#free planner spreads

[plannersbyfeb]

FREE 2024 DESKTOP WALLPAPERS!

Hey guys! I'm back with a new set of stuff for 2024 ^^ Starting with desktop wallpapers, but you'll find that I've upload new items on my ko-fi shop already.

This is a year-at a glance desktop wallpaper. Monthlies will be coming soon, of course. So, if you like this one, make sure to follow me here on tumblr or subscribe to my ko-fi to get instantly updated whenever I post!

You can definitely get it here for free:

2024 CALENDAR DESKTOP BACKGROUND

If you have any inquiries, requests, anything; you can definitely just DM me here or through my KO-FI!

I create my designs for free but if you’d like to support me, consider checking out my ko-fi!

▬▬▬▬▬ feb.

#plannercommunity #planners #free planner spreads #free planners #planner #free monthly planners #digital planner #free planner #monthly planner #minimalist calendar #calendar wallpaper #calendar #2024 calendar #2024 wallpapers

[bobbiprintables]

Free April 2024 Printable Weekly Planner Pages

Download Here

#free printable #weekly planner #april 2024 #free planner #planner pages #weekly spread #planner inserts #printable planner #digital planner

[chaoticwitchgrimoire]

Full Moon BuJo Page

Could've sworn that I posted this before but I guess not... ANYWAY since tonight is a full moon, better now than never, right?

Full Moon Bullet Journal Page for your Book of Shadows or Grimoire!

Letter and A4 paper sizes available

Download PDF Free

#witchblr #witches of tumblr #witch community #witchcraft #digital download #book of shadows #grimoire #journaling #bujo #bullet journal #bujo spread #bujoinspo #planner #bujoblr #free pdf

[anneaelise]

Free • Personal - Boxed Weekly

Free for all on elizenn.com ♡

Printable Planner inserts in 'Personal' size [ 95×171 mm // 4.75″x6.75″ ]

Boxed Week on 2 Pages with Essential lists & Notes Monday & Sunday start 🡓 https://elizenn.com/free-pl-boxed-wo2p/

Enjoy! ❀

#ring planner #personal planner #filofax #planner inserts #planner printable #printable inserts #weekly planner #weekly spread #personal rings #planner freebie #instant download #printable #printable planner #free inserts #free printable #planner community #planneraddict #planner #planners #weekly #planner pages #planner pdf #inserts

[elarasolaris]

[REEL] Grilled Cheese : 12 FREE Thanksgiving Recipe Bundle | TalesOfMyLife Digital Cookbook - Elara Solaris

#goodnotes #notability #digital planner #digital journal #digital planning #bujo #recipe #cooking #free recipes #free resources #cookbook #journal #journal entry #journaling #my journa #bujo spread #bujo aesthetic #bullet journal #free planner #planner #notebooks #recipe book #procreate #handmade #etsyfinds

[reasonsforhope]

As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

#california #los angeles #water #rainfall #extreme weather #rain #atmospheric science #meteorology #infrastructure #green infrastructure #climate change #climate action #climate resilient #climate emergency #urban #urban landscape #flooding #flood warning #natural disasters #environmental news #climate news #good news #hope #solarpunk #hopepunk #ecopunk #sustainability #urban planning #city planning #urbanism

[roosterforme]

I feel like Bob would be really good at overstimulation because he's so patient. He'd have you naked and in tears, several orgasms deep before he even took his shirt off.

I'm going to pretend @attapullman sent this (but she'd never go nonny about Bob), because I wrote this little ficlet as a birthday treat in response to this sexy thought. Happy birthday, Morgan!

I Need a Minute (Bob Floyd x Reader)

contains smut, fingering, adult language, overstimulation and confident Bob

Your boyfriend was not someone to mess with. You knew that for a fact. Sure, he looked sweet and innocent in his wire rimmed glasses and unassuming shirts, but inside, he was a thinker. A planner. Someone who took all the time necessary to make a decision and formulate a plan. And in your case, he was currently working on exacting his revenge.

Anyone else would have a hard time reading it on his face, but you knew him well enough to notice the soft twitch of his lips and the subtle glances he was sending your way. It was your own fault for the way you teased him at the diner, sliding your hand up inch by inch beneath the napkin that was spread out on his lap until you got to the sweet spot. While you casually talked to all of his aviator friends, you stroked him slowly through his jeans. As you laughed with Mickey and Javy, you gave him a little squeeze just to hear his soft grunt.

When everyone started to stand up, Bob was blushing as he said, "I need a minute." And you left him high and dry, climbing out of the oversized booth and making a mad dash for Natasha's car while Bob tried to hide what you did to him.

As you traipsed across the sandy beach with everyone else, Bob finally reached for your free hand. "Why don't we spread our blanket out over here?" he asked, tugging you to a stop. "The fireworks would be starting up in just a few minutes," he added. "We should get settled in."

He seemed completely calm, so you shook out the beach blanket and curled up with him so you were sitting between his legs. "Are you comfy?" you asked him over your shoulder, and he kissed the tip of your nose, making you smile.

"Very," he promised, and you turned to face the ocean just as the first red, green and orange fireworks lit up the sky. Even though you were wearing his Naval Academy sweatshirt over your sundress, you shivered as he whispered, "I'm about to be a lot more comfortable than you."

"What?" you gasped, realizing that everyone else was sitting in front of you. There was nobody watching as Bob gently pulled your legs further apart and kissed the side of your neck. Nobody noticed a damn thing when he tugged the fabric slowly up your legs and ran his thumb along your underwear, sending you scooting back against him. "What are you doing?" you whined softly, giving yourself away.

His fingers paused on the thin strip of cotton hiding your pussy from him. "Oh. You want this, huh?" When you nodded, dazed eyes focused on the fireworks, he kissed your earlobe. "You say that now."

One long finger slipped inside the elastic band of your underwear, and you gasped his name. Bob let his digit glide slowly up and down your slit while he made casually offhand comments like, "The green fireworks are my favorite. Did you know they are made out of barium salts?" Your only response was to moan a little louder, and he didn't stop you. The loud booming sounds blocked out your whines and breathy gasps as he slipped that finger inside you, lazily fucking you with it while his thumb found you clit.

He punctuated every thrust with a little swirl of his thumb, varying the speed as he went. You tried desperately to fuck yourself on that long finger, but he held you in place with his other hand. You were playing his little game now, and you knew it would be a little while before you came. 

His lips worked at your neck until you could feel a bruise forming. His teeth grazed your skin softly when you started to hiccup. You found out the hard way that the city of San Diego put on a glamorous thirty minute fireworks display for holidays, and Bob teased you for twenty-eight of them. Your breathing was so loud as he pumped his hand beneath your dress and whispered, "You want to come, don't you? You want to soak my hand even more, huh?"

"Bob!" you begged loud enough that one of the others must have heard, but Bob just kept slowing his pace until you felt tears in your eyes. Your makeup was probably a mess. Sweat broke out on your brow. But he just slowed down until he was gently tapping your pussy with his fingers.

"Ask me really nicely."

"Please, Bob!" Your voice broke on the words as he rammed two fingers deep inside you and stroked your clit with his thumb. The grand finale of fireworks blasted across the sky as you finally came, eyes closed and back arched. You didn't care who saw you like this as long as you got the relief you needed.

