of the best day of his whole, entire life. And you can’t lie, if you really tried hard enough, you could even see the vision. You could even force yourself to enjoy the image of it in your head, you could even imagine the day going exactly by the plan, and in reality, nothing will even change, because you’ve been living with Jeno for quite a while now, but the concept just seems so scary and unnatural to you that you can’t help but feel like the reality will crash you any passing second if you don’t try hard enough to keep your guard up.

“It’s amazing,” you nod, afraid to meet any of the men’s eyes. Gathering up all the courage you have left in you, you add another convincing message. “I can almost imagine it all decorated and stuff, it’s gonna be great.”

You hear a strangled hum come out of Mark’s throat, a noise you can only decipher with it’s true emotion because you still have the conversation from a few weeks ago fresh in your brain, replaying over and over in front of your eyes as you can’t fall asleep under the blankets of your soft bed, twisting and turning in despair. If he could see it, why can’t Jeno? 

There’s a hint of you that wishes oh so deeply that your fiancé, the man that knows you the best, could see right through your white lies; there’s a hint of you that desires for him to talk to you about it, to get mad and leave you for leading him on and breaking his heart.

That doesn’t come, though, and you know it never will. You're too far in now to ever look back.

A touch on your hand brings you to avert your gaze from the ground to the man next to you, the emptiness of it all breaking your heart a thousand times over and over, your heart yearning for somebody to take it and mold it back together, glue the sharp pieces back again even though they could cut them, to tell you that it’s okay and that you’re human and that people make mistakes, yours just was a way bigger one than you should’ve ever let happen. But that doesn’t come, and it may never– but it’s okay, because you are the reason for your own downfall, and you’re the reason why you now have to play pretend and suffer. 

You glance up at Mark. Strangely, his eyes soften. He should hate you– for even though you pretend, he knows damn well what storm’s going on on the inside, and maybe you could say it’s only for the years of experience he has with fiancés eagerly planning their wedding that he can see you don’t share the same enthusiasm, or you two were just simply connected and in tune. Chewing harshly on your lower lip, so hard you taste the iron bitterness of your own blood on your tongue, your discomfort tries hard to show at your face and you keep battling hard to not let it slip. 

It’s been years with Lee Jeno by your side. Why can’t he see your suffering?

And you keep telling yourself that maybe it’s just his own joy and enthusiasm that makes him so blind to your averted eyes and still body under his sheets. But that doesn’t help your situation; you’d argue it makes it even worse, for you don’t think you can keep going for any longer, and he’s the one pushing forward with such force. You never enjoyed the difference in power you two have. You should’ve never said yes to him in the first place.

And it’s drowning you, because it’s not even his fault. He’s done nothing wrong, but you can’t help but want to stay away, want to hide and run whenever the topic of a wedding is brought to your attention, because it’s not what you desire, even though it’s what you should want, after so many years by his side.

Mark’s voice echoes in your brain, his damn argument never leaving the walls of your head. You want to silence it, but you’re never strong enough.

It’s never too late to back away. But how could you do that to him? You shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t, and that’s why you’ll never do so, no matter how scared and panicked you feel. 

You shouldn’t, because you loved him.

ONE UNREQUITED BELIEF

They say that staring into a cup of black coffee won’t make your troubles go away; nor will it make you feel at least a little better about yourself, but nonetheless, you do it on a cloudy, sad afternoon, sitting in your kitchen as you hug your knees to your chest. Hearing the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, you wonder why you can’t make the time stop– why you can’t just hide away from your problems for a little while, finding a quiet haven and listening to yourself for just a second, to see what you really need and what you should do.

But you can’t stop the time, even though you sometimes really desire for that to happen, and that leads to your fiancé eventually coming home to find you staring into the cup of now cold, black coffee, the solemn look on your face telling him perhaps more than you would’ve expect, but still not enough to fully understand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking a cautious seat on the chair opposite of yours, not even bothering to put away the groceries he brought with himself on his way from work. Sensing the tense atmosphere, you take a glimpse on his face, and with the sad pools that are his eyes right now, you force yourself to swallow away the guilt and look away. 

