#like seriously i think every day about them

[xo100]

A summer to remember - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando, Y/N, and their daughter Isla enjoy a perfect summer vacation filled with love, beach fun, and yacht adventures.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2388

୨ৎ

It was a beautiful summer morning, and the sun was already casting its golden glow over the peaceful coastline. The soft sound of waves lapping against the shore could be heard through the open windows of the cozy villa where Lando Norris, his wife, and their one-year-old daughter, Isla, were spending their vacation. It was a much-needed break from Lando's hectic Formula 1 schedule, and he was determined to make the most of every second with his little family.

Inside the villa, the sweet scent of fresh pastries filled the air as Y/N was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the three of them. Isla was sitting in her highchair, her big, curious eyes watching her mom move around, while her tiny hands held onto a small stuffed bear that she never seemed to let go of. Lando, fresh from a shower, entered the kitchen with a content smile, his heart swelling at the sight of his two favorite girls.

“Morning, love,” he murmured, stepping up behind Y/N and wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. “You’re up early. Didn’t think we’d need to be up so soon on holiday.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back into him as she flipped a pancake. “Well, someone woke up hungry,” she said, glancing over at Isla, who was babbling happily to her bear. “Besides, it’s too beautiful outside to waste the day.”

Lando hummed in agreement, his chin resting on Y/N's shoulder as he watched her cook. “You’re right. What’s the plan today, then? What amazing adventure are we going on?”

Y/N turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought we could start with a beach day. Just us, some sand, and the ocean. Maybe build a sandcastle with Isla. She’s been dying to get her hands in the sand.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. He loved the thought of spending the day on the beach with his family, especially if it meant seeing Isla’s face light up with excitement. “That sounds perfect,” he said, stealing a quick kiss before letting her go. “But I think we should add something extra later. How about a yacht ride this afternoon? I’ve already got one booked for us.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “A yacht? Seriously, Lando?”

“Of course,” he replied with a cocky smile, giving her a playful wink. “Figured we’d sail off into the sunset like in the movies. You know, champagne in hand, wind in our hair… or at least, your hair. Isla and I don’t have much of that,” he teased, running a hand through his slightly damp hair for emphasis.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re too much sometimes, Norris.”

Lando winked. “And you love it.”

Isla, hearing her dad’s voice, squealed excitedly, her little arms reaching out towards him. Lando’s expression softened instantly as he scooped her up from the highchair and spun her around, her giggles filling the kitchen. “There’s my girl!” he said, holding her close and pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Ready for a fun day with Mum and Dad?”

Isla giggled in response, her tiny hand grabbing onto Lando’s shirt, holding on as if she never wanted to let go. Lando’s heart melted, as it did every time he looked at his daughter. She was the perfect mix of both him and Y/N—her sparkling eyes and infectious laughter were all her mother, while the little dimple in her cheek and the mischievous glint in her eye were pure Lando.

-

After breakfast, the three of them headed down to the beach, which was only a short walk from the villa. The sand was warm beneath their feet, and the ocean stretched out in front of them, glittering under the morning sun. It was the kind of picture-perfect day that made it hard to believe anything else existed beyond this little slice of paradise.

Lando carried Isla on his hip, holding her tiny hand as she stared wide-eyed at the ocean for the first time. Her mouth formed a little "o" of wonder as the gentle breeze tousled her soft hair. “Look at that, Isla,” Lando said, pointing towards the waves. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just like your mum.”

Y/N, who had been spreading out a blanket, glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Lando’s words. “Flatterer,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. No matter how long they’d been together, Lando always knew how to make her heart skip a beat.

Once everything was set up, Y/N and Lando took turns playing with Isla in the sand, helping her dig little holes and attempting to build a sandcastle that mostly ended up in a pile of mush, thanks to Isla’s enthusiastic hands. Lando pretended to be frustrated as Isla gleefully knocked over the little towers he was trying to make. “Isla, love, I’m trying to build a masterpiece here,” he said in mock seriousness, though his grin gave him away.

Isla just giggled, grabbing another handful of sand and letting it slip through her tiny fingers. Y/N watched them with a smile, her heart swelling with love. There was something so pure and beautiful about the way Lando interacted with their daughter. He was playful, patient, and so incredibly gentle with her, like she was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she was. Both of them were.

-

After a few hours of playing in the sand and dipping their toes in the water, it was time for Isla’s nap. Y/N and Lando packed up their things and headed back to the villa, where Isla quickly fell asleep in her crib, her little face peaceful and content.

With their daughter sound asleep, Y/N and Lando had a rare moment of quiet together. They sat out on the terrace, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. Lando stretched out on the lounge chair next to her, his hand lazily tracing circles on her leg. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice low and relaxed. “Just the two of us for a bit.”

Y/N smiled softly, leaning back in her chair as she gazed out at the ocean. “It is,” she agreed. “It’s nice to just… be. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

Lando turned his head to look at her, his eyes filled with that familiar mix of love and admiration that always made her stomach flutter. “You know,” he said quietly, his fingers gently brushing her skin, “I don’t think I tell you enough how much I love you. How much I appreciate everything you do for Isla and me.”

Y/N’s breath caught slightly at the sincerity in his voice. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her heart swelling with emotion. “Lando…”

“No, really,” he insisted, sitting up a little. “I don’t say it enough. You’re incredible, Y/N. The way you love our daughter, the way you take care of us… You make everything feel so effortless, and I just—I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, smiling softly at him. “I love you too, Lando. More than you know.”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that made her forget about everything else. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other, the world fading away.

-

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Lando, Y/N, and Isla boarded the yacht that Lando had arranged. It was a sleek, beautiful boat, and as they set off into the open water, the breeze ruffling their hair, it felt like something out of a dream.

Isla was fascinated by the gentle rocking of the boat, her little hands gripping the edge of the railing as she watched the water with wide eyes. Lando stood behind her, his hands on either side of hers, keeping her steady while whispering little words of encouragement. “Look at that, baby girl. Isn’t it amazing? Just like flying, huh?”

Y/N watched them from her seat, her heart swelling with affection for the two of them. There was something so undeniably sweet about seeing Lando with Isla. He was a natural father, always knowing how to make her smile, always there to comfort her when she was upset.

As the yacht sailed further out, Lando eventually scooped Isla up and carried her back to Y/N, sitting down next to her and cuddling Isla between them. The three of them sat together, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon, casting a golden-orange glow over the water.

“This is perfect,” Y/N whispered, resting her head on Lando’s shoulder as she cradled Isla in her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Lando smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Me either,” he murmured. “This… this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart swelling at the love in his eyes. “You mean that?”

He looked down at her, his expression serious but filled with so much warmth. “I do. You and Isla… you’re my world, Y/N. Everything I do, it’s for you two. And I’ll never stop loving you, not for a second.”

Her breath caught at his words, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and sweet.

The kiss lingered, sweet and unhurried, the weight of Lando’s words settling between them like the most beautiful promise. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling as the world seemed to pause for just a moment. Isla, nestled between them, was quietly playing with Lando’s fingers, completely content in the embrace of her parents.

“I love you, too,” Y/N whispered, her voice full of emotion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

Lando smiled, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. “I know, love,” he murmured. “I feel it every single day.”

They sat there for a long while, the boat gently swaying with the rhythm of the sea, as the last rays of sunlight danced on the horizon. Isla eventually dozed off in Y/N’s arms, her tiny body relaxing completely, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sound breaking the peaceful silence.

Lando looked down at his daughter, his heart nearly bursting at the sight. He reached out to lightly stroke her hair, his touch so gentle it was almost reverent. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he said quietly, his voice filled with awe. “How did we get so lucky?”

Y/N smiled down at Isla, her heart swelling with love for the little girl in her arms. “We did get lucky,” she agreed softly. “She’s everything.”

Lando’s gaze shifted from Isla to Y/N, his expression softening even further. “You’re everything to me, you know that, right?”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I think you’ve told me that about a hundred times today.”

“Well, I mean it. Every time,” he teased, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re stuck with me, Norris, so I’m gonna remind you as often as I can.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Y/N whispered against his lips before kissing him back.

As the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky fading into a soft twilight, they decided to head back to the villa. Lando took Isla from Y/N’s arms, cradling their sleeping daughter as they made their way back to the dock. The boat ride back was quiet, peaceful, the gentle hum of the engine and the lapping of the water lulling them into a contented silence.

-

When they reached the villa, Lando carefully carried Isla to her room, tucking her into bed with the same care and tenderness he always showed. Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile on her face, her heart full as she took in the sight of Lando, who had once been the carefree, fast-driving boy, now a devoted father and partner.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to Isla’s forehead before pulling the blanket up around her tiny body. He stood for a moment, just watching her sleep, his heart filled with a deep sense of contentment. Finally, he turned to Y/N, slipping his hand into hers as they quietly left the room, closing the door behind them.

Once back in their bedroom, Y/N flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh, stretching her arms above her head. Lando followed, lying down beside her and propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. “So,” he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “What’s the verdict? Best day ever?”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with love and amusement. “I’d say it’s definitely up there,” she teased. “But tomorrow might just top it.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lando leaned down, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “Whatever it is, as long as I’m with you and Isla, it’s already perfect.”

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, full of the love and promise they’d built over the years. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N curled into Lando’s side, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N murmured, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “It was perfect.”

Lando kissed the top of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair. “You don’t have to thank me, love. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. For you and Isla, I’d do anything.”

With that, they fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves outside their window lulling them to sleep. As Lando drifted off, his heart full and his arms wrapped around the woman he loved, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

And as the stars twinkled above, casting their soft light over the peaceful villa, one thing was certain: this summer, this moment, would be one they’d cherish forever.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! I’m currently writing part three of baking cookies! I hope to finish it soon and upload it soon!

[list4r]

“Eat it or no tv for you.”

“No!”

“Oh cmon you eat this every day, why not now?”

“I don’t want it! You didn’t do it right!”

“It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Ain’t no right way to do it baby.”

Toji narrows his eyes at the little girl who refused to eat the sandwich he made for her. Correction: the fifth sandwich he had made because “he didn’t do it right.” If he had known this is what having a kid would be like he would’ve studied the basics of sandwich making for toddlers. Ridiculous.

“Well can you tell me the way you want it? I’m not sure what the right way is.”

“I want it like how mommy does it!”

“Well mommy is at work.”

“Then I don’t want it.” The face she makes remind him of you, she’s basically a carbon copy of you personality wise. That tiny face scrunched up when she hears or sees something she doesn’t want. It was amazing how easily she could get anything she wants, Toji was wrapped around her tiny little finger.

“Okay I’ll do it again.” He repeats the same routine of grabbing the bread and putting the peanut butter then the jelly on it. Thinking maybe he cut it wrong he decided to cut it in fours. A bad idea by the way because he is immediately hit with the hysterical cries of his toddler.

“Wait hey hey no no- don’t cry. What’s wrong? Did I do it wrong again?”

“I’m telling mommy you starving me and being a meanie daddy!”

“I’m not a meanie daddy, that’s not nice to say.”

“Uh huh!”

“Nuh uh…. Brat.” Toji scoffs as he looks around to find anything to soothe the crying child. “You want chicken nuggets? Pretty sure we got the dino ones you like so much.”

“I want- *sniffle* sandwich.”

“I made you like a 100 of them but you didn’t want them.. I don’t know what you want me to do-“

The sound of your keys turning in the door cut off his words, Toji lets out a sigh of relief. “Baby.. thank god you’re here.” He greets you with a kiss and helps you out of your outerwear, a routine you two have developed over the years.

“Why is she crying Toji? Awww what’s wrong sweetheart?” You pick up the child, holding her close as you wipe the tears off her cheeks.

“Daddy won’t feed me!”

“Wha- don’t lie to your mom like that. She just didn’t want what I made her that’s all.”

Turning to him you raise an eyebrow “what did you make for her?”

“What she always eat for lunch. Fuckin nasty ass peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Don’t call her food nasty in front of her. How did you make it?”

“Like how any normal person makes it.” Toji shrugs, wondering why such a question was asked.

“You have to do it a certain way or she won’t eat it.

“So she said. So I put the peanut butter-“

“No it’s the jelly first Toji.”

“What the fuck? I didn’t know there was a certain way.”

You place the child back down, gathering the ingredients. “It’s always jelly first then the peanut butter, on separate breads too don’t mix them and don’t put too much. Then cut the crusts off and cut them into three rectangles.” You say as you perfectly demonstrate how to make the sandwich. “If you don’t do it like this she won’t eat it. Learned it the hard way- here you go sweetie.”

“Thank you mommy!”

Toji scoffs at the scene, earning a giggle from the little girl happily munching away. “Tch… yeah okay I’ll remember that next she demands it.” He pretended to be annoyed but the happy giggles from his little girl cause his mouth to turn on both corners. Honestly he has a lot to learn about his dad business but having you by his side definitely makes things easier.

“Seriously, ain’t shit easy about raising a child.”

“What can I say? I’m just the best”

“Hm yeah she definitely gets her attitude from you.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [37] - Crown

A.N: Last two chapters! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Live by the sword, die by the sword.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, violence, I'M SERIOUS THERE IS VIOLENCE IN THIS ONE, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

If anything, it started out as a normal day.

“You are so pretty!” you told Alpine as you fixed the ribbon around her neck, then held up the feathery pen so that she could jump at it while you sat on the floor. “Yes you are! The prettiest princess in the entire world!”

“Charm?”

“Over here!” you called out and heard Bucky come downstairs, then he filled himself a cup of coffee before looking over his shoulder.

“You want some babe?”

“Nope,” you said, stroking Alpine’s fur. “Bucky, what are the chances that we got the prettiest and nicest cat in the entire world?”

“Zero, she’s an asshole.”

You gasped. “Hey!”

“I love her, but it doesn’t mean she’s not an asshole,” Bucky said. “She never comes when I call.”

“Because she’s a cat, not a dog,” you said. “If we have a child one day, we’re so calling them Alpine Two.”

“We’re not going to do that.”

“Alpine Two and Alpine Three.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t listen to him, they’ll be Alpine Two and Three,” you told Alpine as Bucky sipped his coffee.

“Do you wanna grab lunch today?”

“I can’t,” you said. “I promised Ethan.”

He blinked a couple of times. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am not having this argument with you again when we’re in love and fucking each other’s brains out every night,” you pointed out, making him grin. “Relax with the jealousy dumbass, you already know I’m in love with you.”

He heaved a sigh, then held up his hands.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Go meet the puppy.”

“Bucky.”

“Is he not a puppy around you?”

“He’s my friend,” you said. “My friend whom I haven’t met in a while.”

“Yeah yeah…”

You scratched at Alpine’s head when she head bumped your knee while Bucky tilted his head.

“Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird since we had dinner at your father’s place.”