He kissed that tender spot behind your ear and whispered, "You're lucky I'm so nice," as you rolled your hips against the heel of his hand. And then he was slipping it back out of your panties and tugging your dress into place as everyone around you started to collect their things. When he stood up and looked down at you, he smirked as you sprawled out on your back, your limbs completely boneless. "You ready to go?" he asked with his hands on his hips.

"I need a minute."

#if you ask emily #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd smut #bob fucks #bob x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x you #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #robert bob floyd x reader

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version

ie. In which no actor alive is apparently able to comprehend the expression ‘too much.’ Or, Neige sends you far too many flowers and Vil reacts about just as well as you would expect.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Everything was going great.

Sure, Rook had nearly assassinated you through the power of embarrassment alone and Vil was still commandeering nearly every spare moment of your free time, but overall it was good. The House Warden had slipped back into his usual not entirely self-destructive haughtiness, and you had tucked his subordinate’s betrayal into the deepest recesses of your mind in hopes you might one day just black it out entirely.

And then one morning you woke up and there were flowers on your doorstep.

At first, you genuinely thought it was a prank. Because they were white lilies, and lilies were toxic to cats. And obviously Grim had yowled at you immediately about how he was “NOT A CAT, HENCHMAN!” But you tossed the bouquet in the garbage anyways, just to be safe. Part of you figured that it might be Jade. He certainly seemed the type to dabble in poisoning house pets, and he went on enough nature walks that procuring some of those nifty little blossoms would be an easy feat. So you casually penned ‘Threaten Azul With Octopot Blackmail Until He Can Learn to Control His Demon Spawn’ into your planner and carried on with your day.

And then there were more flowers the next morning, and something cavernous and foreboding in your gut told you that this wasn’t Jade Leech. This time it was a pleasantly wrapped bouquet of mixed white and red carnations—all tuft-like and fluffy. There was a small square of cardstock tucked into the stems. Maybe there had been one in the lilies too, but you hadn’t even bothered to check before dunking them into the trashcan. The paper was embossed with something that looked a bit like an insignia—a teeny, round, sparrow made up of curling silver swirls and little, scratchy, tufts that you assumed were meant to be feathers. The real damning part of all of it though was the elaborate, cursive, N.L. tucked beneath the bird’s spread wings.

Ruh-roh.

“Huh? What are those?” Grimm yawned as he padded down the stairs on his teeny, black, paws.

You tossed the bouquet into the coat closet and slammed the door. “Nothing. Jade’s just trying to poison you again.”

Grim puffed up like a little lion. “You should poison him back! Or stab ‘em!”

“Right,” you nodded, walking bravely into the winter morning with no coat, because the evidence was with your coat, and you immediately wanted to shrivel up and die. “I’ll just do that then.”

The next morning, there was a knock at your door—bright and early. You cracked it open cautiously and peeked through the slit like a ghoul creeping out of its dark lair. It was a person you didn’t recognize, and you opened the door more fully.

“Can I help you…?”

“Yes!” the guy chirped. You realized then that he was wearing a delivery uniform. “I’m just here to drop these off for you,” he smiled, and pressed a bundle of daisies into your arms. “I guess it was noted in the delivery request that it wasn’t a certainty if the last orders had ended up with you or not.”

“Is that so,” you droned, trying not to sound like your soul was actively attempting to vacate your body. “Well. Thank you. Goodbye—”

“Oh!” he called, before you could retreat back into your hovel like a wounded animal. “There are a few more actually!” he said, pointing to another delivery man headed in your direction—weighed down under an entire armful’s worth of blooms. You couldn’t even make out the poor guy’s head beneath the forest of pale pinks and yellows consuming him.

“Right,” you nodded, horrified. “Of course. Anyways, is there a way I can go about returning these, or…?”

The poor dude being eaten alive by all those flowers just laughed good-naturedly and dumped the wagon’s worth of tulips, and camellias, and even more carnations at your feet. You could feel something in your jaw tick.

And then another pair of delivery men came sauntering over the hill and you wanted to scream.

That day at lunch, you felt like a convict in a lineup.

You were seated at Vil’s left, as was the norm, and you were having to actively fight the raw survival instinct tugging at every muscle in your body as it demanded that you flee from the room post haste. A part of you felt like the intuitive beauty would just know somehow. Like he could smell the goddamn flowers on you. You were practically vibrating out of your seat. Every time he brushed up against you, you’d jolt like you’d been electrocuted. All of the moments where he’d shift and his knee would bump against yours, or when he would reach for something just a little off center and his arm would tuck up against your side, or how he’d rest his hand on the table just close enough to yours that even the teeniest fidget would push your pinkies together. It was like the universe had decided that today you were going to be a lightning rod, and that it was oh so fun to just zap-zap-zap you endlessly.

“Are you feeling alright, Mon Coeur?” Rook called from his spot across the narrow table. “You look a bit grey.”

You grit your teeth, because Vil sitting less than a foot away or otherwise, no way would you be telling anything to this snitch. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“No. He’s right,” Vil asserted, stern, and turned to face you more fully. “You’ve been miserable from the moment you sat down. What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” you tried again, and Vil’s eyes narrowed irritably at your bold-faced lie. He leaned closer, as if chastising you from three inches away instead of six would make any sort of difference. But then something odd flickered across his expression and you experienced the very distinctive and horrifying sensation of being marched to the gallows.

Vil reached out and the featherlight touch of his fingers brushed along the curve of your jaw and down your throat before settling heavily at your collar. He plucked a small, pink, petal from a fold in the fabric.

“What’s this?” he asked, with the inflection of someone who already knew perfectly well what ‘this’ was.

“I fell into a bush,” you replied, deadpan.

Silence.

“A bush, hmm?” he mused blandly, and rolled the petal around between his fingers.

Epel and Rook exchanged pointed glances.

“It was an ugly bush,” you added. Because, sure, it was a lie. And Vil clearly knew it was a lie. But maybe hurling around insults at Neige the bush would help.

Vil snorted, and thankfully it sounded more amused than enraged. The petal disappeared in a puff of dark, purple, smoke and he returned to poking at his salad and your posture in equal measure. Safe. For now.

That evening, you approached the only other person on campus that you could think of who would benefit more from helping you keep your horrible, little, secret than in just selling you out at the first opportunity.

“Epel, you lived on a farm,” you tried, conversational in perhaps the way a hostage may try to sound casual to avoid panicking the SWAT team listening in from just outside the door. “You know how plants work.”

He arched a lavender eyebrow at you.

“Yeah?”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” you chirped, steepling your fingers. “So, anyways. Can I get your help then. With a plant problem I’m having?”

“Uhm, sure?” he agreed, face scrunched up in bewilderment.

When you walked him into Ramshackle’s foyer, Epel made a noise like he was choking. You couldn’t blame him—shock aside, the petals floating around were becoming a real hazard.

“Where did these even come from?” he gawked.

“Neige,” you winced, scuffing your toes against the carpet. Or at least in the general vicinity of where you assumed the carpet was. The entire floor was blanketed in loose leaves and bits of ivy.

He whistled low under his breath, and something in his gaze went a little hazy—a little spooked. “When Vil finds out about this…”

“He won’t,” you declared, with as much determination as you could manage.

“He will,” Epel grumbled. He looked like he was having war flashbacks.

“If he does,” you sighed, defeated, “you might as well just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“The shotgun is back at grandma’s,” he mumbled, his pale blue eyes still clouded and very, very, faraway.

You blinked. “What.”

“What?”

“…Nothing. I just. Please,” you begged. “You have to help me.”