“Nothing,” you mourn, your voice weak and almost a little shameful. It makes you feel bad for him– for letting him see you like this, on your worst; but the reality of the knowledge that if you two want to really stay together forever, he has to see you like this until you die– the image of him looking at you with such scared eyes every single time, it sends shivers down your spine. You’d rather crawl out of your own skin than to experience it over and over again, the motion of it destroying you completely until there’s nothing left of you than a broken, empty shell of a human you used to be.

And Jeno, he’d fit in your skin, if he could. He’d crawl inside with you, trying to fix every piece that’s broken, trying to understand the patterns of your veins and the thoughts flowing through your head. But the truth is, that you’ve got some problem, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. And that’s even scarier than anything he’s ever encountered before.

But he’s not stupid. 

“We need to talk about the wedding, right?” he asks, and the reality comes crashing down on you. He knows– he knows, he knows, he knows; he’s aware of the storm on your inside and how the raindrops can’t seem but to wash you completely away, making you drown. And you should’ve expected it, he’s your partner, after all, but you never once in your life could’ve predicted the lost look in his eyes when you finally look up at him from the darkness of your coffee cup and offer him a hushed whisper.

“What about it?” 

Offering you a tired smile, he sighs and nestles deeper into the chair. Brushing his hair out of his face, as if to prepare himself for the tough conversation, he puts his hands on the table and you watch his muscles flex when he moves to crack the knuckles of his palms in nerves, a habit you’ve noticed in him from when you first started dating back in high school.

“You’re unhappy with it,” he proclaims, not even leaving you a second to react with a disapproving ramble that he knows is coming– you always say everything’s fine when it’s not– as he proceeds with his observations, “and I know I might have been too pushy with some of my decisions, and I wasn’t being considerate enough of your opinions, but I promise you that we can change all the parts you don’t like and compromise. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you can’t have a say in it,” he says, and there’s a wallowing pit inside of your stomach, because after all,

he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t see it in your eyes when you tiredly close them to get rid of the exhaustion, he doesn’t understand that this is not the problem, and it’s okay, because he’s not a mind reader, but to your poor, selfish self, it feels like you’ve been wronged, because who can understand you in this, if not your own fiancé, the love of your life?

“It’s okay, Jeno,” you mumble, almost automatically.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a silence overtaking you two, the clock ticking on the wall driving you insane. You think that if you hear the piercing sound of it ever again, you might just open the kitchen window and jump out of it, but then there’s another sound, and that one makes you crawl out of your skin again, the sound of Jeno's voice making your nails scrape against your own insides as the last remains of you need to stay inside, true to themselves.

“So what’s wrong? What do we work on?” he asks, and the tone of his voice is so considerate, so gentle, it almost brings you to tears.

Because you don’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Because you’re a traitor. That’s what you are, aren’t you?

“Nothing…”

“Do we change the invitations? Is it the venue?” he insists, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion as you don’t offer him any response. The silence is excruciating to him and you can clearly see, but still, it doesn’t lead you to breaking the truth to him, it doesn’t make you say the words that have been slowly dying at the tip of your tongue since the day you got engaged.

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me, we can’t fix it. Can you please talk to me and tell me what it is so we can work on it together?” he asks. 

And it’s killing you. 

Shaking your head, you scowl. This is not the way your script is supposed to play out. You were too careless, let him see inside, but all he saw through the crack was a glimpse of the full thing and now him aimlessly searching with a pointless game of guessing is only making it worse, and you don’t know how longer you can go without bursting apart.

“I told you it’s fine,” you insist, eyes closed as you plop your head against your palm, resting your elbow on the hard surface of your kitchen table. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but the impact of your words still feel like arrows with a straight goal to Jeno’s poor heart.