“Sure,” you said after a beat and he raised his brows.

“Charm.”

“No I’m fine,” you said. “I’m fine, I’ve just been thinking.”

“About?”

“Business,” you said. “My father’s business, to be specific.”

He sipped his coffee. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“God no,” you said. “Of course not. I’m thinking about the consequences of it, that’s all. What it will mean for me.”

“It means the crown for you.”

You pursed your lips together. “And for Ian?”

He scoffed. “Who cares? You hate Ian.”

“Obviously I hate him,” you said. “But I’ll have to kill him, you do know that.”

“He signed his own death warrant the moment he accepted that heir position at the expense of you,” Bucky said. “I’ll kill him for you if you want.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “How fucked up is it that I find this romantic?”

“That’s because I am romantic,” he said with a smirk. “Seriously. If you want me to—”

“I’ll just cross that bridge when I come to it,” you pointed out. “I appreciate the offer though.”

Bucky checked his wristwatch, then came closer to you to kiss you on the top of your head, and scratched at Alpine’s head.

“Gotta go,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Sure!” you said and watched him walk out of the apartment, then heaved a sigh and looked down at Alpine.

“Alright,” you said. “Come on, let’s get you some treats.”

                                             *

The café Ethan had suggested was in your father’s territory, so it was a short car drive. Seeing that the weather was slowly getting cold nowadays, it didn’t surprise you to see Ethan already inside the nearly empty café as you walked in, and waved at him before making your way to him.

“Hey!” you said and he stood up to hug you.

“Hey stranger,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has,” you said, motioning for a cup of coffee at the waitress who forced a smile, then disappeared into the kitchen. You frowned slightly, but then turned to look at Ethan when he cleared his throat.

“So what’s been up with you lately?”

“Absolute chaos,” you pointed out, making him smile. “No seriously, things are just now starting to calm down.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah there was this business thing,” you muttered. “Never mind. How about you? What have you been doing lately?”

“I’m actually…” he paused for a moment. “I’m actually moving back to my hometown.”

Your eyes widened, your jaw dropping.

“What?” you asked. “Why?”

“I don’t think New York is for me,” he said as you heard the wind bells chime by the door. “Or any big city for that matter.”

You opened your mouth to ask why, but a strange shiver went down your spine, the hair at the back of your neck rising up as his eyes went over your shoulder. You didn’t even have the time to think, your body seemed to have responded on instinct as the result of many years of training, so you kicked the table in his direction and jumped to your feet, but before you could turn around, two men had already grabbed you by the arms. You managed to kick one of them, turning around to punch the other, but another man caught your fist and turned you around, his friend punching you right on the nose so hard that you knew from the crack that he broke it before the blinding pain shot through your face. You stumbled back as two of them held you by the arms again and another one grabbed his gun, flipped it and slammed it on your head.

Then everything went black.

                                              *

You couldn’t tell which one woke you up, the cold or the burning pain starting from your nose and spreading through your whole head. Your vision was blurry when you forced yourself to open your eyes, now realizing your hands were bound and a groan left your lips as you blinked as fast as you could to see better.

Ah.

Two of Ian’s men were waiting by the door along while Ethan sat across from you, his eyes fixed on the floor. You could feel your heart dropping to your stomach but you forced yourself to focus, there had to be a way out of this—

You just needed to find it.

The room you were in appeared to be a butcher’s freezer, which made you think you were at the edge of your father’s territory. The pain in your head was so heavy that you could barely just hold your head up, let alone moving your body so you gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath through your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you heard Ethan’s voice and you turned your head to see him looking down at the gun in his lap, your hands shooting up to wipe the blood on your face before touching your forehead.

Okay, that needed stitches.

“You’re sorry?” you repeated with a dry laugh. “How long have you been working for him?”

He shook his head fervently, rubbing his thumb over the gun.

“I don’t—I didn’t—” he stammered. “He contacted me couple of months ago.”

You raised your brows. “Let me guess, he’s paying you a shit load of money?”

He shook his head again.

“He said…he said he’d kill me if I didn’t...” he muttered. “For God’s sake I never wanted this whole bullshit, I don’t even know how to use—” he pushed at the tiny button beside the gun, the magazine dropping to the floor and a couple of bullets scattering around as one of Ian’s men came closer.

“What the fuck?” he asked him, snatching the gun out of his hand and picking up the magazine before walking to the other side of the room to continue his conversation with the other man. You gritted his teeth, anger pulsing through you.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan repeated and you shook your head.

“You know you’re going to die right?” you asked him. “You’ve just signed your own death warrant by pulling this shit.”

“Civilians aren’t harmed, that’s what the truce—”

“Civilians aren’t harmed as long as they remain civilians,” you corrected him, pulling at the rope around your wrists to loosen it a little. “You’ve just thrown your hat in the ring, buddy. And trust me; if Ian doesn’t kill me, I’ll kill you and if he does manage to kill me, Bucky will hunt you down, and kill you. Torture you first probably too. So regardless of if I die or not, you definitely will Ethan.”

“I’ll move out of the city.”

“There’s no city we can’t reach.”

“That’s not true,” he argued with you. “Everyone is saying Chicago is its own city.”

A small smile curled your lips despite fear churning your stomach, a small spark of satisfaction rushing through you.

“Right,” you said. “Sure. Move to Chicago.”

He swallowed thickly, then turned his head when the door opened and Ian walked in with Ryan. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks as soon as his eyes fell on your face, but then he gritted his teeth, snapping something at the men by the door under his breath. It was impossible to hear what he had said, but judging by the way it made them step back, it couldn’t be anything nice.

“Hi there cousin,” Ian had the audacity to smile at you as Ethan stood up from his chair.

“I can go right?” he said. “You promised.”

“Sure, some of our boys will accompany you to the border of the city, then you’re on your own,” Ian said. “Thank you for this. New York will owe you.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring up at Ian as Ethan walked out of the room and Ian tut tutted.

“You just couldn’t help it, could you?” he asked you. “All you had to do was just marry Barnes and give him an heir, and then you could spend money and do nothing for the rest of your life, but you just couldn’t do it.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Those are some big words for someone who’s about to die.”

No.

You couldn’t let panic take over your mind, you just couldn’t.

The safest option was to cling to anger.

“You don’t get to kill me and stay alive, Ian.”

“Oh I won’t be the one who killed you,” he said. “Your ex-boyfriend did. Everyone saw him meet you at that café after all.”

“And you think my dad will buy that bullshit?”

“I’ll make him buy it.”

“You think Bucky will buy that?” you spat and he shrugged his shoulders.

“No, he will come after me,” Ian said. “And that’ll start a war. Too bad.”

You gritted your teeth. “You don’t have the means to survive a war, dickhead.”

“You have no reason to worry about that,” Ian said. “You’re not walking out of here alive after all.”

You licked your lips, the metallic taste of blood reaching your throat as Ian nodded at his men.

“Untie her.”

One of his men came to cut the rope around your wrist and helped you up while the other one pointed his gun at you just in case. The whole room was spinning around you, your heart beating in your throat but you tried to fix your breathing.

It was fine.

It was going to be fine.

“Ryan, my gun,” Ian ordered and Ryan stared at you, then pulled out the gun from his waistband, quickly taking out the magazine to check the bullets before sliding it in again.

“Leave us,” Ian said and Ryan licked his lips, stealing a look at you before he walked outside with the rest of Ian’s men following him. He slammed the heavy door behind them and you clenched your fists, still glaring at Ian.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ian said, pointing the gun at your face. “I did, numerous times. Get on your knees.”

“No,” you said. “If you’re going to kill me, you’re going to kill me standing.”

Ian took a deep breath, then swallowed thickly.

“As you wish,” he said and raised the gun a little to aim for your forehead, the fear making your eyes burn but you quickly blinked the tears back, forcing yourself to focus on—

Bucky.

It was strange, how it worked. Everyone talked about how this business was dangerous, but no one talked about what one would think when there was a gun about to blow their head off.

There was fear yes, but the memory of happiness shed a small ray of sunlight on it. Knowing Bucky would stop at nothing to take your revenge almost soothed the pain of knowing you would never see him again, at least—

At least in this life.

But you knew you loved him. He knew you loved him.

That was enough, somehow. Even with a gun pointing at your head.

“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” Ian recited. “Goodbye, cousin.”

You closed your eyes, holding your breath and bracing yourself for the deafening gunshot but the only thing that echoed through the room was the empty click, making your eyes snap open while Ian gawked at the gun in his hand, fear flashing over his face as he froze.

…Ryan.

Ryan had taken out the bullets.

The adrenaline that roared through you was powerful enough to overcome the fog in your brain or the pain on your face as you lunged at him to knock the gun out of his hand, slamming him back to the heavy door, the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoing outside. Ian shoved you back as hard as he could and tried to swing a punch at you but you quickly dodged it, elbowing him on the nose.

“Welcome to your cage fight, Ian,” you spat as he wiped at his nose.

“You dumb bitch…” he muttered, then swung at you again but you quickly stepped back, grabbed his wrist and turned it with all your strength until you heard the pop, and his yell of pain. He kicked you on the knee hard, making you scream out of pain as you stumbled back, and he tried to grab at you with his other hand but you had already punch him right in the neck, making him gasp and fall on his knees, clutching at his neck.

“You know,” you said, breathing hard as you grabbed the gun off the floor and picked up one of the bullets Ethan had dropped earlier. “I should thank you for this. I was having second thoughts earlier, but now…”

He was still gasping for air as you slid the magazine out, put the bullet inside and slid it back again, making him drag himself back on his palms until his back hit the wall.

“Exile me,” he managed to say, and you tilted your head. “Exile me somewhere else.”

You shook your head, adrenaline making your head spin.

“You know how this shit goes,” you said through clenched teeth. “You tried to kill me. Exiling you isn’t enough.”  

“I’ll forfeit the title!” he said, still breathless and you shook your head again, then pointed the gun at him with a sigh.

“I'm sorry Ian,” you said. “Live by the sword, die by the sword.”

With that, you pulled the trigger and heard the loud bang before the blood splattered over your face, making you grimace as his body slipped on the floor. You wiped at your face, then slammed open the door to point the gun at whoever was outside, but the only thing you could see was Ian’s men bleeding on the ground while Ryan stood by the door, his back straight as if he was waiting for your order.

“Ma’am,” he said with his hands clasped behind him, and he bowed his head a little as you smiled at him.

“Thank you,” you rasped out, raising your head to stare up at the dark sky before turning to him. “Ryan, is there any chance you’re looking for a new job?”

The corners of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

“Working for your father’s heir would be an honor, ma’am,” he said softly and you let out a small laugh.

“Good,” you said as you limped to the car parked right outside the back alley with Ryan following you. “You’re hired.”

[gyuuberryy]

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

[sistertotheknowitall]

DCxDP Prompt

Because I couldn’t get Congratulations! It’s Triplets! By @rboooks out of my head.

—

Jason wouldn’t say he regret it. Sure it wasn’t what he planned nor was it what he would have wanted, but he didn’t regret it. They didn’t mean to become parents, it was a one night stand. He wondered if this was how Roy felt when Jade had Lian. Like the world had been flipped on its head. Like everything he thought he knew now seemed wrong.

Lian would like his daughter. From what Jason could tell he thought they’d be fast friends.

Christ. His daughter.

He watched as she ran through the front door, her mom following behind. She was talking a mile a minute, her hands flying around her face. Her mom threw her head back, laughing. God he wished he could hear it. Hear what all his daughter had to say. He wanted to be a real dad to her not just a father. Someone she could talk to and trust. However, as Jason continued to watch from the roof across the street, he knew that he could never get that close. This was as far as he could reach.

A crime lord, who was legally dead and had a kill count. He wasn’t cut out to be a dad. The two examples he had wouldn’t exactly be considered great role models.

Her mother had named her Ellie, short for Daniella after her late uncle Daniel or “Danny.” She was feisty and a little brash, his daughter. Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some pride in knowing some of that was him. Although he could see the same stubbornness in Jazmine.

He thinks that’s what drew him to her. Standing in a bar on a side of town she definitely shouldn’t have been in, she had held her own against two men trying to drag her out. Jason went to step in when she had pulled a police grade taser out and had both men on their knees in pain before he moved two steps. He didn’t introduce himself that night (she was a little preoccupied with the police). However, he got the chance to a few months later and one thing led to another and they had slept together. He left with barely a goodbye and they never saw each other again. Jason was too preoccupied with his plans for Bruce and the clown to spend time thinking about one night.

As for her, he knew she was a student at Gotham U and figured she had also spent little time thinking about that night.

Imagine his surprise when he stumbled upon her again but with a child. His child.

He didn’t know how to really feel about it, about her, Ellie.

As much as he hates to admit it he spent the first week getting drunk and despairing at being a deadbeat. He eventually calmed down and reasoned that it wasn’t his fault nor Jazmine’s. He had given her a fake first name and they hadn’t exchanged last names. Even if she did want to tell him she was pregnant she had no way of finding him.

And he never thought he needed to be looking for them.

—-

Jazz could feel them being watched and did her best to act normal. She never gave away that she was aware of him. She didn’t want to frighten Ellie and she was still unsure of how to handle the situation. It has been weeks and he never once seemed interested in harming them. Yet.

He just watched. Not all the time- not every day, but at least once a week she could feel him staring from a roof, a window, the mouth of an ally. He followed them at night and watched for a bit after they returned home. In a way it felt like he was protecting them, but in what sense did this hulking figure have a right to guard them? It also begged the question; what was he protecting them from?

Jazz was near positive that she had never interacted with the mask figure nor any other that roamed Gotham. She did her best to avoid them, all of them.

It could be he was fixated on her as a single mother to a reckless little girl. If that was so, then she was going to have to be more cautious. She didn’t want to even give him a chance to think he could approach Ellie. Stalkers were never a good thing but she knew the GCPD would never take it seriously.

All he was doing was watching.

Jazz knew her daughter was smart beyond her five years of life, but she was still just a child. So while Jazz was certain that Ellie had no idea about their predicament, she knew Ellie could feel something was off. The young girl had started to look around more on their walks home, her head swiveling, looking for something she couldn’t explain. Jazz hated it. Her daughter should be skipping as she told Jazz about her day in pre-school, not gripping her mother’s pant leg, silent as she looked for the source of her unease.

For the life of her, Jazz did not know what the man could possibly want and while it pissed her off to no end it also frightened her. Of course it frightened her. She was a single mother in Gotham City with a stalker. Maybe she should summon Danny or send Ellie to her grandparents for a bit while she takes care of this.