Epel seemed to take your pleas seriously at the very least (or maybe it was just his own sense of self-preservation kicking in), and he gently raised a finger to tap at his chin as he pondered. After a moment, he made a little ‘ah-ha’ noise and turned back to you with a firm nod.

“You ever lit a bonfire in a dumpster before?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

“I,” you began, slow, “have never. Set a dumpster on fire.”

Epel reached out to thump you squarely on the shoulder. “Well, you’re gonna today.”

.

.

“What were you thinking?!” Crewel snarled at you, cracking his pointer across his palm.

You coughed, sending a cloud of garbage-and-petal-scented soot into the air of his otherwise very pristine office.

“I wasn’t?” you tried.

The alchemist looked like he was ready to put his head through the wall or maybe yours, but instead he just reached up to dig his fingers into his temples.

“Detention,” he snapped.

“Understandable,” you nodded—another wave of dusty, black, ash falling to the carpet beneath your feet.

.

.

And then all your arson was for naught, because the very next morning there was a fresh mountain of pink roses crowding your entryway.

You kicked them into the back of the coat closet and hurried off to class, making sure to double and triple check your clothes for any damning evidence before you did.

You made it all the way through the rest of the day without any other flower related nonsense, and maybe all that success had made you cocky, stupid. So when you realized you’d forgotten your little notebook full of reference numbers and stage cues for the Drama Club’s newest production, making a pitstop at Ramshackle only seemed sensible. And when Vil offered to walk you there and back, you agreed without any consideration for rationality.

You could just see the pointed rooftop of your dorm coming into view over the hill when your companion final spoke up.

“This path is ridiculously undermaintained,” he hummed. His purple gaze slid pointedly in your direction. “I suppose I can see how you were you so easily felled by a bush.”

“An ugly bush,” you repeated, just to see his lips quirk into a smug little smirk.

But then that satisfied expression froze on his face, and his mouth curled downwards into that venomous sneer of his that made each and every hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

Because standing in your doorway, a delicate bouquet of sunflowers and sweet peas tucked under his arm, was Neige LeBlanche. With that goddamn purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Oh! Hello!” he chirped, his doe eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled. “I was hoping I’d be able to catch you!” A fetching shade of pink bloomed across his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose, and he fidgeted nervously with the soft wrappings in his hands. “I was starting to think I had the wrong address…”

There was a steadily increasing pressure around the meat of your upper arm, and it took you a beat too long to realize that it was Vil and his ever-tightening vice grip and not just your clothes trying to strangle you. You could feel the blunt crescents of his fingernails digging into the fabric of your coat—sharp little pinpricks that didn’t exactly hurt or anything, but reminded you just a little too much of a big cat flexing its claws before it pounced.

Neige seemed to notice his one-sided nemesis for the first time, and his expression lit with genuine mirth.

“Oh! Vil! Hello to you too!” he beamed, a merry laugh working its way past his lips. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other! Though if you both go to Night Raven I suppose that makes sense…” He mused.

“Of course,” Vil ground out past his gnashing canines, with about as much civility as you were expecting. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

At this inquiry, Neige went pink all over again—from the tip of his gently pointed chin to the edges of his neatly styled fringe. He shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet and his fingers clenched into the velvet bow of the bouquet. When he spoke up again, he was addressing you and you alone.

“I, uhm…” he spluttered. “Well, I… I was worried you weren’t getting any of my flowers, because I never heard anything back from you. Not that I was expecting you to thank me or anything!” he hurriedly rushed out. “I just—Ah. Well… I-I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, and I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, and Dominic said that if you weren’t responding then maybe I should be doing this in person, so… I…” he trailed off, his face practically glowing with the crimson heat radiating off his cheeks.  

“You never actually gave me any way to respond,” you tried (which was entirely true), aiming for as middle-of-the-road as possible. Clearly it wasn’t neutral enough, because Vil’s glower swiveled to you and became a tangible force against your skin.

“Oh!” Neige gasped. “Oh my goodness! You’re right!”

Maybe that would be the end of it. Maybe he’d be like you, and wind up so encumbered by his own embarrassment that he’d have no other choice but to run away.

But instead, he soldiered on.

“Well…” the brunette murmured, clearly fighting an intense urge to fidget. “I was wondering then, if I—if you—if we—could. If you want to—”

This poor, lost, boy was so sweet and endearing. And as much as you could not comprehend how saving him One Time in a crowded mall had turned into weeks of pining and near hero worship, you felt for the dude. And you felt even worse knowing that you were going to have to absolutely cut him down if you wanted any hope of coming out of this alive with an even marginally stable Vil at your side. Neige was kind, but Vil was totally not the object of your miserable, unrequited, affections your friend. And if you had to sacrifice Squirrel-Sweater-Boy and his crush to keep the House Warden from falling into another spiral of self-flagellation and despair, then so be it.

“A-Actually!” you cut in as fast as you could. “I was just…”

Your eyes flickered to Vil, panicked, and you hoped he wouldn’t eviscerate you for this.

You placed a hand atop the one he’d wrapped around your arm and gave it a gentle, blatant, squeeze as you leaned heavily into his side. “The two of us were just planning on going somewhere! Together!” You shot him a pointed look that you prayed he’d be able to interpret past the veil of red fury muddling his gaze. “Weren’t we?”

“Oh! Like a friendship outing!” Neige chirped, and clapping his hands together enthusiastically. You wilted. “Do you mind if I come along too then? I’d really love to spend more time with you if I can, but obviously I don’t want to step over any of your preexisting plans! I’d love to be able to hang out with Vil again too! It could be like a field trip!”

Your stomach dropped, and you were genuinely worried for a moment that you were going to have to just honest-to-God turn around and book it before you could be indicted as an accessory to murder.

But then the twisting resentment melted from Vil’s face and the hand at your shoulder snuck around your back to settle firmly at your hip. He hauled you flush against his side and you barely managed to swallow your squeak.

“No, actually,” Vil crooned, a wickedly smug grin splitting his crimson lips. “Together, as in together. Partners,” he continued, perfectly chipper. “Involved. Entangled. Romantically linked. Whatever you’d like to call it.”

Neige’s expression immediately fell into something terribly dejected, before bouncing almost just as fast into mortification.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “I had no idea! If I had known, I—I mean, I would never have tried to—to—Oh, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable!” he rambled, so red and embarrassed that you were back to feeling bad for him all over again. “Please forgive me for overstepping!”

“I suppose,” Vil sighed, dramatic. And you were officially done feeling bad for him and all his crippling self-worth issues. He turned to you with this demure little pout that you just knew he’d probably had to practice in front of a mirror at some point. “And how about you, darling? Are you feeling magnanimous this afternoon?”

“You’re forgiven,” you grit out, and there was bit of a terrible moment where Neige clearly assumed your spiraling vitriol was aimed at him and not the smug bastard pinning you to his side.

“Th-Thank you!” he squeaked, before darting forward to press the bouquet into Vil’s hands. “Here! Have these! As a—As an apology bouquet instead of a, well…” He buried his face into the plush fabric of his scarf and took a very long, very loud, breath. As if he was trying to center himself. “Anyways! I should be—I’ll get going then! Enjoy your date!”

And then Neige was scurrying off as fast as his legs could carry him, and Vil smirked proudly throughout the entire retreat and beyond. The sunflowers sat in his hands like a trophy.