Another sigh leaves the man. Reaching gently for your wrist, he tries to pry your hands away from your face, but you stay put as he asks you over and over again. “If you really want to have a smaller wedding, I’ll cut down the guests. I’ll do it for you, if you want me to,” he says, and you don’t know why him fully letting go of what he wants is what makes you break– maybe it’s the fact that now that the wedding won’t be exactly to the point like his ideal, leaving the whole thing a whole fraud, an act you’re playing just to satisfy him and the others– but you do, as you cut him off with another hesitant, yet firm sentence.

“Maybe we can lower the guests… to zero.”

A heartbeat passes, and then another one. You think he can’t quite grasp the full meaning of your words, and you’re right as he opens his mouth and inquires for an explanation, his heart hammering against his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we don’t need a wedding.”

His expression falls more, if that’s even possible, his eyes losing all their glint as he stares at you, dumbfounded. Snickering, he shakes his head. “You’re joking.”

Wetting your lips, averting your gaze from him and taking a glimpse outside of the window– the snow falling for the first time this winter making the whole situation even more idyllic, pushing you further with your final decision– you sigh and shrug, the argument already started and there’s no going back now, so you aren’t even scared of the idea of backing away anymore. 

“I don’t want to get married.”

And in this moment, you almost feel like the clock got broken and the ticking stopped, or the world stopped spinning and the time halted in that exact second– either one of these, as your heart beats angrily against your ribcage, the sound of it in the veins of your ears making you drown out everything else. Lee Jeno is staring at you with eyes that slowly lose all their life, his expression growing more and more full of despair, and the image tears you apart, the little you inside wanting to break free at the sight of him completely crumbling under the impact of your words, and suddenly, you don’t know what to do as you stare him down and await his response. You don’t know how he’ll react. He could scream, he could shout– hell, he could even cry or leave you in silence, the closure never coming as you wait for him at that damned kitchen table forever. But Lee Jeno’s always been a man of words, and so, he doesn’t leave you hanging for long as he scoffs again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?”

But when the silence is his answer, he already knows he doesn’t have to keep asking.

“So you’ve just been… what? Leading me on for the last few months?” he asks, the bitterness falling off his tongue making your hands tremble, lips parting as you want to hurriedly assure him that your feelings were real, they were real until suddenly, they weren’t, and now you don’t even know where they stand and what to do with them and the confusion on your insides.

“This is unbelievable…” he says, running his hands through his hair as he stands up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the last few minutes, walking across and back through the kitchen a few times before he continues, “all those months… You’ve been just lying straight to my face? What did I even do? Why- why do you- why do you suddenly not want to-?” he rambles, and his voice slowly starts to break as you can’t seem to push any other answer out of yourself, all words stolen from your tongue as you stare at him, just waiting until the moment is over and you can let your body relax.

And it’s not his fault. It never was, but suddenly, you’re too weak to tell him, too selfish to give him the answers, too small to be the bigger person and tell him that it’s you, it’s always been you and none of this is a problem he’s created.

“Why did you say yes, then? If you never wanted to get married?” he asks, halting in his steps as he looks dead at you, waiting for your answer.

You should’ve never said yes to him. But you did. And why?

Because you were scared of this exact moment happening sooner? Maybe it would’ve hurt him less if you declined right when he asked. Maybe it could’ve been saved. But now, you’re sure you made more damage than can be fixed.

“Great. Don’t talk to me. Amazing,” he snickers, closing his eyes tightly as a stray tear comes down his cheek, the one you try hard to not notice in fear of breaking down as well, because truthfully–

now is not your time to feel bad or feel sorry. It’s not your time to cry and make it about yourself, because it’s you who messed up. It’s you who made all of this mess.

Looking at you again, and this time, it feels like the last, the question falling off his lips makes you completely shut down and build up walls around yourself, for the weight of the guilt is too heavy and you can’t seem to carry it well this time.

“Do you even love me anymore?” he asks.

Tears falling off your cheeks, your lips pressed into a thin line as you look somewhere into the unknown– anywhere but his eyes– you give him the silent answer again, and that’s enough for him to nod at you with a choked-out ‘okay’ before he disappears out of the door, the rambling through your closet being a background noise to your crying.