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |2|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Murder and Killing

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Sam had her head thrown back, trying to calm her nerves as she and Tara waited for Detective Bailey to arrive. When Quinn called her father, he had said he wanted to speak with Sam. He wouldn’t confirm or deny whether the killings on the news were the work of Ghostface, but he wanted her to come down to the station. Tara had refused to let her go alone and Bailey even agreed that he’d like to see Tara as well. They arrived at the police station first thing in the morning and were immediately escorted to an interrogation room, without anyone telling them anything.

Sam finally looked up when she heard the door open, seeing Bailey enter. “Sorry about the wait,” Bailey said, giving them an awkward chuckle.

“What’s this about?” Tara asked, tapping her fingers on the table.

“The killings,” Sam cut in. “Was it Ghostface?”

“We found this,” Bailey said, tossing an evidence bag containing a bloody card onto the table, ignoring both the girls’ questions. “At the crime scene,” Bailey sat in the chair opposite of them. “In which two of your,” he pointed at Tara. “Classmates were murdered. Care to explain?” he shrugged.

Tara leaned forward, her eyes widening at what was in the baggy before she looked back at Sam. Sam furrowed her brow as she took a look as well, her face instantly going white at seeing her ID, covered in blood, and in the evidence bag. “I lost my ID months ago,” Sam mumbled, shaking her head. “I had to get a new one.”

“Why didn’t you report your ID as stolen?”

“I didn’t know it was stolen,” Sam glared at Bailey.

Sam didn’t know detective Bailey too well. She knew he was a homicide detective and when Quinn decided to go to college at Blackmore, he transferred to New York so he could keep an eye on her. Quinn complained about him occasionally, usually saying how overprotective he was, though he did allow Quinn to live on her own with Sam and Tara, even though it would be much cheaper for her to live with him. Bailey always seemed like the typical dad, but Sam wasn’t sure, she saw danger around every corner but the majority of the time it was just her being paranoid.

“Where were you last night?” Bailey asked, getting back to his questioning.

“You can’t seriously think she’s a suspect,” Tara said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” Bailey held his hands up in defense. “Do you have an alibi?” He looked at Sam.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I was at work,” Sam answered. “Then when I came home Chad and I went to the gym, then back to the apartment.”

“And someone can verify this?”

“Lots of people probably,” Sam shrugged. “Your daughter being one of them, she was at the apartment last night.”

“It’s true,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “We were all with someone the entire day. Anything else?”

“Your classmates,” Bailey said, pointing at Tara. “Had a Ghostface shrine, it seems they killed their professor a Ms. Crane.” Tara sucked in a breath, Sam didn’t know her personally, but she had heard Tara and Mindy mention her a few times. “Earlier this evening. Know anything about that?”

“Why would we? I barely talked to them.”

“Are you familiar with a,” Bailey flipped open a file, squinting his eyes at something in the file, “Richie Kirsch?”

Sam couldn’t help the way she shifted in her seat, trying not to react. “He’s my ex,” she answered with a tight-lipped smile. “And he’s dead.”

“Yeah, he and my best friend tried to kill us last year,” Tara snapped. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Well, it seems these boys,” Bailey said, tapping his fingers on the photos of the two guys killed. “Intended to finish his movie.” Sam and Tara’s faces both fell at those words. “It seems they were working on a plan to kill you two.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” Sam said.

“Right, right,” Bailey mumbled to himself. “So, it’s just a coincidence these two boys end up dead?”

“There are no coincidences when Ghostface is involved.”

“Look,” Tara cut in, seeming frustrated and tired. “Are we under arrest or can we go?”

Bailey looked between the two sisters then down at the photos and evidence bag. Sam held her breath as she waited for his response. She wasn’t sure what was going through his mind, he still never confirmed if Ghostface was back, and she didn’t know if Bailey suspected her or thought she and Tara were in danger.

“You’re free to go,” Bailey said. “Just don’t leave town,” he gave Sam a look, like he knew she wanted to run.

Tara didn’t hesitate to get up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. Sam gave Bailey one last glance before following after Tara. They flagged down a cab and Tara gave the guy directions to Blackmore. When Sam furrowed her brow Tara showed her Mindy’s text saying to meet at the school so they could go over suspects before class.

Before she knew it Sam had her head thrown back again, this time as she sat on a bench outside Blackmore College. Everyone was already there when Sam and Tara arrived and since then Mindy had been standing in front of everyone pacing back and forth. Sam just wanted her to get to the point already, she wanted to try and get some sleep before she had to go to work. She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep though; she wasn’t able to sleep last night and there was no way she’d be able to before her shift, not with Ghostface out there.

“Suspects!” Mindy said, finally seeming to get to the point. “With Ghostface, most likely, back we should go over potential people who might want to kill us! Because Bailey clearly won’t be of any help.”

Sam couldn’t help but glance at Quinn. The girl frowned at Mindy’s words but didn’t move to argue with her. Mindy also didn’t bother sparing Quinn a glance, let alone an apology. Sam couldn’t help but frown at Quinn’s reaction, or her lack of reaction. Detective Bailey was Quinn’s father, and she wasn’t saying anything to stick up for him or defend him. Sam wasn’t sure if that alone was suspicious or if Quinn just knew by now there was no point in arguing with Mindy.

“First!” Mindy continued, holding up a finger. “Ethan! The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s just so shy and dorky.”

“I’m a suspect because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?” Ethan questioned, gesturing at Chad awkwardly.

“Roommate lotteries can be fixed,” Mindy rolled her eyes as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. “And second, Quinn!” Mindy turned, smiling at Quinn. “Tara and Sam’s slutty roommate, a horror movie classic.”

“Sex positive,” Quinn corrected. Though she didn’t seem offended by Mindy’s accusation like Ethan had.

“How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online.”

“No need to say more, you’ve implicated yourself enough!”

“It was an anonymous ad,” Tara said. “And we vetted her.” Sam nodded, she had done incredibly thorough questioning to both Quinn and Bailey when they were interviewing potential roommates. “Plus, her dads a cop.”

“And that makes it more likely!” Mindy gestured wildly. “Cop dad is a great cover! Besides, what are the odds, your dad, would get this case?” Mindy crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Quinn.

“How the hell would I know?” Quinn crossed her arms, finally seeming to get annoyed by Mindy.

“And lastly, Anika,” she smiled at her girlfriend. “You aren’t clear either.”

Anika’s face fell. “Are you kidding me?” she asked.

“Sorry babe,” Mindy shrugged. Anika just scoffed, crossing her arms and turning her head away as she refused to look at Mindy.

“I think that’s all the suspects,” Mindy said, giving herself a little nod of approval.

“And Y/N,” Sam added. Everyone turned to her with raised eyebrows. “What?” Sam shoved her hands in her pockets. “I just think they should be on the list.”

“I thought you said you haven’t ever spoken to them?” Mindy narrowed her eyes.

“I haven’t.”

“Then why would they be a suspect?” Tara questioned, crossing her arms.

“Because we have the same schedule!” Sam tried to reason. “No matter when I go, no matter what day, or what time, they’re there.”

“Suspicious,” Mindy admitted. “Anything else?”

“They have fighting experience. Not sure how much but I’ve seen them train, they definitely know what they’re doing.”

Sam continued to ramble on about you. She told them once again about how similar your schedules seemed, even when it was well after midnight and there was no one else there you’d show up. She talked all about the kind of people you did talk to and how you were otherwise reserved. Then she got into your workout and mentioned how much you lift and how much you focus on either sparring with someone or hitting the punching bag. When Sam was finished revealing all her observations about you, she looked around at the others. Everyone was looking back at her with raised eyebrows, she was going to assume they were just shocked by her keen observation skills.

“They are pretty badass,” Chad added, holding a finger up. “I hate to admit it because they seem so cool,” he let out a little chuckle. “But the way they fought that dude in the ring,” he let out an impressed whistle. “I’d hate to see what they’d do to an enemy.”

Everyone’s face slowly morphed into one of worry. Ethan and Quinn gave each other a look of concern and Tara looked at Sam as if Sam would have a solution to their problem. Sam could only offer her sister a comforting smile, she didn’t know who this new Ghostface was, but she wouldn’t let him hurt Tara.

“Okay, we’ll add them to the list,” Mindy agreed.

Sam nodded. A part of her felt a little guilty for suspecting you of such heinous things when you’ve only ever been nice, but she couldn’t take the risk. She dated Richie for months and he betrayed and used her, she hadn’t even spoken a single word to you. Sam didn’t have a real reason to suspect you, besides the fact that you went to the same gym, which a lot of people went to, but none of them had even close to the same random schedule she did, and she had never seen any of them fight like you could. She hoped you were just the cute stranger from her gym though, and not some psychopath. But she knew her life, there was no way her first crush since Richie was just a normal person that went to her gym, and all the other stuff, the stuff that drew her to you, was just coincidence, she wasn’t that lucky.

After being satisfied with their suspect list everyone went their separate ways with most of them going to class, while Sam went to work. Sam managed to get home and change but didn’t have time for a nap before having to head to her job. She managed to make it to the diner she worked at, just before she had to clock in.

Sam tried to focus on work and not let her mind wander to Ghostface and what was happening. She ignored the way people kept glancing at her, she ignored the articles she saw on their phones when she came to fill their coffee cups, she ignored the way customers bumped into her, spilling their milkshakes, ketchup, and syrup all over her. She ignored it all, she put on her fake smile and apologized to the next person who bumped into her.

Sam glanced at her phone every time she had a spare moment, when she knew, she wouldn’t get caught by her boss. She ordered everyone to text her throughout the day, so she’d know they were okay. She ordered her sister though to text her every fifteen minutes, Tara had rolled her eyes, but she had been doing it, if Sam didn’t hear from Tara within the time frame she would try calling first and then head off to wherever Tara was supposed to be.

When Sam’s shift finally finished, she rushed home, ignoring the way everyone was lounging in the living room once again as she ran to her bedroom. She didn’t have long before she needed to be at her therapy appointment, and she needed to shower and change first. She moved as quick as she could, showering long enough to get rid of the diner smell but not long enough to actually enjoy having the water rain down on her.

“I have therapy tonight,” Sam said as she rushed around the living room, ignoring her still damp hair. “I’ll be back later.” Tara nodded. “Be careful, stay inside, and don’t unlock the door for anyone.” Sam gave all of them a pointed look.

“We know,” Tara sighed. “You be careful too,” she whispered.

Sam smiled at her sister, giving everyone a quick wave goodbye before making her way out the door. She made sure to lock all the locks and double check herself before walking down the stairs. Her neighbor Danny offered her a kind smile, holding the door open for her as he was coming, and she was going. Sam did a quick check of her surroundings before shoving her hands in her pocket and began making her way to her therapy appointment.

Before Sam knew it, she was sitting in her therapist’s office, pulling at her sweater as she refused to look her therapist in the eye. She hadn’t been seeing the woman very long, she was seeing a guy for a while but when he learned her dad was Billy Loomis, he basically stopped being helpful. When Sam found Doctor Williams, Sam had started the first session by telling her all about her father, if this therapist wasn’t going to be helpful either Sam figured she might as well figure it out right away instead of wasting all her time and money.

“We’ve been sitting in silence for twenty minutes,” Doctor Williams said, not looking up from her notepad as she continued to write something down. Sam wasn’t sure what the doctor could be writing considering she had yet to speak. “Your session is only an hour long, if you want to talk,” she glanced at her watch. “You might want to think about starting soon.”

Sam frowned and flicked a glare at Williams. “I met someone,” Sam said, breaking the ice.

“That’s good,” Williams smiled, setting down her notepad and pen. “How has that been?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly talked to them yet.”

“How-How does that work?” Williams furrowed her brow.

“We go to the same gym,” Sam nodded along with her words. She was sure this was probably making her sound even crazier than she already seemed. “We’ve shared looks and a few nods,” Sam smiled to herself

She didn’t miss the small smile still on Williams’s face. “And what’s stopping you from talking to them?”

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the carpet, she pursed her lips, nodding to herself. “I think someone is trying to kill me and my sister again.” She looked up to see William’s staring at her with wide eyes. “And they’re on the suspect list,” Sam gave a little shrug.

Williams opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly trying to process her words. “You think the person you like is trying to kill you?” Williams said slowly.

“Well, not just them, everyone’s a suspect.” Williams nodded unsurely. “I’m not being paranoid,” Sam tried to assure. “At least I don’t think I am,” she shook her head. “Tara always says I’m too paranoid but this time there’s a legitimate reason.”

Sam’s words slowly died down as Doctor Williams raised her hand. “Let’s start from the beginning,” Williams said softly.

Sam swallowed, ringing her hands as she tried to calm her nerves. “There was a murder last night. Two boys in Tara’s class killed their professor.” Williams furrowed her brow. “Then someone murdered them in their apartment.” Williams opened her mouth, but Sam wasn’t done yet. “There’s no proof, but the killings might have been committed by Ghostface.”

“And what makes you think this is Ghostface? Are you sure he’s not just on your mind, it’s around that time of year, no?”

Sam clenched her hands together. “The two students, they were fanatics,” she rolled her eyes. “Fans of Richie apparently. They were planning on killing me and my sister, but someone killed them first.”

“And you think that someone is Ghostface?”

Sam nodded. “Ghostface would never let two kids,” she scoffed. “Take out me and my sister. Not that they could,” she ran a hand through her hair.

Before Doctor Williams could say anything else the timer went off, signaling the end of their session. “See, you next week, I guess.” Sam gave a shy smile as she got up from the couch.

“Wait, I don’t want you to do anything rash,” Williams rushed, following behind her but Sam was already out the door.

Sam checked her surroundings once again as she exited the building. She began her walk back to the apartment. When she got back to the apartment, she saw everyone still in the living room. “We got pizza,” Tara said, nodding to the box on the table. Sam snapped a glare at her sister as she dropped her keys into the bowl by the door. “Anika went to pick it up,” Tara held up her hands, but Sam didn’t miss the eyeroll.

Sam sighed, shaking her head at her sister as she made her way to her room. She got ready for bed, but her mind wouldn’t stop. She kept thinking about the killings, about Ghostface potentially being back, and who they could trust.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998

[tommybuckleykinard]

this fandom is getting ridiculous lmao

what you mean oliver didnt go into detail about bucktommy??? lmao of course he didn't that'd be giving us spoilers since he said the time skip wasn't that big

and some of these folks tryna use this as a gotcha are the same people praising certain journalists for not giving spoilers after they got screeners. and now they suddenly think oliver was gonna spoil shit and that he didn't is a bad sign. make it make sense pls

this is too funny

every day some of these folks remind me how young they are. cuz they react like oliver saying "the relationship with tommy is much more where it was left off, it's in early stages, they're still learning and figuring things about each other and what a relationship might or could look like" is somehow a bad thing.

these are two men over 30 tryna balance life, work and a relationship, and them having convos about their future together and what that'd look like is actually a very good thing. this a very good convo to have in the early stages of a relationship and it shows how seriously they're taking it. they're too old to play around and they both seem like they're ready to settle down.

both oliver and lou have implied that their characters want love and are ready for a serious long term relationship. oliver especially is tired of the hamster wheel buck has been on. also this show isnt gonna be around for another 12 seasons. tough convos have to happen quick. oliver saying "might or could look like" is not a red flag, it's actually really good because it shows they're treating this like a serious long term relationship and they're both tryna figure out what they want from it and each other. and saying any more than that would just be spoilers for the beginning of the season and of the early stages of bucktommy's relationship.