You took a moment to remind yourself that you were not always a terrible person, and that surely something like this was outweighed in the grand scheme of things by all the Overblots you’d stopped, and how many murders you’d prevented. You sighed, bone deep and weary, and were just about to start making the last leg of the trek into your dorm when Vil pulled you in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked, confused. “We still need to get my notebook for the club meeting, and—”

“I thought you just said something about me taking you out for the evening,” he interrupted, arching a finely shaped brow. “Or did you already forget.”

“But that was…” you trailed off, hesitant. Something warm and eager swirled in your belly, and you tamped it down as fast you could. There was no way he meant what your fluttering pulse was assuming he’d meant. I mean, you were ‘the potato.’ That’s it. “You don’t have to feel like you need to take me somewhere. I know that was just…”

Vil scoffed. “Oh, please. I assumed you knew me better than that. Do I seem like the sort of person who would be willing to fake a relationship to avoid any kind of fallout—within the media or otherwise?”

“…No?” you said after a moment.

His hand flexed at your waist. “Correct. Now. Let’s get going. We’ll stop at my dorm first—you’re not going out dressed like that.”

The world was tilting on its axis. Hell had frozen over. Deuce had aced an exam.

“Are you—did you just ask me out?” you gaped.

Vil sighed. “Technically, you asked me. Or, well, demanded.”

“Oh,” you rasped, dazed. “I guess I did.”

And so began the journey back to Pomefiore. Or, well, Vil’s journey. You were just being carted along like a useless sack of vegetables. Your head was spinning, the rest of you barely able to catch up to its frantic swirling. Amidst all your emotional vertigo, you did catch Vil glaring frostily down at the bouquet in his hands. You wondered idly why he didn’t just throw it to the side, and then remembered that ah yes. A trophy.

“Sunflowers,” Vil scoffed under his breath, and the contempt there helped ground you back in reality.

“What’s wrong with sunflowers?” you asked in a huff, no longer feeling the need to cater to his bruised pride now that he was so obviously riding high on a wave of self-satisfied vindication.

He snorted. “You clearly have no grasp on floriography.”

“And you do?”

“What exactly do you think poisons are made of? Or most natural cosmetics?”

You sighed. “Fine. Then if sunflowers are so awful, what kind of flowers would you give me?”

“Roses, naturally. Scarlet Sage.” His lips quirked. “Coriander.”

“Coriander isn’t a flower. It’s what you cook with,” you sniffed, indignant. “Sage too!”

Vil laughed under his breath and reached out to take your hand, threading your fingers through his. You felt warmth spread from your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears, and you hoped more than anything that your palm wasn’t too sweaty.

“Is that so?” he hummed, amused.

“Well what do they mean then?” you conceded, that furious heat still working its way along your skin.

He glanced down at you out of the corner of his charcoal-lined eyes—the purple there brilliantly sharp and fond. He gave your hand another firm squeeze.

“I suppose you’ll just have to do your best to figure that out.”

.

.

.

.

🌸FLOWERS🌸

White Lilies = Virginity, Purity, Heavenly Red Carnations  = ‘Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches,’ deep romantic love White Carnations = Innocence, pure love, sweet love Daisies = Innocence, Loyal love Ivy = Affection, Friendship, Fidelity Pink Camelias = Longing For You Pink Rose = Happiness; innocent romantic love Yellow Tulip = Sunshine in your smile; hopeless love Sweet Pea = kindheartedness, Blissful pleasures Sunflower = Adoration; Pure Thoughts

Red Rose = Love, ‘I love you’ Scarlet Sage = Forever Mine Coriandor = Lust

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@destinationdesignation @the-dumber-scaramouche @starchilll, @juulranch, @kalims, @theneurodivergentdummy, @honey-deerling, @thenyxsky, @vasiliki-koshka, @cassidycampfire, @youaskedfurret, @asimpleazur, @iwannabeacrow, @fuckingfaraway, @ambievert, @cerisescherries, @mys-harmony, @queenaveryrules, @smokebell, @alextheknight707, @hermiona18, @paintingeels, @rebloging-everything,

@nexxy-is-lonely, @akuri-shinsou, @nebulabunni3, @hermiona18, @alextheknight707, @crockercorpbakers, @sillyhummingbird, @loxi546-blog, @blackrose8425, @paranoiac-666, @alexpeaches, @cinnamontimecrunch, @cupid3m, @iamnotwiddle, @coloursplash666, @smokebell, @dreamingjirachi, @existingcurrently, @littlemusicfox25, @spaceyrunes, @un-petit-peu-confused, @medleycharm, @chocolateduckdinosaur, @barryatsumu, @ttwinrytwo, @imaginedfantasies, @cleos-stuff, @whathappenedtobees, @5sos-wdw, @trixeraptops, @obaniori, @thededly2, @kttyfngs, @reconcy, @patimiet, @itsmarlsworld, @fae06, @nowwhat-runlikehell, @kinglion03u, @catgirler, @anonymouscandy, @hatsunemiku2025, @clappincobracheeks, @horcrux-alchemist, @crypticbibliophile, @nyotnyota, @ally-glow, @yourimaginaryfriiendd, @hamdehlesmis, @scarapeep, @https-casanova, @niki-chan15, @insomnia-space, @rabioa, @ailynyan, @posionapplecider @pen-observing @afternoon-read, @marvelous-maxi, @inkeddreamz, @ai-dev, @anasianplate, @scarlettqueen190

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #vil shoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs Villains #Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 3

[michelle-languages]

How to use Notion for Language Learners - a masterpost

So, I have been learning languages for a while now, and one of the things I have always been struggling with is having a space that could gather all the info I need, the spreads I used to make on my bullet journal, and maybe even something more.

Notion has become my best friend all over the last couple of years, but as I am a pretty sick perfectionist, I am still mastering the art of creating efficient templates, but I am slowly overcoming this problem of mine… In the meantime enjoy my favorite YouTube videos all about Notion x Language Learning:

how to make the best language learning plan | notion templates | AD by Anna Lenks

ULTIMATE LANGUAGE PLANNER IN NOTION FOR POLYGLOTS by me :)

How to make a language learning plan that WORKS ✨ Notion for language learners by Elysse Speaks

How To Make A Sentence Mining Database in Notion | Language Learning | Tutorial + Free Template by Leafling Learns

How I Created a 30-Day Language Study Plan That Works! by Shea Jordan

Create a language learning schedule that works + Notion Template! by Jusuf

updating my language learning notion 🖊 by Jo Renee Languages

Language Learning: Notion, RemNote And Reverso (French) by Red Gregory

How I plan and organize my life and languages | Notion tour 📝 by Lindie Botes

Hope you enjoyed this post, in the meantime I'll go and create the best language-learning hub you will ever see

#language learning #notion #studyblr #langblr #languages tips

[disasterofastory]

Fate (Ivar x Reader)

Fate Ivar x Reader Warnings: smutty, but no sex

Summary: Wedding night.

A/N: You can read it as a part of The Wanderer and Valkyrie, but works as a standalone too.

The moon is bright and round at the top of the dark sky. It covers the city in a silvery hue, cascading down the roofs and highlighting the drunk idiots who found sleep in different places on the streets. They are lucky it's not cold enough to freeze them by morning. The weather is peaceful and clear, letting you see the stars glinting down at you as you pull the heavy doors shut.