And relief doesn’t come even when the door shuts behind him and you don’t get up and try to stop him from leaving and the clock starts ticking in your ears again, grounding you back to reality; relief doesn’t come even when you let your sobs overtake you and your eyes tiredly fall from your coffee cup to the groceries left on the kitchen table.

Staring outside of your window, you can’t seem to find energy to even make any sound, your sore throat reminding you to take a step back and take care of yourself, just like you did mere seconds ago, finally breaking free.

On December 2nd, when the snow fell for the first time this year, you broke Lee Jeno’s heart, and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself.

You decide a walk is surely gonna clear your head– at least that’s what you decide to think when you put on your winter shoes and get out of your small, silent apartment with a loud sigh, the meeting point of your errand today brightly lit in your mind as you leave the car in the parking lot and shudder in the cold. 

The walk doesn’t clear your head, it makes you even more lost in your thoughts, it seems, but there’s no turning back when you’re already halfway there and you’re too lazy to get back and turn the engine of your little old car on, driving there instead. It seems like the consequences of your own actions leave you more miserable than content lately, and although you’re doing all of this for yourself, you feel like you’re unknowingly engaging in some sort of self-sabotage, and the fact that your body is frozen in the strong wind is only the tip of the iceberg of this topic.

After some time, you arrive, your nose runny from the condensation when you reach the heated interiors of the building, clearing your throat as you walk through the door of Mark Lee’s office, just like you would any other day, more often than not with your fiancé, sometimes alone. The man is currently waiting for you at his desk, his silly little journal open on the pages you know so well by now, the image hurting you to your core. 

“Y/N!” he greets you, confusion mirroring on his face when he notices you being alone, since this meeting was scheduled precisely on Jeno’s day off, so both of you could attend, “why are you alone?”

Not giving him a reply, instead walking over to the chair and settling deeper into the cushion, preparing yourself to break the news to him, the curious nature of the man shines through as he asks you hushed questions, a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice unknown to you.

“Does he have work again? Did he cancel?” he asks, prepared to give out an over-exaggerated sigh if you tell him that he’s right about his assumptions, but when you just chew on your cheek and avert your gaze away from him, and instead look everywhere across the pearl white room, he senses that there’s something wrong.

“Yeah, about that…” you mumble, shrugging. 

It’s now or never, you think to yourself– you went here for a reason unknown to you. Maybe you seeked comfort in the man that pushed you towards your decision, maybe you desire for someone to tell you that what you did was okay and the right thing to do. You could’ve just texted him you weren’t going to plan the wedding anymore, since there is none to happen, but you didn’t– you went here yourself, just to break the news to him face to face, expecting nothing and everything at once. It’s weird. Maybe you just, true to your fragile nature, need someone to look out for you when you feel so insanely guilty for doing something for yourself. Why that person is Mark Lee, you don’t know. Perhaps there is something that is pulling you to him, the comforting nature surrounding him being your safe haven in a time like this, making you so selfishly wish that after hearing you say it, he won’t let you down and look at you with defeat and disappointment.

“I- I called off the wedding,” you say, finally meeting his chocolate orbs with expectations, “and we sorta broke up, so I just- I just wanted to tell you that I won’t need your service anymore, but that I’m really thankful,” you add, nodding to prove your point.

The man in front of you is left startled, eyes wide as he searches for a hint of something– anything– on your face that would tell him if you’re okay and what led you to the decision, opening his mouth to talk to you about it, when you cut him off and add another thing, a sentence that breaks him and glues him together in one swift motion, leaving him speechless.

“Thank you for telling me that it was okay… to do that. And that it wasn’t late to call it off. It means the whole entire world to me, Mark, and I’ll never forget that,” you say, smiling hesitantly at the wedding planner, playing with your fingers in your lap, “I felt like I couldn’t make this decision, even though the idea of getting married to Jeno was breaking me, but your words really assured me.”

“That’s-” he stutters, clearly shocked. It’s not like he didn’t know– once again, he advised you to do so himself– but still, the reality of it is making him bewildered, true surprise raining over his face as he shakes his head to clear it, providing you with a more coherent response, “I’m- I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s- it’s so great you broke away from something you didn’t want for yourself, Y/N.”