I'm glad that it seems like we'll maybe actually get to see this on screen.

I hope we see their first ILYs

[ohnoitsz1m]

HEY. hey. hlvrai airplane furries. okay?

I do plan to make more. Dw. I already know what Tommy is. And I have a pretty good idea for Coomer as well. Bubby,,, I'm conflicted. I only got around to these two because I started at like midnight and it's currently 3 am again

More explanation and rambling below

For those out of the loop Airplane Dragons are an original furry species made by scpkid in like 2015? Idk. They've been around for a while and I really like them.

I've only gotten more interested in airplane dragons in the last 4 years because I'm around planes and jets literally every day,, and while it's not anywhere near MY field of study, being around them every day, you tend to pick up a decent bit of knowledge about them, at least enough to later turn your favorite characters into planes and jets for the hell of it.

For the other characters, if I ever get around to them:

Tommy would be one of those Concorde planes.

Why? Because I think this looks absolutely ridiculous, but the function of the drooped nose is played entirely seriously in a lot of cases and it just felt very Tommy to me. I DID consider making Bubby a Concorde instead but this feels too silly for him. He would never let himself be a Concorde plane...

Coomer, I'm thinking something ww2 era. Why? Old. Military background.

I don't really have any solid ideas for Bubby, maybe it'll come to me later.

[yncoreee]

CAN WE SKIP TO THE GOOD PART. Eunchae x reader

Synopsis — she can’t help with the constant teasing and flirting… well maybe she will now that chaewon has eyes on her

Warnings .ᐟ chaewon is really overprotective they have one short kiss, this is prop not all, Requested

꩜ — ⵌWord count 986

Eunchae still doesn’t know how and why she had gotten closer to you. over the past few weeks.

There was just something about you that pulled her like a magnet, the moment she laid eyes on you in the company’s building.

She couldn’t resist the constant flirting and teasing every time she met you. You were just too cute to not be babied nor teased.

Today was like the usual, lesserafim had been practicing all day, working on routines and all.

Eunchae decided to sneakily leave the practice room with the excuse of “getting some refreshments” which was obviously a lie. She was on her way to look for you.

She thought of going back, losing hopes. She was having a feeling that you didn’t come today. Until she bumped into a smaller figure.

“So sor— mmm if it isn’t the cutest girl in this building” she said with a small smirk as she helped you up from the floor.

Playfully, you rolled your eyes dusting the dirt away from your clothes. “You really suck at trying to get me flustered” you responded but couldn’t hold back a smile that tugged the corner of your lips.

“What?? I’m just telling the truth” she shrugged innocently leaning against the wall.

“Yeah right” you said with sarcasm. “Jeez, is that why you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy?” You pointed out raising an eyebrow at the taller girl.

“Oh and what if I just like you?” She asked pushing her body away from the wall, taking small steps towards you.

“You’re crazy” you rolled your eyes, playfully pushing her away. Eunchae let out a low chuckle “Yeah right. Crazy for you”. She smirked, leaning down. Of course she wasn’t going to get away that easily.

You felt your breath hitch and your heart beating faster the closer her face seemed to get to yours. Was she…..trying to kiss you.

No idea. You had absolutely no idea what she’s up to. But something about the way she stares at your lips just draws you closer to her.

Just as the gap between your lips were a mere inches apart a loud gasp was heard from behind.

“WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING HERE?!” Your body felt stiff after hearing the familiar voice.

Eunchae stepped away from you, like she had been caught red handed. “I-i chaewon u-unnie?” She managed to stutter, averting her gaze everywhere but the angry leader's face. Which probably looked red and on the verge of exploding.

“What the hell were you thinking of doing to my sister” she spoke through gritted teeth, eyeing the younger girl who, even though was 5cm taller, felt so small under her threatening gaze.

You stood in between them more specifically on eunchae’s side. Ready to protect her from what your sister could possibly pull next.

Eunchae on the other hand was completely baffled. She blinked multiple times at the new found information. “W-wait sister?!”

Chaewon let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes sister. Are you that dumb? Don’t you see the resemblance?!” She yelled the last part like it was the most obvious thing on earth.

“Ack!! Unnie I swear I didn’t know. I never knew! It’s just I like her soooo much, she gives me butterflies in my tummy!! I couldn’t help myself. I promise I won’t ever mess with her again!!” Eunchae pleaded practically kneeling on the ground for chaewon.

“Shut up and stop crying!” ….. “but do you seriously like her?” Chaewon asked. Her expression slowly softened.

“Yes!! I really really like her!” Eunchae nodded her head rapidly as she pulled your hands closer but immediately let go as soon as she noticed the scowl on Chaewon’s face.

Your heart felt like it was running a marathon as you glanced over at the eunchae who was being confident and teasing some minutes ago.

Chaewon closed her eyes, processing the girls words with a skeptical look. “YOU!” She opened her eyes pointing at you. “You like her back huh?”

You came back to reality closing your mouth. “Yes, I really really like her” you answered, nodding your head.

Seeing the skepticism in Chaewon’s eyes eunchae could feel her heart pounding as the pressure only increased. “Unnie I swear I’ll treat her right! I’ll be her forever love, I’ll—“

“Shut it” chaewon held up her index finger to silence the nervous girl.

She sighed finally coming to a conclusion after what seemed like ages. “Fine, I'll give you just one chance. And if you hurt her! I’ll make you decrease in height” chaewon threatened with a stern warning.

Eunchae gulped feeling intimidated by Chaewon’s facial expressions. “I promise” she whispered quietly.

“Good!” Chaewon huffed angrily stomping her foot away but came back to give another warning. “And NO kissing okay?!” She peeped her head from the wall, using her index and middle finger to point to her eyes and back at eunchae. A gesture that meant “I’m watching you”

“Y-yes no kissing” eunchae stuttered.

Eunchae let out a sigh of relief and turned to face you after she heard distant footsteps. “Damn that was hella scary” she admitted leaning against the wall again.

You let out a soft chuckle. “Well at least be happy she even agreed. Chaewon Unnie doesn’t easily agree to thing,It would’ve taken ages” you said acting like it wasn’t that much of a big deal and it was something you were used to.

Eunchae’s eyes widened. “Ages?!! I can’t wait for ages…..” eunchae spoke in a low tone, placing her hands on your waist as she pulls you closer.

She looked around making sure the coast was clear of an angry pupu before finally closing the gap between your lips, placing a short and soft kiss. “I love you y/n” she confessed nuzzling her forehead into yours.

“I love you to—“

“HONG EUNCHAE I THOUGHT I SAID NO KISSING?!!!”

“Uh oh”

[heyaheiya]

Will you write something about single dad bakugo falling in love with his child’s daycare teacher and her or them feeling the same 🥺🥺 -🦕

Sorry this took so long 😭😭

— — — — — —

Katsuki didn’t plan on ever getting into a relationship again; just him and his darling daughter was enough for him. That was until your stupid face somehow wormed its way into his mind.

His girl, Bakugou Chiyo, had been going to daycare for a few months now, but he’d never met you officially.

As much as Mitsuki loved having the little one over most weekdays, she didn’t have all the time in the world to spend babysitting. Eijirou encouraged Katsuki to enroll Chiyo and had recommended the daycare he used for his kids. Despite Katsuki’s hesitation towards it, Eijirou wouldn’t stop pestering the man to give it a chance. Something about ‘socialisation’ or whatever. Still, Katsuki put up a good fight.

“Fuck no, you know how disgusting other people’s kids are?? I don’t want Chiyo catching rabies from those things.”

“It’s expensive, I’m not exactly rich right now you know!”

“How do I know those teachers are qualified?”

“I’m sure Chiyo’s gonna hate it so what’s the bother.”

Unfortunately, Chiyo loved it, waking up early and being pretty self sufficient for a 4 and a half year old. She even packed her bag herself before bed so it was ready the next morning. Yes it was filled with just stuffed animals, and what.

“Baby, do you seriously need all of your friends? Why not pick one?”

“But they’ll be lonely :(“

Katsuki had to write out a whole schedule of which plush goes to daycare on which day. This rotation made sure the toys all got an equal amount of days.

Chiyo had been getting chattier in the recent days. Perhaps shitty hair was right about the socialisation bit… However, at dinner that night, a new name kept coming up.

“-and I was really sad. But then, Smiley came over and made it better!”

“Who’s ’Smiley’, princess?”

“Silly daddy, you see her every day at pickup!”

That was helpful. One out of the army of children he has no time to notice.

“Tell me about Smiley. She nice to you?”

“Mhm! Today she secretly gave me a chocolate from the teacher desk :D”

Alarms went off in Katsuki’s head. Chiyo’s friends with a thief. Chiyo’s gonna turn into a criminal. Chiyo’s gonna get arrested in the future. Chiyo needs to stop being friends with this ‘Smiley’ kid!!

“What??”

“Yeah. She told me not to tell anyone or she’ll get in trouble… But you won’t tell, right daddy l?”

The next day and drop off, Katsuki stomped in, all geared up in his hero suit, with a massive scowl decorating his face. Usually Mitsuki and Masaru drop the sweetheart off in the mornings, and by the end of a long work day, Katsuki doesn’t have time to chat. So other parents and teachers had basically never had a proper conversation with the man. That sure was gonna change.

“Who is this ‘Smiley’ kid??”

The receptionist looked befuddled.

“Oh no.. what did she do?”

“Nunya goddamn business. Point me to ‘er”

A shaken older hand pointed towards a young and surprisingly pretty face across the room. Must be the kids mother.

Katsuki stomped his way over to the woman. Either she shrunk back in fear of the pro hero, or his anger made him grow a few inches.

“Oi! Who do you think you are? Letting your kids behave like that? I swear, don’t give me some shi- stupid excuse!”

“I’m so sorry! Has someone been picking on Chi-Chi?”

“Chi-Chi? Seriously nicknaming a kid that doesn’t belong to you? That’s so fuc- freaking creepy.”

Chiyo yanked at her father’s pant leg a bit.

“Don’t yell at Smiley like that >:(“

Huh. Smiley.. is the teacher. Oh. A normal person would instantly apologise, but Katsuki? Pro hero Dynamight?

“What kind of relationship do you have with my daughter??”

He made you look like a child predator in front of your entire classroom, their parents, and your boss +coworkers..To say he felt bad was an understatement, the look of your terrified and embarrassed face scarring his mind for days.

Then, Chiyo came home balling her eyes out.

“Miss Smiley wasn’t there! She left me!”

Fuck. He knew what he had to do.

+81 XXX XXX XXX: Meet me at the restaurant down the street in 10.

Y/N: What the freak

When he saw you walk in, his jaw dropped. Unfortunately, you were beautiful, like the girls on the covers of magazines. However, your cute and almost squishable face quickly turned to a glare, eyes shooting lasers through his face.

It’s silent for a long time.

“This is the part where you apologise for getting me fired.”

“Right, I’m really sorry.”

…

“Look, I love Chiyo so so much. She’s a good kid and I’m sure you can tell she’s grown an attachment to me. If it’s because you or her mother feels jealous-“

“I’m single, the mother is out of the picture.”

“Oh so you just felt like being a dick?”

“Mind your language, Sensei. Wouldn’t want any kids to develop a fowl tongue.”

“I’m the reason Chiyo doesn’t have some of your key vocabulary. Watch it, Dynamight.”

“Oh I’m so scared😒”

You instantly stood up and grabbed your purse. “If you’re just here to rub salt in the wound, I think we’re done.” Fuck. Katsuki yanked you back down into your seat, eyes begging.

“No, fuck- I can’t stop fucking this up. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Wanna add another f-bomb to that statement?”

“Fuck off.”

“There we go.”

Katsuki groaned to himself, wanting to kill himself right there and then.

“I came here to apologise and fix things, but I’m stupid and can’t fucking communicate!”

“There are other swear words y’know?”

“Take me seriously.”

Your face softened slightly. You seriously thought he might cry in the middle of some random ramen restaurant.

“How do I fix this??”

“Well..”

You didn’t ask for too much really. Shopping spree (clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, skincare, shoes, hair pins, the works), official apology to everyone who was in the room at the time, get job back, and a bunch of tiramisu.

After all that, you were nothing but smiles. Then it clicked. Always smiling. Miss Smiley. Damn, that was a lazy nickname.

“Chiyo was the one who came up with ‘Miss Smiley’.”

It’s the best goddamn nickname anyone has ever made.

“Is there anything else you wanna add to that long ass list of yers???”

“Perchance..”

“Well??”

“A second date?”

— — — — — — — — — — —

This is not my best, I’m sorry 😭😭 hope you enjoyed! And requests are still open. Please, I need inspiration 🙏🙏

[ikilledyvette]

(Realized I was never gonna finish this long ass 9-1-1 fic before the premiere, so today I’m doing the seriously condensed version for Tumblr—which I still have to break into two parts, ffs.)

It’s Thursday afternoon, three days before Father’s Day, and the atmosphere at the 118 is grim. Gerrard is gone, at least, and everyone celebrated with cake—specifically, a Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead! cake, complete with a chocolate house crushing little black boots—but to everyone’s surprise, Buck isn’t exactly welcoming Bobby home with open arms anymore. He hasn’t forgiven Bobby for resigning in the first place. Making matters worse, Margaret and Philip Buckley are flying in for the weekend. Also, Eddie is depressed because Chris hasn’t called since he left for Texas six weeks ago, and Eddie doesn’t expect to hear from him on Sunday, or possibly ever again.

Hen tells Eddie Christopher will forgive him. “He’ll come home. He just needs a minute.” Eddie says that six weeks is a hell of a minute, but Hen persists. “You’re a good father,” she says, ignoring Eddie’s humorless laugh. “You messed up; I’m not saying you didn’t. But that doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, too. Kids, they want you to hear them. They want you to show up, so when Christopher calls, pick up the phone and listen. You two love each other, Eddie. It’s going to work out.”

But Eddie’s gaze just drifts to the kitchen, where Bobby is quietly looking at the stack of uneaten fire-engine-shaped mini-waffles that Buck refused to eat, even though he’s the one who bought Bobby that ridiculous novelty waffle-maker in the first place

“You ever think maybe love just isn’t enough,” Eddie says, and Hen isn’t sure how to answer that.