The Great Hall is quiet and calm. The celebration is long over. The air is still heavy with smoke and ale. It fills your nostrils. The alcohol still pumps in your veins, making your chest light and your mind a bit dizzy. A lazy smile plays on your lips as your attention turns to the man sitting on his throne. He watches you too. The paint is smeared all over his face, but it is still not enough to hide the pink blush that spreads across his cheeks when your eyes meet. "I think I saw Hvitserk hugging a goat to himself outside," you tell him. "I hope it eats his hair," he replies, and you laugh. Ivar smiles at the melodic sound. "Don't be mean," you tell him. "He outdid himself today." Ivar can't argue with your statement. His brother really did everything to make your wedding memorable from the start to the drunk ending. "You are beautiful," he says instead. He didn't drink enough to admit his brother's surprisingly amazing wedding planner skills, but now as he looks over you, he starts to regret his decision. The smile you send his way is full of mischief. The white dress hides your curves but still shows off your breasts. He can see the hard peaks of your nipples. Necklaces hang from your neck, glinting in the dim lights. And the crown on your head fits among your braids perfectly. You really look like a queen. His queen. "What are you thinking?" You ask him. "A man who just married should look happier," you add, placing your thumb between his brows to smooth out the frown on his face. "I'm happy," he says. "I'm just... I still can't believe you chose me." "I told you, Ivar," you tell him. "Our future is written and sewed together by the Norns." He really wants to pay attention to what you say, but it gets harder and harder with every movement you make to get rid of your clothes. Soon, your dress pools around your legs, and you are bare in front of his roaming eyes. "Leave everything else," he says after you kick off your shoes. The blush deepens on his cheeks at his sudden order. Maybe he shouldn't give orders while clearly, you are the one who knows what you are doing. But he still doesn't wish you to get rid of the jewelry that adores your skin, highlights your eyes, and makes you so ethereal in his eyes. "Can I untie my hair?" You ask for his permission, smirking. "These braids are really tight." "I-I will do it," he says, clearing his throat. "If you come here." "How nice of you, my husband." The smirk is still on your face. You are mischievous, cheeky, and happy, while Ivar falls from awe to awe the whole time. Climbing up on his lap, you adjust your position above him until his hips are between your knees. "Is it okay?" You ask, letting some of your weight on his thighs. It's not enough to hurt him, but enough for you to be comfortable. "Yes," he croaks.

He is gentle and unsure. Your eyelids fall shut every now and again at the feeling of his massaging fingers on your scalp. You relax on his lap while Ivar is all tense and taut. His gaze wanders down your chest every time he is sure you don't watch him. He doesn't even know why he is so sneaky about it. He saw you naked several times, and you are his wife now. He can look at you all he wants. "Thank you," you sigh when he is done, and your wavy hair is free from the ties and decorations. The only thing he left in its place is the crown at the top of your head. "You are welcome." "How are your legs?" You ask him. You are so calm and content it almost drives him crazy. How can you be so collected while he falls apart with every passing minute? "They are fine," he replies. His every sense is so focused on you that he doubts he would notice if his legs were in pain. He doesn't care about his useless legs. He cares about your weight on him, your sweet smell, your soft touch, and the heat that radiates from you and cocoons him into relaxation. "What are you waiting for, Ivar?" You ask him, smiling. "Kiss your wife."

His kiss is familiar by now. His tongue traces the line between your lips until you open your mouth and let him in. His large hands land on your hips, squeezing your flesh while you nibble on his bottom lip before letting him push his tongue into your mouth again. Your chest is pressed against his. You can feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat. Your hands slip up on his arms, playing with the ends of the braids at the back of his neck. Your back arches to get closer to him. His low moan vibrates in your throat. "Wait," you giggle. Your word fan over his lips. "It tickles." "Sorry," he grunts, not knowing what else he should do with his hands. Your giggle turns into a smirk. "It's fine," you tell the man, grabbing his hands on your sides. "But here would be better," you add as you place his palms on your breasts. His fingers squeeze the globes in reflex. His eyes are wide as he watches his own hands. "You are so pretty," he says, flicking his thumb over your nipple before taking the hard peek between his fingers to pinch and pull on it. "Ivar," you gasp out his name, leaning against his shoulders. "Did I hurt you?" He asks with a hint of worry in his voice. "In a good way." Seeing the confusion on his face makes you smile again. "I will explain it later." Your lips meet in a kiss again. It's hurried and burning. His hands are still on your tits. They fit perfectly in his warm palms just as he thought they would. "What did I tell you once? When will we have sex?" You ask him. Your breath is hot against his lips, and he needs a few seconds to register your words in his mind. "We will be together when I know who you are." "And who am I, Ivar?" You ask, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Tell me." "You are my fate." Your lips meet again in a searing kiss.

#ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless smut #vikings smut #vikings imagine #vikings x reader

[bobbiprintables]

Free Weekly Planners - March 2024 - Printable Planner Pages

Download Here

#march 2024 #weekly planner #free printable #free planner #printable planner #digital planner #weekly spread #planner pages

[rrxnjun]

two people ;; mark lee

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

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

blue monday series | playlist

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE SHIVERING WITH COLD FEET

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great. Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes meet Mark’s for a moment. 

The look is full of stern sympathy.

ONE SUFFOCATING LOVER ONE FOOL IN A WEDDING GOWN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeno would love this on you.” 

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

Jeno would love that dress.

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-but-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

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

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

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

TWO PEOPLE UNDER BEDSHEETS, ONE WALLOWING IN DEFEAT

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

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

“Which one?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I said, Jeno-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you nod.

You don’t.

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

“And what about these ones?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could guess the answer if you were asked to.

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

“Are you sure?” 

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shouldn’t, because you loved him.

ONE UNREQUITED BELIEF

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s not stupid. 

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

“What about it?” 

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

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

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

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

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing…”

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

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

And it’s killing you. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we don’t need a wedding.”

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

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

“I don’t want to get married.”

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

“You’re joking, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, about that…” you mumble, shrugging. 

It’s now or never, you think to yourself– you went here for a reason unknown to you. Maybe you seeked comfort in the man that pushed you towards your decision, maybe you desire for someone to tell you that what you did was okay and the right thing to do. You could’ve just texted him you weren’t going to plan the wedding anymore, since there is none to happen, but you didn’t– you went here yourself, just to break the news to him face to face, expecting nothing and everything at once. It’s weird. Maybe you just, true to your fragile nature, need someone to look out for you when you feel so insanely guilty for doing something for yourself. Why that person is Mark Lee, you don’t know. Perhaps there is something that is pulling you to him, the comforting nature surrounding him being your safe haven in a time like this, making you so selfishly wish that after hearing you say it, he won’t let you down and look at you with defeat and disappointment.

“I- I called off the wedding,” you say, finally meeting his chocolate orbs with expectations, “and we sorta broke up, so I just- I just wanted to tell you that I won’t need your service anymore, but that I’m really thankful,” you add, nodding to prove your point.

The man in front of you is left startled, eyes wide as he searches for a hint of something– anything– on your face that would tell him if you’re okay and what led you to the decision, opening his mouth to talk to you about it, when you cut him off and add another thing, a sentence that breaks him and glues him together in one swift motion, leaving him speechless.

“Thank you for telling me that it was okay… to do that. And that it wasn’t late to call it off. It means the whole entire world to me, Mark, and I’ll never forget that,” you say, smiling hesitantly at the wedding planner, playing with your fingers in your lap, “I felt like I couldn’t make this decision, even though the idea of getting married to Jeno was breaking me, but your words really assured me.”