Smiling, although a little shamefully, you avert your gaze from his intense eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, no, don’t thank me, I mean-” he rambles, his professional composure breaking for what feels like the first time, his figure looking so approachable right in this moment, “are you okay, though? It must have been hard.”

Shrugging, you wet your lips in a moment of thought. Are you okay? You’re not so sure. So instead of worrying him, you just mumble: “I will be,” with a soft nod, reassuring both yourself and everyone involved. Because, in reality, even though it’s insanely hard and the moments without your fiancé feel foreign, you feel free. You feel true to yourself, and that’s the most important thing about it all. And as long as that is preserved, you will be okay one day.

Maybe your and Jeno’s ways parted just because your ideals were different. Maybe the difference between the two was so big you couldn’t get over the height; but that’s okay. Life happened this way, and there’s not much to do about it now. Only to get used to it.

“Okay,” he says, gazing at you.

You’d like to stay longer– the truth is, this is the first time in the last few weeks that you’ve felt relaxed, content, even– and it’s hard to let go of this feeling. Mark looks at you with soft eyes, as if he was scared that a more strong look may break you, and in a moment of selfishness, you think that although this chapter of your life is over, Mark is the one you don’t want to lose out of it. You wonder if he feels the same. You want him to feel the same.

But once the moment is over and you realize your stay no longer has a meaning to it, probably just wasting Mark’s time, you nod to yourself as you stand up from your place in the chair, paying goodbye to the place you’re most likely never going to visit again. “I’ll get going, then. Once again, thanks… for everything, Mark.” 

The man shoots to his feet, hesitantly walking over to you, meeting your expecting eyes. Clearing his throat, he reaches to you with wide arms, and your body moves into his hold almost automatically, selfishness hoarding over you once again as he hugs you tight into his body, perhaps with the same amount of bittersweet feeling you feel on the inside right now, the firm grip around your waist making you relax into his touch. Burrowing your nose into his neck, you forget all about Jeno for a while, the scent of Mark’s cologne overtaking your senses, everything, past and future involved, disappearing when the noisy thought in your brain keeps rambling how you need to remember the way his arms feel around your body forever, you have to imprint his scent into your brain until the end of your time, because this is your last opportunity you have to experience it. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he mumbles, one of his hands running over your back and up into your hair, a protective head pat mendling your fragile, broken body into his touch. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though,” he says.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

And Mark understands. It feels like he’s the only one that does. And although it may feel like there’s no one but him in this world that’s on your side right now, the reality of it comforts you, because that’s enough.

Breaking away from his hold, you pay him a goodbye as you walk towards the door, not turning around as you escape the room, because you think the image of him, knowing it’s the last time you’ll see him, would break you perhaps the most.

Your journey isn’t over, though. Walking through the countless labyrinths of the town, the weather outside making your bones cold as you stride for your next destination with utter determination, you know that once you complete this task, it’s finally over. The weight of it crushes you, but you know that in a few, you’ll feel completely free, and that’s why you keep going, despite it being insanely hard.

Your eyes are met with the view of a house you know too well; the windowsills greet you with a glassy shine, the sad trees in the backyard reminding you of your university days. You’re met with Lee Jeno’s childhood home, and by the looks of his car in the driveway, you were correct about the suspicions of his whereabouts. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and although you feel a little shameful about the fact, you don’t let it get to you.

Walking over to the small gate of the land of Jeno’s parents’ house, a red post box greets you, your final destination in reach. Rummaging through your purse, you take out a white envelope containing your engagement ring, and while opening the small box, you pay goodbye to the latest chapter of your life, putting the envelope in. 

Taking one last look at the house, you imagine Jeno on the driveway, and you wave at his figure with an apology on your tongue. 

Maybe one day, he’ll understand you. And maybe he won’t.

You can’t be mad at him for the emotions he has every right to feel. You acknowledge that you were wrong for leading him on for so long. But still, you hope that one day, he’ll be able to forgive you. 