*

Meanwhile, Chimney, thankfully, has the day off and is drinking a beer with Tommy. (Hen, left to deal with these weird morose vibes at the 118 by herself, quite rightly considers this a betrayal and has appropriately sworn revenge.) Chimney and Tommy talk a little about their own families: Tommy hasn’t spoken to his dad in years; meanwhile, Chimney finally gave up months ago after actually telling his dad how he really felt about being abandoned. He just needed to hear his father apologize once, just once—but he couldn’t do that, not even that, and Chimney decided enough was enough. 

Tommy, who’s only ever met the Buckley Parents one time (but has quickly clocked to Buck’s wildly shifting moods whenever discussing them), asks Chimney how much of a disaster this weekend is likely to be. Chimney tells Tommy that—apart from big family secrets and the general emotional trauma—every time the Buckleys visit, someone comes close to death: warehouse fire (Buck), lightning strike (Buck), viral encephalitis (Chimney). 

“Maybe don’t go up in a helicopter till they’re gone?” Chimney suggests, and Tommy says, “Jesus,” and gets another beer.

*

Back at the 118, things have gone from bad to worse. A call leads to Buck recklessly risking his own life to save someone. He walks away with only a few bruises, but Bobby yells at him for nearly getting himself killed. Buck snarks that he must still be that young, impulsive hothead after all. Bobby, a bit at a loss, tells Buck that he has come a long way, but he can’t put himself in danger just because he’s angry at Bobby. 

“What is this really about? You can talk to me, kid. I’m here.”

“Right,” Buck says, scornful. “You’re here. For ... how long again? Seven more, I think you said? No—no, you never actually said, did you? That one’s on me. Right, Cap?”

The bell goes off, ending the argument. Bobby tries to talk to Buck again after the shift, but Buck is already out the door. He barely gets any sleep that day before he and Tommy drive over for The Big Family Dinner. Tommy tries to talk Buck into staying home, suggesting they go tomorrow night instead, but Buck insists it will be a Thing if they don’t go.

Dinner goes badly. Margaret and Phillip aren’t intentionally rude or actively malicious, but there’s still a thread of casual biphobia in much of what they say: Evan’s always going through these phases. Well, if it’s not a phase, Evan, you must have known; how could you not? Please don’t misunderstand, Tommy, of course we like YOU. Very much! Yes, Tommy, thank you for your service. We’re just saying, Evan likes to throw us for a loop now and then. Really, Evan, you’ve had so many girlfriends you’re basically straight, aren’t you?

Buck finally loses it shortly after Maddie goes into the other room to check on Jee Yun. Margaret suggests that while she’s happy that Buck and Tommy are happy, of course—happy for now, at least—she’d just hoped Buck would’ve started to settle down by now, get serious about someone, rather than start experimenting. Phillip also jokes that he’d thought Buck had outgrown making bids for attention, and Buck just—snaps. 

“Why did I have to work so hard to get your attention again? Right. Cause it was too hard to look at me. Cause I was the reminder of what you lost, the screwup you got left with. Maybe if Daniel had grown up and turned out bi, you’d—"

—and Margaret slaps Buck across the face. 

It shocks everyone, very much including Margaret, but when Buck finally blinks and glances at his dad, Phillip automatically moves to stand behind his wife, silently taking her side. Buck, a bit dazed, mutters he’s sorry and tells Chimney not to tell Maddie what happened, right before Tommy all but pushes Buck out the door and drives him home.

Buck, still a little shellshocked, mostly can’t believe he said what he said, insists he shouldn’t have gotten that upset, and tries to brush off Tommy’s efforts to comfort him. Tries to get him to leave. Tries to distract him with sex when Tommy refuses to leave. Tommy, not having any of it, sits Buck down and talks a little about his own childhood, how he’d run away from home after his father had found out Tommy was gay, how—broken and bleeding—Tommy had never called, never looked back. Buck protests it’s not the same because Margaret and Philip aren’t abusive, have never hit him before tonight, aren’t really homophobic—at least, not in the same way—and also, Buck deserved that slap. 

“Who throws a dead kid in their parents face?” Buck asks, miserable.

“Someone who lived under the shadow of a brother he never knew about for 30 years?” Tommy asks, then takes Buck’s hand and makes Buck look at him.

“Look, maybe it’s not the same. You’re never going to convince me you deserved it, Evan, not any of it—but what I’m saying is, when people repeatedly hurt you? You don’t have to look back. You don’t have to keep trying. You can, if that’s what you want—but you don’t have to forgive anyone just because they’re family. That’s not what being a family should be. And, for what it’s worth, that includes Bobby, too. Just ... maybe consider what you’re actually angry about—or if it’s even anger you’re really feeling here—before deciding to cut him off for good.” 

Slowly, Buck sinks into Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around him. Kisses him gently just above birthmark.

(Part II is finished, coming tomorrow or the next day)

[iamtired10]

How do all 5 newjeans members also hyein fucks you

OUR FANDOM IS SO COOKED!

it's honestly getting worse every day and im just over it. like seriously how hard is it to have some common decency? i mean okay, if someone wants to request smut or anything like that, sure that's on them (though even then, people should respect boundaries) but asking for stuff about hyein? I MEAN EXCUSE ME!?

she's literally 16 fucking-years-old!

how are people even thinking that’s okay? like what? i see her as a little sister and that’s just so disturbing.

and let me tell you, ive seen worse.

some of these anons are just next level gross.

i genuinely hope they’re trolling because what was requested?

it’s not just uncomfortable—it’s SICK.

and it makes me lose faith in people seriously. there’s a line and some of y’all have just jumped over it without a second thought.

we really need to do better guys

good night (now i can't even sleep all night, tysm for that)

[violetisconfused]

Okay okay okay. Hear me out: Apollo x Telemachus.

I know I sound mental rn but it would be REALLY funny, and honestly kinda cute. Like you cannot deny that Telemachus would be Apollo’s type. I fear local pretty young prince is exactly the kinda person Apollo would be like “yeah I’d hit” and Tel would honestly probably go from “why is this god talking to me so often?” to “wait is he flirting with me?” to “wait but I don’t like men… but like Apollo’s kinda cute… wait no!” to “okay so maybe I like men but do I wanna get involved with a god?” pipeline of self discovery era all because the god of archery and music came down and started flirting one day

Athena is VERY unimpressed with her half brother for this one of course 😔 she is in fact their biggest hater (Ody is close in second he wants Apollo AWAY from his child)

Penelope and Hermes are very supportive of the relationship though. Penelope more in a “as long as you’re happy and he doesn’t hurt you or get you hurt I’m fine with it” way. Hermes though, he actively encouraged Apollo to start flirting with Telemachus to begin with (great grandpa being a wingman to get you set up with a god? More likely than you think)

As for the rest of the Olympians? Zeus is wondering why his existence is haunted by Odysseus and his family, same with Poseidon. Artemis is entirely unsurprised her twin brother has decided to start dating a mortal prince, it’s very on brand for him. Ares couldn’t care less, same with Hephaestus. Aphrodite is actually a big fan only because she can tell that Apollo genuinely likes Telemachus. Hera is indifferent about it but I like to imagine that after God Games she’s a slightly better step mom so she’s relatively supportive of Apollo’s prince rizzing endeavors.

The relationship itself is surprisingly highly functional and really normal despite Apollo being a god. For a long time Telemachus makes an internal vow to himself not to fall in love too much because he’s aware that Apollo tends to switch up on how much he loves his lovers sometimes and doesn’t wanna get hurt but after a very long discussion and Apollo swearing he’s serious about this (like Hyacinth levels of serious about this. Bro is LOCKED IN) and after staying up literally all night thinking about it Telemachus decides to seriously give this a chance and stop acting weird and it goes extremely well actually. They hang out daily, usually in like the woods or something or down by the shore where there isn’t anybody around simply because neither of them really wanna deal with other people knowing they’re together. It isn’t because either one is ashamed of the other or anything, just simply wanting privacy and knowing they wouldn’t get that with Telemachus being prince and Apollo being a literal god so people would probably just be staring the whole time.

Apollo also gives Telemachus gifts like crazy. He’ll write him love poems and songs all the time and is always equally as excited to show him every time (Telemachus is always just as excited to hear it because he’s never had anyone love him like this before)

Now the funniest part of this whole thing: the era where Apollo is trying to woo Telemachus. He 100% used serenading but stopped after Odysseus tried to shoot him with an arrow (to be fair it was the 10th time Apollo was outside the palace singing so the attempted shooting was pretty valid. Ody wanted his sleep)

Then Apollo started bugging Athena and tagging along with her whenever she’d visit the royal family (she knew what he was trying to do but there’s no stopping Apollo once he wants to woo somebody. Not for a lack of obvious hating though. Very actively hates on his flirting. Apollo is extremely un-subtle with his flirting too which makes it even funnier because 9/10 Telemachus just runs away because he’s never been flirted with before

Then after the flirting just turns into Telemachus avoiding Apollo at all costs (Telemachus is in his questioning his romantic attraction era during this but ofc Apollo doesn’t know this) Apollo just starts leaving love poems once a week (this goes on for about a month so four poems in total).

Then yk as I said before Telemachus decides to give it a shot blah blah blah gay people real they kiss the end 🥳

So yeah there’s me explaining my crackship. It’s essentially just: “Apollo likes pretty boys and Telemachus is a (very awkward) pretty boy”

[fawnandshadows]

How You Get The Girl

The Final Chapter - Chapter 26

AO3 ~ Masterlist

warnings: none

Word Count: 6.3K

“I’ve been thinking.” Elain said, her hand flat on Azriel’s stomach. His ripped muscles contracting under her touch as Elain gently caressed his skin.  

“I love your creativity, Elain,” Azriel said in a deep, husky voice. “But I have to say you’ve tired me out, which I really didn’t think was possible.” His sleepy chuckle caused desire to run through Elain’s veins. 

There was something about Azriel’s sleepy voice that elicited the desire to do the dirtiest things to him. It was so dark and warm that it fell over her like a velvet blanket. 

A slow grin spread over Elain’s lips. 

They were making the most of their time alone together. Having sex in almost every room of the house, Elain found she was especially fond of the sun room with its natural light – casting Azriel’s beautiful body in a golden glow –  while Azriel preferred her sprawled out in front of the fireplace in the dancing light of the flames. They were trying to cram as much as they could into the days they had Rosehall just to themselves. Like two teenagers running around before the realities of the world separated them. 

In a few hours, Rhysand and Feyre would be joining them, arriving right before lunch and Elain had already planned the menu for the meal she’d make for everyone. Something light and refreshing and subliminally begged her sister to not be angry that she and Azriel hijacked their time at Rosehall – not that Feyre would be upset, but Elain still wanted to make the effort.

Azriel turned out to be a great partner to have in the kitchen, cleaning up her mess without ever having to be asked. And Elain loved giving him little samples of her food because every time she asked him how something tastes, Azriel would think about his answer. Turning the food over on his tongue before giving his honest feedback. It was just nice that he took her so seriously. He was thoughtful in every aspect of his life, but it made her melt to be the focus of his consideration. Azriel was thoughtful in a way that made her feel cherished – thoughtful in a way no one else had ever been to her.

Elain suppressed a giggle as she trailed her fingers closer to his hips where the white sheet was tangled. The urge to take a picture of Azriel in his afterglow all sprawled in messy and mused sheets nipped at her.

“That wasn’t what I was thinking about,” Elain admitted, but she pressed closer into his side as the ache between her thighs pulsed in delight. “But I’m glad you think I’m creative.” She smiled shyly at him. 

Everything with Azriel was different. She didn’t hide from him, and whenever she got an idea she shared it freely. The lingering insecurities would most likely always stay with her, at least for sometime, but with Azriel she knew she was safe from judgment or censure. 

Azriel shifted onto his side, propping one hand under his head to look down at her, a soft smile on his lips. Wild, inky, bedheaded strands fell over his forehead and into his hazel eyes. He reached forward and grasped her kee to pull one leg over his hips. 

“And you surprised me with your flexibility.” Azriel said into her neck, his lips moving over her pulsing veins. 

“Yoga is the only physical activity I like.” Elain breathed as Azriel’s warm lips met her skin. 

A small noise sounded from the back of Azriel’s throat. 

“The only physical activity?”

Elain could feel his smirk against her neck as she raked her fingers through his thick hair. 

“Ok, it’s my second favorite.” Elain said, grinding her hips into his and Azriel groaned at the movement. 

“I think it’s best if you just tell me what you’re thinking, beautiful.” Azriel said, pressing a kiss into her shoulder and brushing back her tangle of golden hair. He pulled back to look at her face, sensing that whatever she said was going to be important. 

“Well,” Elain started, taking a deep breath and pulling back slightly, delving further into the down pillow. “I already mentioned that I wanted to stop modeling,” Azriel nodded, watching her carefully to see where this was going. Encouraging her gently with his eyes. “And I’ve been writing more and more lately…I think I want to try to do it full time. Try and get something original published, you know? It could all blow up in my face, of course, we don’t even know if I can write original fiction, but I’d really like to try.” 

Azriel wrapped his fingers around hers. His thumb gently rubbed circles against her soft skin.

“I think that’s amazing, Elain,” Azriel said softly, taking in the hesitant joy on her face. He’d read her work and genuinely enjoyed it. Mor was the one that monitored her fanfiction account for security purposes, but he’d always found himself going back to see if she’d posted. “Your fics get a crazy amount of interactions. You’re incredibly talented. And I happen to know for a fact that you could write original fiction.”

“You do?” Elain asked, raising a slim brow. 

Azriel nodded and said, “When I read your work, it’s separate from the original source. The characters are familiar enough, but the way you create plots and wind everything together, it’s all you. And not to mention that your writing can stand on its own. You have talent, Elain.” 

Elain’s heart stopped in her chest and she took in his words. A rosy glow swirled through her.

“You’re only saying that because you got laid.” Elain mumbled, blushing as she squeezed his hand. 

“Hey,” Azriel said, his dark brows furrowed together, and he used his fingers to lift her chin up to meet his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t discredit your own talent.” 

A stinging pricked at her eyes and an overwhelming sense of luck made her feel like she was floating. 

“Thank you for saying that,” Elain whispered, her heart tying itself into a knot in her chest. She scooted even closer to him. “I’m grateful to have you in my life. I know my sisters love me, but I never really felt like I’ve someone in my corner like this before.” 

Azriel's eyes softened as he ran a comforting thumb over her delicate chin.

“I love you.” Azriel said huskily in a thick voice, his eyes bright and golden and full of emotion. 

“I love you too.” Elain said, leaning close to him and brushing her nose against his. 

“I love you more.” Azriel teased, pressing his lips against her. 

“Prove it.” 

— — — —

“Ah, fuck,” Azriel said, furiously sticking his foot through the leg of his jeans. Balancing on one leg as Elain rushed around the room as someone feverishly pounded on the front door. “Don’t they have a key?”