“That’s-” he stutters, clearly shocked. It’s not like he didn’t know– once again, he advised you to do so himself– but still, the reality of it is making him bewildered, true surprise raining over his face as he shakes his head to clear it, providing you with a more coherent response, “I’m- I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s- it’s so great you broke away from something you didn’t want for yourself, Y/N.”

Smiling, although a little shamefully, you avert your gaze from his intense eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, no, don’t thank me, I mean-” he rambles, his professional composure breaking for what feels like the first time, his figure looking so approachable right in this moment, “are you okay, though? It must have been hard.”

Shrugging, you wet your lips in a moment of thought. Are you okay? You’re not so sure. So instead of worrying him, you just mumble: “I will be,” with a soft nod, reassuring both yourself and everyone involved. Because, in reality, even though it’s insanely hard and the moments without your fiancé feel foreign, you feel free. You feel true to yourself, and that’s the most important thing about it all. And as long as that is preserved, you will be okay one day.

Maybe your and Jeno’s ways parted just because your ideals were different. Maybe the difference between the two was so big you couldn’t get over the height; but that’s okay. Life happened this way, and there’s not much to do about it now. Only to get used to it.

“Okay,” he says, gazing at you.

You’d like to stay longer– the truth is, this is the first time in the last few weeks that you’ve felt relaxed, content, even– and it’s hard to let go of this feeling. Mark looks at you with soft eyes, as if he was scared that a more strong look may break you, and in a moment of selfishness, you think that although this chapter of your life is over, Mark is the one you don’t want to lose out of it. You wonder if he feels the same. You want him to feel the same.

But once the moment is over and you realize your stay no longer has a meaning to it, probably just wasting Mark’s time, you nod to yourself as you stand up from your place in the chair, paying goodbye to the place you’re most likely never going to visit again. “I’ll get going, then. Once again, thanks… for everything, Mark.” 

The man shoots to his feet, hesitantly walking over to you, meeting your expecting eyes. Clearing his throat, he reaches to you with wide arms, and your body moves into his hold almost automatically, selfishness hoarding over you once again as he hugs you tight into his body, perhaps with the same amount of bittersweet feeling you feel on the inside right now, the firm grip around your waist making you relax into his touch. Burrowing your nose into his neck, you forget all about Jeno for a while, the scent of Mark’s cologne overtaking your senses, everything, past and future involved, disappearing when the noisy thought in your brain keeps rambling how you need to remember the way his arms feel around your body forever, you have to imprint his scent into your brain until the end of your time, because this is your last opportunity you have to experience it. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he mumbles, one of his hands running over your back and up into your hair, a protective head pat mendling your fragile, broken body into his touch. 

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though,” he says.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

And Mark understands. It feels like he’s the only one that does. And although it may feel like there’s no one but him in this world that’s on your side right now, the reality of it comforts you, because that’s enough.

Breaking away from his hold, you pay him a goodbye as you walk towards the door, not turning around as you escape the room, because you think the image of him, knowing it’s the last time you’ll see him, would break you perhaps the most.

Your journey isn’t over, though. Walking through the countless labyrinths of the town, the weather outside making your bones cold as you stride for your next destination with utter determination, you know that once you complete this task, it’s finally over. The weight of it crushes you, but you know that in a few, you’ll feel completely free, and that’s why you keep going, despite it being insanely hard.

Your eyes are met with the view of a house you know too well; the windowsills greet you with a glassy shine, the sad trees in the backyard reminding you of your university days. You’re met with Lee Jeno’s childhood home, and by the looks of his car in the driveway, you were correct about the suspicions of his whereabouts. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and although you feel a little shameful about the fact, you don’t let it get to you.

Walking over to the small gate of the land of Jeno’s parents’ house, a red post box greets you, your final destination in reach. Rummaging through your purse, you take out a white envelope containing your engagement ring, and while opening the small box, you pay goodbye to the latest chapter of your life, putting the envelope in. 

Taking one last look at the house, you imagine Jeno on the driveway, and you wave at his figure with an apology on your tongue. 

Maybe one day, he’ll understand you. And maybe he won’t.

You can’t be mad at him for the emotions he has every right to feel. You acknowledge that you were wrong for leading him on for so long. But still, you hope that one day, he’ll be able to forgive you. 

And as if your fate wanted you to have the last bit of karma you’ve earned, it starts raining as you walk home. On any other day, you’d despite the shower, but today, you think you can get through it. You think this is your prize, and you’ll keep paying it forever, until you no longer feel the guilt of everything you’ve done.

Putting yourself first breaks hearts sometimes. But still, you think it’s worth it in the end.

Maybe one day, you’ll forgive yourself.

When your body hits the cold sheets of the bed that isn’t yours, stumbling to your designated side of the mattress, it seems, you wonder if the heater in his apartment broke again and you’re going to spend another night shivering until the tiredness doesn’t make your thoughts turn off and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Dressed in your usual pajamas and staring out of the window, watching the stars shyly glimmer, the moon kisses your cheeks in a solemn feeling of a weird nostalgia you can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. The feeling, however, is no longer as uncomfy as it was the last time. It used to make your bones itch, it used to make you try to battle the feeling, even though there was no use– it’s always been too strong and you were too weak; too tired to keep fighting.

A huff lands into your ear, a muffled sigh that makes you slightly open your eyes and still in your movements. He joined the bed just a few minutes prior to you, telling you he’ll wait for you to be done with your shower, but it seems like he fell asleep in the short time period, making you feel momentarily bad for waking him. 

A strong arm slings itself over your middle, engulfing you in a tight back-hug. His body grows closer to you, shuffling himself to stick himself as close to your body as possible, a heavy breath reaches your ear. Your hand automatically reaches for his one laying on your stomach, looking over at him to see his eyes flutter open and a soft smile glazing his features. “Ready for sleep?” he asks, and with a gentle nod, you watch him get more comfy in the sheets of his bed.

Continuing to watch him, his eyes close on themselves after a short while, his eyelashes kiss his cheekbones, sharp edges of his face contrasting with his overall soft demeanor making your heart swell with the thankfulness you feel because of his proximity. 

Looking back over to the window, eyes briefly catching the time glimmering on the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, you bite down on your lips and try to battle the smile that’s dangerously trying to spread across your face. His body pressing itself into your back is warm, trying hard to provide you with a sense of home and safety. This time around, it works. It always works out with him.

A sigh cuts out of your throat.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it makes you snicker. You’ve never felt more content and satisfied in your whole entire life, yet, he dares to ask you this question, still uncertain. Nodding, you reply to him, sureness coating your words.

“More than okay.”

Your body slowly heats up in his hold– he’s like your portable heater, after all, since he likes his bedroom to be a little colder than you prefer, he took it upon himself to always have you glued inside of his arms whenever you sleep over at his place; to not let you catch cold, he says, but you secretly just think he loves to fall asleep with you in his hold.

Just a little over a year ago, with a different man in your sheets, you weren’t able to fall asleep with the weight of your overthinking. You rethought your decision over and over again, not ready to leave yourself to get a final conclusion, even though it was always somewhere there, in the back of your brain.

Now, though, your brain is at ease, relaxing after running laps through various scenarios in your brain– your body is soundly tucked in under the soft sheets of the bed, finding a sweet haven in a person you never imagined you’d let into your life. 

You no longer wake up in guilt and fear. You no longer startle awake at night, too scared to look at your fiancé on the other side of your bed; because the chapter is now behind you, the war is over.