And as if your fate wanted you to have the last bit of karma you’ve earned, it starts raining as you walk home. On any other day, you’d despite the shower, but today, you think you can get through it. You think this is your prize, and you’ll keep paying it forever, until you no longer feel the guilt of everything you’ve done.

Putting yourself first breaks hearts sometimes. But still, you think it’s worth it in the end.

Maybe one day, you’ll forgive yourself.

When your body hits the cold sheets of the bed that isn’t yours, stumbling to your designated side of the mattress, it seems, you wonder if the heater in his apartment broke again and you’re going to spend another night shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling, however, is no longer as uncomfy as it was the last time. It used to make your bones itch, it used to make you try to battle the feeling, even though there was no use– it’s always been too strong and you were too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements. He joined the bed just a few minutes prior to you, telling you he’ll wait for you to be done with your shower, but it seems like he fell asleep in the short time period, making you feel momentarily bad for waking him. 

A strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug. His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaches your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes flutter open and a soft smile glazing his features. “Ready for sleep?” he asks, and with a gentle nod, you watch him get more comfy in the sheets of his bed.

Continuing to watch him, his eyes close on themselves after a short while, his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face contrasting with his overall soft demeanor making your heart swell with the thankfulness you feel because of his proximity. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the smile that’s dangerously trying to spread across your face. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety. This time around, it works. It always works out with him.

A sigh cuts out of your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it makes you snicker. You’ve never felt more content and satisfied in your whole entire life, yet, he dares to ask you this question, still uncertain. Nodding, you reply to him, sureness coating your words.

“More than okay.”

Your body slowly heats up in his hold– he’s like your portable heater, after all, since he likes his bedroom to be a little colder than you prefer, he took it upon himself to always have you glued inside of his arms whenever you sleep over at his place; to not let you catch cold, he says, but you secretly just think he loves to fall asleep with you in his hold.

Just a little over a year ago, with a different man in your sheets, you weren’t able to fall asleep with the weight of your overthinking. You rethought your decision over and over again, not ready to leave yourself to get a final conclusion, even though it was always somewhere there, in the back of your brain.

Now, though, your brain is at ease, relaxing after running laps through various scenarios in your brain– your body is soundly tucked in under the soft sheets of the bed, finding a sweet haven in a person you never imagined you’d let into your life. 

You no longer wake up in guilt and fear. You no longer startle awake at night, too scared to look at your fiancé on the other side of your bed; because the chapter is now behind you, the war is over.

And you learn to forgive yourself. All by Mark’s side. 

If it wasn’t for the actions of your past, you would’ve never met him, after all. Everything in your life has some sort of order, and while it wasn’t a happy journey, at least you’re left with nothing but experience and comfort in your heart.

Almost like every day, much to the contrast of your state a little over a year ago, you reach out for Mark’s hand again, pressing a soft kiss to it as you move it closer to your lips. Almost like every day, while you fall asleep to the scent of his shower gel and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sweet dreams, you’re thankful for every day with him, 

because he was the one that brought you peace again, taking care of you each and every day, carefully catching your heart when you let it fall freely into the unknown.

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[shadowdaddies]

Home for Dinner

Nesta x f!Reader

Summary: Nesta comes home from training the Valkyries in the Day Court, and you show her just how much you missed her.

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, minors dni

Weeks had passed since Nesta left for the Day Court. She had made a deal with Helion, our alliance with his court allowing the Valkyries to train with his pegasi. You were elated for the Illyrian females - those who had their wings clipped and could finally fly, and you couldn’t wait to hear everything about it from your mate.

Your emissary duties required you to stay in the Night Court, having meetings in Hewn City with Mor and the Lords. By the time you returned to your home in Velaris, you were missing Nesta more than ever. The bed was cold, the house too quiet. You nearly cried when Feyre informed you that the Valkyries would be returning from training that night.