Elain slipped her purple sundress over her head, fluffing her hair and desperately trying to tame any flyaways. 

“How do I look?” Elain asked, her cheeks bright and pink and flushed. He wanted to take a bite of her.

“Like you just had the most intense orgasm of your life.” Azriel said, zipping his jeans and grabbing the wrinkled white t-shirt on the ground. 

Elain groaned and hid her face in her hands, her golden hair curtaining her arms. 

The knocking sped up another notch. 

“Who the fuck died?” Azriel said in a clipped tone, annoyed that his time with Elain ended this way. He stepped towards Elain and gently grasped her wrists to pull her hands away from her face. 

She gazed up at him with wide, vulnerable brown eyes. 

“You look beautiful, Elain.” Azriel said honestly, relieved that some of the tension had eased from her shoulders. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but the knocking sounded off again. 

“Fuck.” Azriel said, rolling his eyes before spinning on his feet and charging out of the room. 

“It’s just Feyre and Rhysand.” Elain said behind him. Her soft feet padded across the floor to keep up with him. “Probably.”

“Don’t they have a key?” Azriel asked, flying down the steps. 

“Yeah.” Elain said, her voice trailing off and Azriel knew she thought this was as odd as he did. 

Azriel whipped open the door to see a frenzied Feyre and Rhysand looking at them apologetically, a sleeping lump in Feyre’s arms known as Nyx snoozed heavily. 

“We’re really sorry about this,” Feyre said at the same time Rhysand said, “We tried to stop them.” 

Two more cars pulled into the long driveway, dirt and gravel kicking up into the air, and Elain felt her heart deflate in her chest. She recognized Cassian's car and registered that the long hair in the passenger's seat belonged to Nesta, but the other car could only belong to one other person. 

Elain bit back a groan as she saw her parents exit the car, both of them pinning Elain and Azriel with the weight of their stares. 

— — — — 

Azriel was the first one that liked her post. 

It made her smile even though she was tucked into his side, curled up on a loveseat in the corner of the room. Her parents were somewhere in the kitchen far, far away from the rest of the family, but Feyre and Rhysand were laying on the couch in front of the fireplace, and Nesta and Cassian were off doing something that Elain didn’t want to think about. Based on the heated looks that those two had been throwing each other's way, Elain had missed a lot in the one week she’d been away from the world. 

“You really do have a talent. '' Elain whispered to Azriel, looking at the pictures she just posted and ignoring the steady flow of incoming notifications. The first was the one that he had taken of her in the garden on the day he helped her move — she never even saw him there, but he saw her. He had always seen her. And then she swiped to the second picture, the one that was leaked. She debated whether or not to post it, and after talking through it with Azriel, she knew she had to. Elain loved the picture that Azriel had taken and she wanted to reclaim it. Own it. She wanted to show off her boyfriend’s talent, and she wouldn’t let something so lovely be tainted. And the third and final picture. The one of her second tattoo, the tiny heart on her ribcage that Azriel had inked on her while they were at Rosehall…. Azriel and Elain were standing in front of a mirror and while Azriel was wearing a tight, black t-shirt, Elain was only wearing a pink, floral, flouncy skirt…and Azriel’s hands. His hands were big enough to hold all of her breasts, and Elain had made sure to crop the picture into a close up, so that only their forms in the mirror could be seen and nothing else in the room around them. 

A high-pitched squeal sound from the couch and Elain couldn’t help the excited smile that spread across her lips. Butterflies were working overtime in her stomach. 

Feyre’s head popped up from the couch in a way that reminded Elain of the Whac-A-Mole game. Her golden brown hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her blue eyes were bright and alert as she took in her sister curled into Azriel’s side - Feyre’s smile took over half her face. Rhysand slowly appeared behind Feyre, his face not nearly as lit up as Feyre’s, but he gazed at her in soft adoration.

The white light of her phone illuminated her face as Feyre read in delight, “‘LOVE OF MY LIFE?’ ‘MY BOYFRIEND IS TALENTED?’” Feyre threw her head back in a cackle and kicked the arm of the sofa in excitement. “Why don’t you just tell the haters to f off?” Rhysand pressed his lips into Feyre’s hair, hiding his smile over her enjoyment. “Hard launching your hot boyfriend while showing off how talented he is? I have to share it.” 

Elain’s phone buzzed with a notification as Feyre liked, commented, and shared the post to her story. She knew if she clicked on Feyre’s post she’d see a slew of hearts and fanfare. 

“Hot?” Rhysand said, his brows knitted together and his violet eyes fixed Azriel with a glare. Azriel just shrugged at him, but Elain got the feeling he was smirking. 

Heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs with muffled voices speaking over each other. 

“You bitch!” Nesta exclaimed, skidding into the room wearing Cassian’s boxers and t-shirt and somehow making it look fashionable. Cassian stood behind her in only gray sweatpants with a giant smirk on his face, both of their hair needed brushing. “You hard launched Azriel and didn’t tell me. Ugh, I would have tagged all those nasty bitches that called you a whore.” 

“Nesta!” Elain shouted, hiding her face in Azriel’s chest, his strong arms wrapping around her, but his body shook as he laughed at Nesta’s words. 

“Fuck, you guys look good,” Nesta said, zooming in on a picture. “Azriel showing off his eight pack looks hot as hell, and while also showing off his hand size? Flaunting your hot boyfriend is just the start of your revenge,” Nesta held up her hand palm-side out. “I’m not about Azriel accidentally leaking a dick pic, just so everyone can see how good you’re getting it.” 

“Hot?” Cassian said, drawing back in outrage as Elain tossed a pillow at her sister.

“Dick pic?” Elain said, lifting her head from Azriel’s chest and staring at her sister. 

“Well, yeah,” Nesta said, looking up from her phone and placing a hand on her hip. “People have been slut shaming you online for weeks now, and showing off how hot Azriel is just the beginning. We need a full blown plan of attack.” 

“Hot?” Cassian said again, even louder than before. 

“Yeah,” Feyre said, nodding and looking back and forth between Cassian and Rhysand. “It’s about time you guys learned that Azriel is very, very good looking.” 

Azriel chortled into Elain’s hair. He whispered into Elain’s ear, so no one else could hear him, “Make sure Nesta never goes on my phone.” A shiver raked through her body, but she playfully elbowed him. 

“I feel the need to point out that I agree,” Elain said, raising her hand and smiling brightly. “I’m going to love showing you off.” She looked over her shoulder to Azriel who was gazing at her with a smile on his lips and a blush on his cheeks. 

Cassian sighed with his entire being. 

“We know that Azriel is hot.” Rhysand said, causing Azriel to groan and hide his face in Elain’s hair. 

“We were just hoping that you two,” Cassian continued, his index finger moving back and forth  between Nesta and Feyre. “Didn’t notice.” 

Rhysand nodded his head in agreement. 

Heavy, less excited footsteps hurried down the hall and Elain felt some of the joy she was feeling dim out a bit. She steeled herself as her parents entered the doorway, her father carrying Nyx on his hip. 

“Mama!” Nyx called out, his hands outstretched and making grabbing motions towards Feyre on the couch. 

Her father slowly walked across the wooden floor, his expression neutral and he handed his grandson to his daughter. 

Her mother’s manicured hands lifted to her hips and her eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Are you pregnant?” She asked in a cold, detached voice. 

Elain’s body froze and she couldn’t stop the “No?” that eeked out of her. 

“You’re not sure?” Her mother asked and Elain felt about two feet tall. 

“Of course I’m sure,” Elain asked, steadying her voice as Azriel’s hands tightened on her body in comfort. “I’m just surprised that you asked,” Elain paused for a second, and her irritation took over as she continued. “Azriel and I use condoms.” 

“Yeah,” Nesta snorted. “Just look in the bathroom trash.” 

Elain’s face burned, but Cassian quietly scolded her so Elain didn’t have to. 

“So glad our family lake house was the perfect place for your sexcapades,” Her mother stated calmly through narrowed eyes, causing Elain to cringe and fight off the humiliation that was itching underneath the surface of her skin. “I —”

Azriel’s body tensed behind hers, and Elain dug her nails into his arm to keep him at bay. 

“Ew,” Feyre cried, covering Nyx’s ears. “Mom, can you please not say that?” 

“Well, your sister is the one who made our home into a den of iniquity, so I hardly I think —” 

“Helena,” Elain’s father cut her off in a stern voice. A voice that Elain knew he tossed around during his business meetings, but she could count on one hand the amount of times she heard it used on family members. “Could you please retract your claws and stop attacking our daughter.” 

Elain felt her jaw drop. 

Her mother’s shoulders snapped back at the words and she fixed her cool gaze on her husband. 

“Richard,” She hissed. “Your little girl has been shacking up,” Her mother gave an exaggerated shiver. “In our family house, and you’re defending her? I mean,” She held out a hand towards where Elain and Azriel were curled together on the couch. “Look at the man she has chosen to tie herself to. We were supposed to be planning her marriage to Graysen by now.” 

“I have seen him,” Her father said, his blue eyes flashing towards where the loveseat and Elain leaned deeper into Azriel’s warm embrace. “And I’ve seen the way he’s protected her despite all the trouble it’s caused both of them, and I’ve more than seen and understood the reason that Feyre is alive because of him,” Azriel’s body tensed around her and a pall cutrained the room at her father’s words. “So, if Elain wants to spend her life with him, then we sure as fuck aren’t getting in the way.” 

Her mother pursed her lips and leveled her father with a cool glare. 

“If you say so, darling,” Elain’s mother said coldly, undoubtedly embarrassed to have been spoken to like that in front of an audience. “I know that’s what we agreed to before we came here,” Helena struck back her shoulders into perfect position, and Elain felt floored at the revelation. That her parents had not only spoken about her choices, but apparently accepted who she chose to spend her life with. It didn’t surprise Elain that her father had an easier time accepting Azriel than her mother did. “I apologize.” She jerked her head at Elain and Azriel. 

“Thanks.” Elain said, feeling oddly removed from her body. She felt Azriel nod behind her. 

“And we also wanted to let everyone know that dinner is ready,” Her father said, outstretching an arm to lead to the large doorway behind him. “Please dress accordingly.” He looked sternly at Nesta, who begrudgingly nodded her head and left the room with Cassian hot on her heels. 

“Nyxie needs his dinner as well.” Helena said, her voice infinitely more soft when talking about her grandchild. Even though her mother wouldn’t have been happy if she was pregnant, Elain thought, she knew her child would be doted on by her parents.  

“You got an empty belly, buddy?” Ferye asked Nyx, her fingers dancing over his rounded tummy, causing his little feet to start kicking. 

Feyre and Rhysand quickly left for the kitchen, Helena following behind them. 

Elain slowly stood from her spot on the loveseat and she knew that Azriel echoed her movements. She moved across the floor and wrapped her arms around her father’s tired form. 

“Thanks Daddy.” She whispered as she squeezed him tightly. Emotion flooding through her in a way that nearly knocked her over. Overwhelming relief that almost brought her to tears. 

She knew that there were battles that she and Azriel would have to fight down the line, but knowing this wasn’t one of them made her feel like she was standing in sunshine. 

Her father awkwardly patted her on the back, slightly unsure of how to react. 

“I just want you to be happy.” He said softly. Elain tightened her eyes shut and pulled him in closer before taking a step away and giving her father a watery smile. 

“I am happy.” She said, reaching back to clasp Azriel’s left hand. 

Her father gave a firm nod of his head before sticking out his hand to Azriel. 

“I can’t remember if I ever properly thanked you for what you did for Feyre,” Richard said, his voice thick with emotion but somehow still stern. Azriel placed his hand in the open hand. “I know you’ll protect Elain.”

“With my life.” 

“Hey,” Elain elbowed Azriel in the ribs. “That won’t be necessary.” 

Azriel dropped her fathers hand before wrapping Elain in his arms and kissing the top of her head.   

Sensing a private moment, Elain’s father quietly slipped out of the room. 

Elain turned in Azriel’s strong arms and pressed a kiss to the underside of his sharp jaw. 

“It’s the truth,” Azriel said, pressing another kiss into her soft hair. The smell of honey and jasmine lulling his senses. “If something was to happen to you…I’d make sure it’d happen to me first.” His voice was so quietly, deadly serious that Elain’s heart dropped to her feet. 

“Just know that it would go both ways.” She said, looking up at him, her stare unwavering. 

“Elain, I’m not worth—”

“Yes,” She said, firmly cutting him off and not-so-gently clasping his chin in between her fingers so that he couldn’t look away. “You’re worth it to me. To your mother. To Rhysand and Cassian. Feyre and Nesta. And Nyx. So, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not as expendable as you think you are.” 

Azriel’s eyes were bright as they narrowed at her, and Elain knew that there were ghosts in his brain knocking around his own insecurities, but she wouldn’t let them win. 

She raised herself to her tiptoes and pulled him into a light kiss. They’re lips softly brushing against each other in tenderness. 

“So it’s decided,” Azriel said against her mouth. “We’re both staying alive.” He gave her a slow, languid kiss that made her toes curl. 

With his forehead resting against hers and their lips barely touching in what was the barest hint of a kiss, Elain had never felt more at peace. For the first time she was truly looking forward to what was coming next. Knowing that no matter what, she’d have Azriel by her side. Her rock when life got so tumultuous she felt like she was drifting. Her comforting shoulder when she’s was so full of emotions that they’re spelling out from her. Her source of sunshine on days she felt the darkest. 

His large hands laid flat against the curve of her hips. Squeezing her gently as Cassian and Nesta passed by them, both appropriately dressed for family dinner. Cassian shot them a wolf whistle, and Nesta didn’t even scold him, she just looked at her sister with a knowing glint in her eye. 

“I’m telling them tonight,” Elain said in a low voice, peering up as Azriel brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “That I want to pursue writing full time,” Azriel’s dark eyebrows shot up his forehead in an unasked question. “I don’t want to hide anymore,” She said, feeling light and free. “Plus it will make for good dinner conversation.” 

— — — — —

ONE WEEK LATER 

“How does this taste?” Elain asked, holding a wooden spoon out to Azriel. Her free hand held palm up to catch any dripping red sauce. 

His warm hand wrapped firmly around her wrist, steadying her as he brought the spoon towards his lips. 

Azriel’s handsome face was a study in concentration. Dark brows pulled together in a knot between sharp, clear eyes. While Azriel was giving the sauce his full consideration, Elain was giving Azriel the same in return. 

He looked even more handsome than usual in a crisp white button down shirt that looked delightful against his tanned brown skin, and if Elain looked really closely she could see the outline of Azriel’s abs. His black pants fit snugly over his butt that Elain couldn’t help but pinch it whenever he walked by. His sleeves were rolled up to show off some of the tattoos that were inked into his forearms, which combined with his ear piercings made the most delicious combination of formal and rebellious. 