And you learn to forgive yourself. All by Mark’s side. 

If it wasn’t for the actions of your past, you would’ve never met him, after all. Everything in your life has some sort of order, and while it wasn’t a happy journey, at least you’re left with nothing but experience and comfort in your heart.

Almost like every day, much to the contrast of your state a little over a year ago, you reach out for Mark’s hand again, pressing a soft kiss to it as you move it closer to your lips. Almost like every day, while you fall asleep to the scent of his shower gel and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sweet dreams, you’re thankful for every day with him, 

because he was the one that brought you peace again, taking care of you each and every day, carefully catching your heart when you let it fall freely into the unknown.

#nct #nct dream #nct 127 #mark lee #nct x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark lee x reader #mark fluff #mark angst #mark x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 x reader #nct fic #mark fic #mark lee fic #nct dream fic #nct dream scenario

[softly-potter]

Good Girl Era

Summary: Weiss and Ruby try something new in bed.

Pairing: Weiss x Ruby

Word Count: 1,327

Warning: p0rn with a plot

A/N: loosely inspired by Good Girl Era by UPSAHL

-

“Beacon,” Ruby groans out, desperate and panting, her skin flushed. “I-I’m sorry, but Beacon.”

“Oh! Okay, okay,” Weiss stammers, distraughtly moving to undo her bonds. In her quick movement to free her, Weiss’ knuckle smacks against Ruby’s forehead, and her heart leaps as Ruby violently flinches away, exhaling shakily. 

“Sorry,'' Weiss whispers, trying to calm herself and gently removes the blindfold from Ruby's face before moving to her wrists once more. Ruby sags when the binds loosen, collapsing into Weiss’ arms, shaking as Weiss holds her.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, cards her fingers through Ruby’s short haircut. “So, so sorry, was it too much?”

“I’m fine,” Ruby wheezes and Weiss doesn't miss the way the other girl's breath shakes. “We experiment for that exact reason. I guess… blindfolds are mine?”

Weiss smiles sympathetically. “Okay, noted, no blindfolds.” she says softly, moving her face into Ruby's hair, shifting so that they are side by side with Ruby’s face pressed to Weiss’ chest.

After a few moments, Ruby’s heartbeat begins to slow, her skin cooling. Weiss continues threading her hands through Ruby's hair, her nails lightly scratching her scalp and Ruby purrs in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to Weiss’ chest before shuffling downwards and putting her face squarely between Weiss’ breast.

“Petal, what're you doing?” Weiss giggles.

Ruby looks up, silver eyes blown wide with lust. “I dont like blind folds, doesn’t mean I dont like fucking you.” she says simply, and Weiss feels her blood heat at the words. Ruby smirks, bites at the soft skin.

Weiss laughs, the sound morphing into a moan as Ruby licks her nipple tentatively, before wrapping her lips around it completely and sucking.

“Oh.” Weiss says weakly, tugging at Ruby’s hair, and begins to whine when Ruby's hand begins to work at her neglected breast. Leaning her head back, Weiss lets her fingers trail down Ruby’s torso, dancing over her pubic bone before it settles between the redheads thighs, and she hums when she finds the other girl is still expectant. 

She begins to make lazy circles with her thumbs, and Ruby hums against her chest, bites down on the sensitive nub and it makes Weiss’s head fall back, her eyes falling on the discarded blindfold.

“Ruby? What about… if I wore the blindfold?”

Ruby stills, releasing Weiss’s nipple with a wet pop and sits up on her elbows. “I think that's the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Reaching for the satin material, Ruby holds it out, quietly offering to put it on. Weiss smiles, flicks her wrist a final time in a movement that makes Ruby gasp as she lays the blindfold over Weiss’s eyes.

She pulls it tight, descending Weiss into darkness and causing her focus to be on the feel of Ruby’s hands tracing her sides, her breasts, settling on her neck.

“You okay?” Ruby asks, stroking her neck.

Weiss nods, licks her lips. “Mhm.”

She can tell why Ruby wouldn't enjoy the lack of sight and why Weiss might positively love it. There's an element of surprise, an idea of loss of control. Ruby’s a leader, a planner, doesn’t enjoy things going awry when they can be avoided. On the contrary, Weiss has lived the majority of her life on a calendar, moving as it’s written. With a blindfold, she can’t tell what’s to come next, and the thought thrills her. In addition to the unknown, she also finds that her other senses are heightened. 

The sound of Ruby’s breathing, the feel of the damp sheets against her back, her blood drumming quickly in her ears. The smell of roses and sex leaking through the various scents of their home. The touch of Ruby’s hand on her thigh, of her shoulder pressing into Weiss’s calf as Ruby spread her legs, of her fingers tracing Weiss’ folds achingly slow. Her thumb presses down on her clit a few times before her fingers descend within her.

Weiss moans, chokes out Ruby's name as she works her with her undying attentiveness, knowing what action will elicit what response. She moves her fingers with purpose, stroking every ridge as Weiss’s pants grow heavier, before switching to a different rhythm and leaving Weiss on the cliff between ecstasy and exasperation.

“Ruby,” Weiss moans, arching her back as she feels another finger added into her, scrambling to grip her sheets. “Fuck, Ruby?”

“What's the matter?” Ruby replies, a grin evident in her voice. “Oh, is that what you need? For me to fuck you?”

Weiss nods quickly, hoping she doesn't look as desperate as she feels, and she clamps her mouth shut to stop herself from whining as Ruby pulls her fingers from her, leaving an intolerable emptiness.

The sound of a door opening echos, and Weiss holds her breath, straining to hear. A box falls to the floor, the sound of clanking and velcro reverberates and Weiss jumps when she feels Ruby's hand on her ankle.

“I’ve got you,” Ruby hums, her hands pressing against the inside of Weiss’ thighs, spreading her. Then she feels the head of Ruby’s strap against her core, a shiver shooting up her spine and she sighs as Ruby sinks into her.

Weiss lets out a breath, and then another when she feels Ruby bottom out with her. “Oh gods.”

She hears Ruby laugh before the other girl settles back, pulling Weiss’ legs together and holds them both over her shoulder, squeezing her around her strap as she begins to fuck her to absolution. Weiss gasps, pathetic whines leaving her lips with every thrust.

“What, no smart ass remark like usual?” Ruby huffs, her arm wrapped around Weiss’s legs tightly, keeping her still. 

Weiss shakes her head, whimpering. “In my good girl era I guess.”

Ruby laughs, picking up her pace. “Buuuullshit.”

Weiss gasps, grabs the sheets by her head. While she can’t see the gorgeous view of Ruby sinking into her, she deeply enjoys the obscene smack of flesh on flesh that fills her ears, driving her wild. A hand slithers between her legs, playing with her clit and leaving her knuckles white as her body begins to shudder with a familiar feeling.

“Is that what I have to do to make you a good girl?” Ruby asks sweetly, as if the question isn't absolutely salacious. “Blind you and put my strap to use?”

Weiss moans again, sucks a sharp breath in. “Ruby ‘m close.”

Ruby chuckles, a sweet and filthy sound, before leaning forward, pressing Weiss’ legs into her torso as her fingers danced along Weiss’s clit and pinches.

Weiss groans, the stimulation nearly too much, pleasure cresting and shattering, coming undone beneath her girlfriend.

“Gods.” Weiss cries, her legs opening and escaping Rubys hold, wrapping around the other girls waist and holding onto her as she fucked her through her orgasm, each thrust making a sound that would make prim and proper Weiss cringe.