You decided to decorate the entire house, painting a welcome home banner that you hung along with blue gauzy curtains, lighting candles and multi-colored faelights around the living room and bedroom. You turned on the symphonia, swaying to the music as you prepared dinner. 

Caught up in the music, you didn’t hear the door open as you put the final bit of frosting on the cake. A moan left your lips as you licked the chocolate from your fingertip, twirling around with the music as a figure in the corner caught your eye. Dropping the spatula, you let out a small scream before recognizing Nesta’s curves in the shadows. 

You clutched your hand to your chest, catching your breath as Nesta stepped forward with a smirk on your face. “Gods, why did you sneak up on me like that?” 

A small laugh left her lips, mischief dancing in those silver-blue eyes. “I was enjoying the show.” 

You quickly pulled her into a hug, finding comfort in her jasmine and pear scent, the warmth of her body against yours. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, holding back the tears of relief at finally reuniting with your love.

Pulling back, Nesta held your face in her hands, rubbing circles along your cheeks. She pulled you into a passionate kiss, the words you both could not express relayed between you at the contact. Her hand threaded through your hair, tugging back playfully as you gasped in her hold. 

You stumbled, struggling to focus as you gestured to the food on the table. You dipped your finger into the icing, holding it to her full lips as you spoke with pride. “I made dinner, if you want something to eat.”

A sly smile graced Nesta’s face, her lips puckering around the icing on your finger as she licked it clean, tongue flicking out in a way that had you clenching around nothing. “I know exactly what I want to eat,” she murmured, taking your hand from her mouth as she dragged you to the couch, too eager to make it up to the bedroom. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me,” she breathed, pulling you close, hands running down your body in appreciation as she took in the decoration. 

“I wanted to do something special for you,” you murmured, tilting her chin to look back at you as you pulled her in for another kiss, your tongue flicking against hers as she opened her mouth for you to explore. It was a clash of teeth and tongues as your actions became increasingly frenzied, Nesta ripping the buttons of your dress as she stripped you bare.

The cold air of the room had you gasping, a shiver running through you that was quickly quelled by her lips running down your neck, hands exploring your chest, waist, hips. Your own hands scrambled to untie her leathers, stripping her clothes as you threw them to the side. 

Savoring the warmth of her bare body against yours, you pulled her close, her breasts brushing against you as your hand dipped between her thighs. You moaned at her slick evidence of arousal, gathering it on your finger as you pulled away, eyes rolling back at the taste of her as you sucked on your finger. 

A snarl left Nesta’s lips at your action, and she effortlessly picked you up, tossing you onto the couch. You gasped, bouncing against the cushions just as Nesta swung her leg over your face, hands gripping your thighs as she pulled them apart. A mewl escaped you at the feeling of her breath on your exposed pussy, writhing under her firm hold. 

Pulling her hips down, you licked a stripe up her center, savoring her taste before moving back to suck on her clit, your nose buried in her heat. Her lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking out as she mimicked her earlier suction on your finger, and you moaned deeply into her core.

Nesta gasped at the sensation, her hips bucking into you as she brought her fingers into your center, curling against your walls as she sucked and licked your clit. Your legs shook, arms gripping her thighs as you tried to regain your focus. Unable to think, an animalistic need took over as you pulled her pussy down, fingers plunging into her core as you ate her out. 

She moaned loudly, trying to pull away, but you held her in place, doubling down your efforts as you gasped and moaned at the feeling of her tongue flicking against you. Stomach tightening, you tapped Nesta’s leg in warning as you felt your high approaching.

You could feel her smirking against your pussy, sucking harshly on your clit as a hand smacked against your core, sending you spiraling over the edge. Nesta’s breathing turned ragged as you released a muffled scream against her, the both of you exhausted as you came down from your orgasms. 

Nesta clambered off the sofa, crawling to your side where she tugged on your hair, pulling you in for a deep kiss as you tasted each other, tongues battling for dominance. Nesta finally pulled away for air, sitting back on her heels as she smiled down at you. “Let’s get some dinner, before we eat again,” she winked, pulling you up as she pressed a kiss to your cheek and led you into the kitchen.

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