When they were at Rosehall Azriel had left the majority of his jewelry at home, so when they had gotten back Azriel had started playing with his piercings again. Elain was happy to see her favorite little paperclip back in place. 

His pink tongue ran across his lips as he pulled away from the spoon. 

“Perfect,” Azriel said, nodding in approval. “It tastes just like how Ma makes it. She’s going to love it.” He wrapped his arms around her small frame as she turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce. 

“You’re sure? You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better? You can tell me if something is off, I want it to be perfect for your mom.” Elain said, not bothering to hide the worry in her voice. 

Her golden hair was piled messily on top of her head – she was not going to risk feeding Azriel’s mom one of her hairs, she even thought about using a hairnet, but vanity won out on that one – and her pink floral apron did a beautiful job of keeping her dress clean. She wore a cobalt blue dress made of crushed velvet that stopped mid thigh and garnished her shoulder with little sheer cap sleeves. 

“She’s going to be impressed.” Azriel said, his voice more than assuring Elain of his honesty. She relaxed enough to melt into his embrace. 

The timer for the garlic bread dinged as the doorbell rang out. 

Elain was already halfway across the room as she said, “You get the bread and I’ll get the door!” She tossed her apron on the hook and removed the slip from her hair, not wanting his mother to see how messy she got when cooking. 

Elain swiftly opened the door to find Paloma, Azriel’s mother on the opposite side, wearing a wide smile and carrying a canvas tote full of ingredients to make tiramisu. Her silver-streaked black hair fell in wild curls around her shoulders and Elain would have bet that if straightened her hair would fall well below her hips. 

“You look lovely, Paloma!” Elain greeted and opened her arms to take the tote, but Paloma pulled her in for a hug instead. Her fingers were heavily adorned with silver rings that Elain could feel their coolness through her dress. 

“You’re beautiful, as always Elain,” Paloma said before pulling away and spotting her son walking across the floor towards them. “You both have that glow that only young love can bring,” She pressed a kiss on Azriel’s cheek as he leaned down to greet his mother – Elain noticed his cheeks had turned a charming shade of pink. “I have a feeling you’ll be asking for your grandmother's ring in no time.” She poked him in his pec and Azriel’s cheek flamed brighter. 

— — — — — 

ONE MONTH LATER

“Elain?” Azriel called out, stepping into the dark and quiet apartment, his eyes searching for his girlfriend. His arms loaded down with plastic bags full of Chinese takeout. 

They were the only two in the apartment. Feyre was still deep into her training, so much so that she barely remembered to speak with anyone that wasn’t in her immediate vicinity. Whenever she got hyper focused on training, there wasn’t much room for anything else. Rhysand and Nyx were with her, supporting her and keeping her grounded, and Rhysand could never truly remove himself from his responsibilities – he cared too much, far more than he ever actually let on, so whenever he called or texted Azriel for updates, Azriel would manage to do the same in return. Soon after they hung up Rhysand would send out a picture of Nyx to the group chat, or let everyone know how Feyre was progressing. Feyre got the same when she was painting, but she didn’t have to seek the solitude of Rosehall for that, so it was easier for Elain to check in on her. 

Nesta had been staying with Cassian, in the same building, so it wasn’t uncommon to run into each other. And Nesta would pop up in the apartment from time to time, but their relationship was still budding and Elain and Azriel were both heartened by how seriously they were working on their relationship. Azriel had never questioned how well Nesta and Cassian would fit together, how much good they would do for eachother, but they ran so hotblooded and passionate around each other that he feared one spark could blow the entire thing up. They had different challenges to face than him and Elain. 

They had a double date planned with Nesta and Cassian later that week — Azriel had finally convinced Elain that she didn’t have to work on the weekends as well. 

She was so deep into her writing that she was shut inside for most of the day, leaving her computer to prepare food, (something quick and easy, Azriel had to remind her that pop tarts weren’t true meals) go to the bathroom, or sleep. Elain had tried writing at a coffee shop or library just to get out of the house, but both times paparazzi had swarmed her within the hour. If she needed a change of scenery, Paloma was happy to offer her little courtyard to Elain, cutting off access to the public when need be for “maintenance”. 

Azriel had asked for the ring, a simple band of gold adorned with a beautiful emerald, an elegant, classic beauty just like Elain, but it was tucked safely in his sock drawer. 

Logically, Azriel knew there wasn’t a perfect time, but there was a right time and it wasn’t now.  

Elain was so focused on her new career and he wanted to support her, not add any stress of planning a wedding or another new decision that would alter their lives. Because it would be different, being married wasn’t the same as dating. They would be married, eventually, but he wanted to enjoy every stage of their relationship. He didn’t want to skip ahead. 

“Azriel?” Elain called out, her voice speaking of her sleepiness. 

He flickered on the lights and Elain poked her head out of their bedroom doorway. She must have been writing in bed. 

Elain rubbed at her eye with a small fist as she walked towards this, greeting him with a gentle kiss and taking one of the bags from him. 

“You didn’t have to get dinner,” Elain said, placing the bag on the counter before pulling plates out of the cabinet. “We still have leftovers, I think, or I could have made us a salad.” 

“You were working all day, Elain,” Azriel said, wrapping his arms around her and she fixed them plates. Elain wasn’t getting paid to write, and she had a tendency to downplay her achievements, but Azriel wouldn’t let her. “And I wanted to treat my girlfriend to one of her favorites. I even got you extra egg rolls and more than enough to carry us through til the weekend.” 

“I love you,” Elain sighed before placing a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “I haven’t been neglecting you, have I?” She asked, dunking an egg roll in duck sauce before bringing it up to his lips. 

Azriel bit down in a crunch. 

“Of course not,” Azriel said, swallowing and squeezing his hold on Elain. “Just because you're focusing on yourself doesn’t mean you’re neglecting anyone else,” Elain nodded to herself, as if needing to hear the words and took a small bite of the egg roll. There was something about sharing food with Elain that always made him feel warm and doughy inside. “Now, do you want to watch a movie, or are you sick of looking at a screen.” 

Elain nodded her head and said, “Something mindless, please.” 

They fell into a routine. Elain spending her days writing while Azriel floated to whoever needed a bodyguard that day, and then they would alway pass their nights together. Either curled up on the couch or in bed together. Occasionally breaking their routine for a night out with their friends. 

“Azriel,” Elain called out and her voice shook him. It was the most scared she’d sounded in a long time. He hurried out of the bathroom in only his boxers with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. 

“Babe?” Azriel asked, pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth. 

Elain was standing in front of her mirror wearing a bra – Azriel tried not to ogle how her full breasts were pushing out of their cups – and unbuttoned jeans. Her cheeks were twinged with paleness that spoke of her worry as her fretful brown eyes met his in the mirror. 

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked, not seeing her in any pain and not seeing a spider he needed to kill. He vaguely wondered if something had been leaked again, but they had been careful and security ramped up their efforts. 

“My jeans won’t button.” Elain stated and her bottom lip quivered a bit and she stared at him, waiting for his response. 

Azriel knew he had to tread carefully, with her past and her relationship with food Azriel didn’t want to accidentally say the wrong thing. He’d love Elain no matter what her body looked like, and he had always appreciated the wide curve of her hips and the plushness of her body. Feyre and Nesta had leaner bodies, easier to tone and more geared towards athleticism, but during her modeling days (and due to her mother’s influence) Elain had forced her body to survive on the fewest calories possible. Now that she had stopped modeling and improved her relationship with food, her body had changed. 

He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, not wanting to have toothpaste on his face for this conversation. 

“It’s just,” Elain surprised him by speaking again. “What if my writing career doesn’t work out?” Her voice was low and uneven. “And I have to go back to modeling? I don’t … It wasn’t healthy for me.” 

“Hey,” Azriel said, pulling her into his body and carefully holding his toothbrush away from her body. “You don’t have to model again. Ever,” He said gently into her ear, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her arm. “And if your writing career doesn’t take off, which it will,” He emphasized and kissed her bare shoulder. “Then you can try again. Whatever you want, I’ll be here for you.” He pressed a kiss to her collar bone and felt her shiver under his touch. 

“And you…think I look ok?” Elain asked, her voice breathless. 

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top part of her breast which was overspilling from its cup in a way that taunted him. 

“You’ll never be anything but beautiful to me, Elain,” Azriel whispered against her skin, his voice full with arousal. “And after we get back from dinner I’ll show you exactly how much I love your body,” He pressed a warm, open mouth kiss over the skin of her breast and sucked until a wet, purple mark appeared. He heard Elain swallow as he picked up his head. “But we can’t keep Nesta and Cassian waiting. Maybe we can go shopping this weekend if you’d like, and I can always help you work out, if you’re interested.” 

Elain nodded her head and smiled at him. 

“I’d like that,” She said and kissed his cheek, her face bright and flushed. “Another way for us to spend time together.” 

— — — — — 

ONE YEAR LATER 

Bright lights were shining down on Elain, but she refused to let them blind her. 

After a year, she had finally agreed to be on the show again with one stipulation. 

A name change. 

It was no longer The Archer, The Valkyrie, and The Face, but simply The Archerons. Something that Feyre and Nesta had easily agreed to, in fact they had even stood behind her and said they wouldn’t film unless production had agreed to change the name. And with Feyre set to return  soon to the Olympics, they couldn’t risk not filming.  

There was so much for her to say, Elain thought, staring down the camera. For once, she wasn’t filled with dread, but rather excitement to talk about her own life on her own terms. In the past year, she had posted on social media so sparingly that she had somehow gained followers, and what she did post gained so much traction and buzz that she somehow accumulated more fame and attention. 

Her book was one month away from being published. A fear so new and so different from what she had experienced before grew with each passing day. Elain was so proud of herself and scared to hear what the public thought about her work, but she was already well into her second novel. Another romance. Lucky for her, she thought as her mind drifted to Azriel who was standing somewhere behind the bright lights, she had a never ending source of inspiration. 

A sense of pride and accomplishment grew within her and she gained a confidence that she hadn’t had before. 

Yes, Elain thought, crossing her legs and cupping her hands over her knee, she was ready to speak. 

“Action!” 

~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Ok, I have never felt this bittersweet before. I have tears in my eyes and like the biggest smile on my face! It took me way longer than I thought to get to this moment, but this ending feels so perfect to me and I'm so glad I didn't rush to finish How You Get The Girl. Thank you so much to everyone who even read one chapter of this story and I'm sending the biggest, bestest hugs to anyone who has read through to the end <333333.

tagging: @123moiaussi @fuckmelifesucks @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @nikethestatue @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @duskwhisperer @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes  @magnolia-blossom87 @sheenabeene @nivem565  @casuallivi @rhysiedarling @elain99-blog @athena-85 @swankii-art-teacher @reverie-tales @jujugirlfrombookstore @shadowflorecita @shy-violet-soul @thisloveseternal

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ARE YOU SURE?!: EIGHTH EPISODE

MY IMPRESSIONS

 Preface: This is not an analysis post, and honestly, I don’t want to overanalyse their interactions or everything they said and did—many others are already doing that. My intention with this post is simply to share my thoughts on the episodes, my impressions, and perhaps my conclusions.

Oh man, I don’t want AYS to end. I can't believe it's already over. It’s not fair. I don’t think it is. We should protest.

Yes, this is my second time watching this episode. I’ve been super busy, so I couldn’t watch it again. I’ve survived by watching clips and gifs on Twitter.

Objectively speaking, Jimin and Jungkook are seriously handsome. Gorgeous. Cute. And they look especially adorable without makeup. They look so young too. Jimin looked amazing in that grey sweater.

I’m unsure if Jimin and Jungkook keep track of the charts and that sort of stuff. Based on things they've said in the past, it seems like they’re not too fussed about it, but it’s nice to know that, in one way or another, they do see the results of their work and the fans' support, even months—or in Jimin's case, more than a year—later. When they were in the US, Jungkook also mentioned something about listening to the music charts in Korea, didn’t he? He did the same thing here, and their songs are still on there. They’re really killing it with their solo careers. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said his favourite part of SMFPT2 was the second half, where Jimin came out half-naked, just saying hahaha.

When they arrived at the restaurant where they’d eat, the video looked like it was shot by a paparazzi or something, hahaha. Jimin looked incredible in that video. I don't know how to explain it, but he looked… famous, hahaha.

One of the descriptions we read a lot when AYS was announced was that Jimin and Jungkook would immerse themselves in the local cuisine wherever they visited. That description couldn’t have been more accurate, hahaha. These guys really travelled just to eat, hahaha.

Every time Jimin said he didn’t look good, or that he’s not handsome, or that his face wasn’t right, I just wanted to jump through the screen and give him two slaps to snap him out of it.

That clip of them waving at the camera through the window is… Jimin looked stunning. His messy, blonde hair at that length was perfect.

The "boyfriend shot," okay. Jimin, I need you to answer a few questions to fully understand that part. I understand what you were trying to say, but why did you say that? I don’t know if it’s a thing in Korea, but when you Google "the boyfriend shot," nothing even remotely close to that photo comes up, so it's not a trend or anything like that. So, that was... interesting. Jungkook’s non-reaction and just commenting on the photo itself was... he wasn’t bothered at all.

I think Jungkook loves to eat. He loves food. I think. It’s not something I can confirm, because it’s not entirely clear. But I reckon he loves eating.

It’s so cute when they mimic the silly things the other one does. They’re just too adorable.

That quirky habit Jungkook has of showing off everything he's about to eat. And Jimin too.

I mean, Jungkook, why did you tell Jimin to take off his pants and underwear? That’s a bit much, don’t you think? Hahaha. Jimin’s response to Jungkook, saying, "loud, repetitive noises make Jimin nervous" is hilarious, and we know he’s said it twice when Jungkook was teasing him. But I wonder what context that phrase has for him. Seriously, I’d love to see a copy of his YouTube watch history and search history to know how they find these videos. It’s clear Jungkook knows the context, hahaha.

Someone on Twitter mentioned that Jimin and Jungkook swap roles in their dynamic or relationship. One day, one acts like the hyung and the other like the younger one, and vice versa. Another day, one is the annoying one that the other just smiles at, and vice versa. And another day, one is the silly, cute one, and the other pretends to put up with it grudgingly, but really, they love it. It’s super interesting, especially when you think about the age difference between them and what that means culturally.

Jungkook in the car watching—or better yet, waiting for—Jimin to notice he wasn’t behind him is just too cute. That happy little giggle when Jimin finally noticed and came to get him was adorable. Jimin pretending to be annoyed about it is funny because we all know that man never gets annoyed about anything Jungkook does or says.

Jungkook was right—Jimin really did love the gimbap option he bought, hahaha.

"Jimin is Jungkook's Jungkook." I saw this in a tweet a few days ago, and I remember making a post about it. Reading the comments, I see some of you gave it a slightly different interpretation to what the tweet explained, and what I realised when I read it. What we mean by that, in this context, is that Jimin does the same thing Jungkook does with the other members’ songs—singing them all the time in a funny, but slightly annoying way, hahaha. The members usually just laugh or ignore Jungkook because, well, he’s Jungkook, hahaha. Jimin does something similar, and Jungkook just laughs and looks at Jimin like he’s thinking, “Cute,” because, to Jungkook, everything Jimin does is cute.

The editors syncing the song with the parts Jimin was dancing—or trying to dance—is way too funny, hahaha. Jungkook grabbing more things while they were already paying is so... all of us, I’m sure, hahaha.

I know there are a few theories—let’s call them that—about which card Jimin and Jungkook used, particularly in Sapporo. But something I noticed is that they always made sure to get the receipt, and at least the times I caught it, it was always Jungkook who kept it.

Why did they laugh when the staff member said the jacuzzi in this last place was bigger than the cold tub from the day before? Not just the laugh, but the tone when Jungkook said, “Ahh, from yesterday”—I didn’t get that part. Why that reaction? Even the staff’s little chuckles were interesting. What did we miss?

I think Jimin likes "Standing Next to You." I don’t know, just a gut feeling, hahaha.

The accommodations where Jimin and Jungkook stayed throughout the show were amazing, but the ones in Sapporo were definitely the most beautiful and impressive. The clip of them entering the house without context would be so hard to explain, hahaha. Did they choose the places they stayed in? Or did the staff show them the options before they arrived? Them walking down the stairs backwards... they’re so alike, hahaha. Jungkook, the fact that you two have different ages didn’t matter at all—you’re practically the same person, hahaha.

Oh? The room they were in when Jungkook was unpacking all the snacks he’d bought is different from the one where they slept, so they left their bags in a different room.

Jimin looks stunning in that clip where he asks Jungkook if he was going to get in the jacuzzi, ahahaha. Jimin and Jungkook bickering over silly things is one of my favourite discoveries about their dynamic in the show, haha.

Didn’t Tae say that this second chapter wasn’t about seeing them naked or something like that? Could he explain to me why that’s exactly what this second chapter has been about so far? Not that I’m complaining, hahaha.

Them in the jacuzzi. Jimin and Jungkook have such enviable bodies. They’re slim but muscular, they barely have any fat on them, and they’re delicate yet masculine at the same time. It’s enviable. And I’m not a man. Seeing them in the jacuzzi also reminded me that they are, after all, men, and like most men on earth, they do stupid things for a good laugh.

The way Jungkook looked at Jimin when he picked up the snowball to take into the jacuzzi was so sweet and innocent, and the way Jimin interpreted it as Jungkook saying ‘Are you really gonna throw that at me?’ was hilarious. What’s even funnier is seeing other fans, especially non-Jikookers, using that clip to say, “This is how Jungkook would look at you if he were your boyfriend” or “This is how Jungkook looks at X member because they’re together.” Like, do they not realise that by saying this, they’re acknowledging that Jungkook doesn’t look at Jimin like he’s just a friend or how you’d look at a simple mate? This also applies when they use clips of Jimin looking at Jungkook. The way Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other in that moment is... yeah.

When Jungkook lost rock-paper-scissors to Jimin to see who had to lie in the snow – honestly, men – and took a little extra time warming up in the jacuzzi before facing his punishment, was funny haha, the way he looked at Jimin was like, “Are you really gonna make me do this?” But what’s funnier was how he looked at Jimin when he said, “Come on, baby,” ahahaha. Jungkook was like, “Don’t come at me with cute nicknames,” hahaha.

Have I ever mentioned that I love Jimin’s tattoos, especially the ones on his back? I don’t think I’ve brought that up before.

Seriously though, do they share social media accounts and watch the same videos, memes, etc.? Wasn’t that song Jimin was singing when he was lying on the stairs the same one Jungkook sang on the first day in Sapporo when he was picking which sunglasses to wear?

What Jimin said – that if we see his trip with Jungkook, we’d know what he’s like at home – it’s no surprise, but is he like this WITH Jungkook at home too?

Kookoo-ah. The different ways Jimin says Jungkook’s name is just too cute.

Oh, it looks like the whisky Jimin bought or brought to drink with Jungkook is the same one Jungkook took with him the second time he went on Yoongi’s show. So, either Jimin bought/brought/ordered it because he knew Jungkook liked it, or they’re even similar in their taste for alcohol.

So, when Jimin said “honey,” he wasn’t saying it to Jungkook, he was talking about the whisky, and I guess that’s why Jungkook responded that they looked alike. That said, I choose to believe he was calling Jungkook “honey,” haha. They’re such drama queens, hahaha. Jimin, are you really gonna leave us hanging for a whole year?

Is it just me, or when Jungkook asked Jimin if he’d had his physical exam for the military, did it not sound like a genuine question? Like, he already knew the answer? Does that make sense? Hahaha. The way Jimin responded was funny, and something I noticed is that when Jungkook brought up the military service, Jimin seemed to avoid the topic, which is understandable.

It was nice how they included the staff too. In a way, it was also one of the last times they’d be travelling/working with them for a while. The staff member who suggested they watch the first episode of the show deserves a bonus, hahaha.

Have you guys noticed that when Jimin and Jungkook are sitting together, they tend to lean towards each other? Especially in relaxed seating arrangements, like when they were watching the first episode of the show. It’s not just that they sit really close, but they lean their bodies towards each other, almost like they’re trying to face each other.

Something I’ve always noticed is that Jimin doesn’t like watching himself on screen, except when he’s monitoring performances or music videos, of course. Even then, he’s super critical of himself. But in videos like the one they were watching, he tends to question or criticise his own behaviour, or he’s just embarrassed by himself. I really wish he’d stop being so hard on himself, so critical. Another thing that’s impossible not to notice is that whenever Jimin does this and Jungkook is around, Jungkook reassures him, saying he did well, or that it’s funny or cute, or he just laughs along with him. They really do have a sweet relationship.

Jungkook really didn’t like falling out of the kayak, the way he complained to Jimin about being left behind is hilarious, ahahaha, and Jimin trying to defend himself, hahaha.

They honestly laugh at the silliest things they say or do. I love that about them.

Even though Jimin told Jungkook he could keep watching the episode without him, Jungkook paused it until Jimin came back.

Okay, this conversation was so interesting:

Jungkook: “We were worried a lot while we were filming it. Is this going to be okay? Will they be able to edit this right?”

Crew: “We were also a bit worried.”

Why were Jimin and Jungkook worried? I know that in the first two episodes especially, they kept questioning whether they’d be able to do the show, or whether certain moments would make it in, etc., but why did Jungkook say they were worried about how it would be edited? What did they get up to? Or was Jungkook specifically referring to Jimin being sick the whole time, or part of their trip in the US? Because in that case, it makes sense why they’d wonder how it’d be edited, hahaha.

Jungkook was right when he said that Jimin just had to look at his face to start laughing, and also those times when he said Jimin was happier when he was with him.

I mean, Jimin telling Jungkook how dare he enjoy the scenery and his coffee while he was dying over there, ahahaha. At least he was looking out for him, haha. So, the stone tower was indeed for Jimin, haha!

Yeah, it was really fun. AYS is a blast. I can’t believe it’s over.

Hey, I wonder if the minutes they cut from the third behind-the-scenes were of them sitting at the table having drinks. Their faces looked a bit flushed by the end, haha, I imagine from the whisky. Not them apologising to each other for snoring from the alcohol, and not the editors putting in and describing their snoring sounds—everyone’s just too unserious, haha.

God, Jimin is so cute. His outfit on the last day looked amazing. Jimin tends to wear oversized clothes like Jungkook, but not as much as Jungkook does. And they look so good on him.

Was Jimin tearing up from the cold or because it was their last day?

Jimin went to wake up Jungkook, but why we didn’t get a clip of Jimin waking him up? I mean, did the editors rob us of that too? Incredible.

Wait, didn’t they sleep in the room they entered on the night they arrived? The one with the camera? Jimin just walked past it when he went to wake up Jungkook and remember Jungkook wasn’t in that room when he was unpacking the snacks he’d bought the day before. Oh, they did sleep in the room they walked into when they arrived, the one with the camera. So, Jungkook must have already been awake when Jimin went to look for him, or he was getting dressed in the other room where they left their bags! Okay, that makes sense because in the clip where they were about to sleep, the bags weren’t in that room.

Jimin, I can’t believe they didn’t get in the jacuzzi one last time. Jungkook walking over to Jimin to touch his head and say Jimin doesn’t like it when people do that, but that he can do it, felt a bit unnecessary. I mean, we get it Jungkook, you have privileges with Jimin that others don’t; no need to brag about it. Jimin looked super cute and fluffy at that moment.

I’ve always found it funny how the guys—not just Jimin and Jungkook, but all of them—are incredibly obvious when they’re promoting a product on one of their shows, ahahaha.

On the last day, Jimin looked a bit sad, nostalgic, and down. And that’s totally understandable. Did you notice that on the last day, Jimin wasn’t using his GoPro? Only Jungkook had one on, at least when they arrived at the restaurant for their last meal in Sapporo. Jungkook also seemed a bit livelier, but only to cheer up Jimin. When they sat down to eat, a GoPro appeared filming Jimin, but when he started eating and showing what he was having to that camera, they didn’t show those clips. I wonder what happened.

When the waiter brought the beer that Jungkook ordered, he put another one on the table but then it disappeared—did Jimin send it back? Jungkook realised that if he drank the beer, he wouldn’t be able to drive to the airport and continued to ponder whether he should drink it or not, even after the staff told him not to worry about it, shows... Jungkook wanted to be the one to take them to the airport. And he wanted it to just be the two of them in the car.

Are there no flights from Sapporo or Tokyo to the US? If there are, why did Jungkook decide to fly to Seoul and then the next day to the US? Wasn’t that way more tiring for him and his staff?

Jimin asking Jungkook which piece of sushi he wanted to eat, even when he won rock-paper-scissors to choose what to eat first, says a lot about the kind of person Jimin is. It’s the little things.

They really do have a peculiar and similar sense of humour.

Jungkook genuinely wanted to be the one to take them to the airport. That’s just too sweet. And now what that person said last year makes even more sense—that they saw them in the airport parking lot, I think, together with no staff around, just their cameras, and that a few minutes later their security showed up.

Jungkook really said: “We’ll enlist together, so even in dreams we should be together,” ahahahaha. God, I love the way they talk to each other. Jimin really did look melancholic that last day. Jungkook did his best to cheer him up.

They really loved doing the show; that was more than obvious. And I love that they had those moments of relaxation and fun before their world came to a halt for nearly two years. I love that they did it together, creating all those lovely memories together. That said, I love that they mentioned it. That they said they should do it again. A reboot, as Jungkook said. For Jungkook to say those were the best trips he’s had in his life is incredible and says a lot about what his time with Jimin meant to him. To them. And yes, they ate a lot during the show, hahaha.

Jungkook: “It’s like we were on a trip but not on a trip at the same time. It was all over the place, and that’s what made it fun.”

I don’t know how accurate that translation is, but what Jungkook said really resonates because, at the end of the day, that was “work” for them, and it didn’t feel like it. They felt at home, but not in a literal or material way; they felt comfortable. They were themselves. Yes, some things were planned, but the way they reacted to those or the unexpected things that happened is what made the trip special for them and for us.

“We’re probably enjoying ourselves right now too.” – Jeon Jungkook.

I want to believe that yes, wherever they are, they’re enjoying it together.

God, the way Jungkook looked at Jimin in one of the clips at the end of the episode. The man was enchanted. Do you know what it reminded me of? The Wlive the group did in 2021, the 210219 live, where Jungkook looked at Jimin with so much adoration.

I won’t lie to you, when I saw the last clip of them on the day they were enlisting in the army, my heart stopped for a second. I never expected that. It hit me with such nostalgia and sadness at the same time. It was a cruel reality check after all that happiness.

I loved AYS, and it’s something I’ll always treasure.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m sorry and thank you—I just couldn’t stop writing ajajajajaja.

As I mentioned a few days ago in a post, I'm going to share my thoughts/conclusions on the latest episode of AYS and the show as a whole in a separate post, which you can read here.

[nixie-deangel]

me to me, in a stern voice: we don't need another idea to add to the list. do you fucking hear me???? WE DO NOT NEED ANOTHER!!!!

me to me, in a sad voice: okay.....I do hear you....but....🥺🥺🥺🥺 maybe think about hangster breaking up because of Jake's family though? just. just think about this with me. okay?🥺🥺 please?

me to me just giving up: *sigh*..............what's the idea?

me to me about to add yet another WIP to my new list: awesome! okay, so we see a lot about hangster being ex's and breaking up (and who's fault it is varying on the shifting tides of fandom and how we're feeling about characters from moment to moment)

BUT have we thought about Jake's family being the reason for it??? like. okay. Jake's family has so many expectations on who Jake should married, that every time Jake brings Bradley (and for this, we're saying both are stationed in Corpus Christi during this period) and they can't help making snide comments to Bradley about how he's not enough and how Jake won't actually settle for him and how Jake will eventually find someone better and more worthy of the Seresin name.

and well, seriously there is only so much Bradley can take, what with him already feeling not enough and out of place and like he's not deserving of Jake's love and attention and time anyway.

so it's the nail in the road that explodes the tire and sends Bradley careening into breaking them up and getting as far away as he possible can because yeah, he DOES want Jake to find his happily ever after and get everything he wants and deserves but Bradley cannot be around to witness his future, his heart, finding what he so badly wants for them with someone else.

and then of course the mission happens and it's just an all around mind fuck for Bradley, though it all works out with him and Mav clearing the air and him and Jake somehow finding a tentative friendship once again.

and then weeks later, Javy makes mention Jake is bringing his new boyfriend around to meet them and he wants to make sure Bradley isn't going to cause a scene or be a problem and Bradley can't help haltingly answering that it's okay, that he knew this day would come, that Jake would find someone truly worth him, that his family would love, someone that was truly deserving of Jake's time and love and that he'd get his happily ever after.

only, Bradley starts saying this just as Jake walks in and is floored because how dare Bradley think Jake could ever find his happily ever after when that was Bradley and Bradley walked away from him, from them! but then he latches onto Bradley saying someone deserving of Jake, someone worthy of him, someone his family would accept and love and things start clicking in his head.

and obviously, Jake and Bradley get back together and Jake becomes an unholy terror to his parents and sisters who were part of the problem, who were the match that lit the fire that imploded their relationship.

idk. just. the thought of Jake's family sparking the match and setting the explosion off is tempting. and I can't stop thinking about it when I should really be sleeping right now.