Ruby kisses her messily, groaning thickly and Weiss puts her hands in her hair, pulling the dark strands as Ruby continues her thrusts, her pace feverish. A final stroke sends Ruby over the edge, and she clings to Weiss like a lifeline, burying her face into the girl's neck and moaning, her hot breath sending goosebumps across Weiss’s skin.

For a moment they lay there, panting and clinging to one another. Weiss sighs, reveling in the afterglow and the feeling of Ruby’s red strap still inside of her, still splitting her in only a way Ruby could.

Then she realizes she still can’t see.

“Ruby?” she says, breathes out through her nose.

“Oops.” Ruby murmurs, undoing the satin fabric and pulls it away, revealing her stunning expression, flushed and ruffled, silver eyes sparkling in anticipation. “So? Whatta think?”

“Good, good.” Weiss pants, rubs the back of her hand over her forehead. “I… good.”

Ruby sighs, rests her head on the pillow beside Weiss’. “You’re still bad at being good, but it seems I’ve found a solution.”

Weiss just giggles.

#ao3 crosspost #ruby rose rwby #whiterose #ruby and weiss #rwby #whiterose fanfiction #blurb #rwby fanfiction #white rose smut #weiss schnee

[mohtivations]

2023 Digital Planner Template [FREE DOWNLOAD]

It's that beautiful time of the year again where I decide to create a digital planner for the new year, and so here it is!! A little holiday gift from me to you, I hope this helps you create the 2023 you want to live :)

I designed a 120+ paged digital bullet journal/planner template that works with GoodNotes and Notability on iPad. Fully hyperlinked with unique monthly and weekly spreads. I updated this year's to have a budget tracker for each month, as well as a financial and workout planner at the start of the year. Some minor updates here and there, and of course, aesthetic color pairings that keep me motivated throughout the year <3

Includes:

Table of Contents 目录

2022 Yearly Calendar 年历

Goals 人生计划

Wishlist & Books List 愿望和阅读清单

Movies & Shows 观影清单

Academic Plan 学习计划

Financial Plan 收入+消费规划

Workout Plan 健身规划

Memories of 2023 一年最好的记忆

Monthly Spreads 每月计划

Habits 习惯养成

Goals & Favorites 目标&爱好

Sentences 每日一句

Meals 每日饮食

Calendar 月历

Budget Tracker 每月消费

Brain Dump 自由日记

Weekly Spreads (16 formats and color pairings) 每周计划（包括黑和白色版本）

Free Notes 笔记

Journaling Prompts 日记题目

Like, reblog, follow, and DM me for link. I respond fairly quickly and am always open to feedback/suggestions/comments!

Check out my 2023 Digital Planner Setup on YouTube!

ORIGINAL DESIGN

DO NOT REDISTRIBUTE

#mine #acaemic #studyblr #study aesthetic #studyspo #heydilli #heypeachblossom #adelinestudiess #hyperchemblr #academicsunite #myhoneststudyblr #studyvan #selkiestudies #gloomstudy #studyblr community #notes #studyinspo #studygram #study inspiration #study blog #spaces #study motivation #desk inspo #study #study inspo #bullet journal #bujo #bookblr #studylustre #heyaly

[anakinsthot]

34 and obikin for the fic list! 👀👀👀

Thank you for this prompt!

from this prompt list

34. meeting at a masquerade ball au (760 words)

Someone had allowed the event planner to hire a quartet of jizz-wailers for the masquerade. The off-key kloo horn player was adding to the headache that Obi-Wan’s elaborate suit and matching mask had brought on at the beginning of the night. The only upside to the mask Obi-Wan had been required to don for it was that it hid his facial expressions. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide his distaste for the worst of the songs otherwise.

The mask otherwise was nothing but a hindrance. The Order had sent him because they’d gotten a tip that there would be an illicit deal taking place during the ball: that the Zygerrians were selling force sensitives to the Neimoidians. For what purpose was unknown, and Obi-Wan was tasked with stopping the deal and gathering information. He had his suspicions on which Trade Federation and Zygerrian representatives would be here, but it was difficult to identify anyone with the ornate masks and disguises every being in the room wore.

Obi-Wan was startled out of his perusal of the dance floor – he’d been tracking three different Zygerrians on the floor, and he was about to rule out one of them as his mark - by someone bumping into his elbow and spilling their drink on him.

“So sorry, I didn’t see you there. Here, let me help you clean up.” Before Obi-Wan could say anything the stranger had looped their arm through his and was pulling Obi-Wan toward the freshers.

“I’m quite alright,” Obi-Wan protested, “It’s just white wine, I can just grab a napkin here to clean it up.”

“Kriff,” the stranger muttered. “I knew I should have grabbed a different drink.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and dug his heels in. Regardless, the other man kept dragging him. Unwilling to cause a scene, Obi-Wan gave in and followed. When they made it through the fresher door the stranger took off his blue and green mask, covered in large feathers, and revealed his face.

“Again, I’m so sorry Master Kenobi, but I’ve got important information for you.” Earnest blue eyes met his and Obi-Wan swallowed back the biting retort he’d been prepared to reply with.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said instead. The stranger bit their plush lip, drawing in Obi-Wan’s eyes, while they debated whether to reveal their identity or not.

“Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the man said finally, offering his hand out for Obi-Wan to shake. Instead, he grasped his fingers gently and bent down to press a soft kiss to the back of Anakin’s hand. “I – I’m a shadow from the Tatoo system. I’ve been tracking the Zygerrians you’re here for.”

Obi-Wan pushed his own mask up so he could speak to Anakin face to face. It was a relief to have another Jedi here. Normally this mission would have been assigned to a Master with a senior Padawan, or two Knights, but with rising tensions throughout the galaxy the Jedi were spread thin.

“Pleased to meet you Anakin,” he said warmly. “People might start to notice if we hide in the fresher for too long, why don’t you fill me in on the dance floor?”

Anakin smiled and put his mask back on before looping an arm through Obi-Wan’s. “I’ll follow your lead, Master.”

On the dance floor, Obi-Wan drew Anakin close and guided him into a simple dance step. Anakin followed his lead easily. They spun around the floor and Anakin pointed out the Zyerrian he’d followed across two systems, and told Obi-Wan what he’d learned about the trafficking operation. They had some time until the handoff, and Obi-Wan decided to keep them on the dance floor and wait for the mark to leave before they followed.

Tipping his face down, Anakin whispered into Obi-Wan’s ear. “What do you say after we kick some slaver ass and free some force sensitives, you give me a ride on your ship after?” He let one of his hands slide down Obi-Wan’s chest, making his intentions clear.

Obi-Wan pulled back slightly to get a better look at Anakin. “Surely they teach shadows how to flirt better than that?”

Anakin shrugged. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Force help me, it is. Though you could have gotten what you wanted without opening your mouth.” Anakin smirked at him and started to say something. “Don’t say anything,” Obi-Wan said exasperatedly.

Anakin wiggled his eyebrows and pulled Obi-Wan off the floor. “Come on,” he said excitedly, “it’s go time. We can talk about what to do with my mouth after we take care of this.”  

#by take care of this anakin does mean murder the zygerrian and the buyer #i'm thinking he was found and trained by a jedi shadow #and the order has him remain a shadow so they can turn a blind eye to some of his methods that the senate wouldn't approve of #i.e. light saber first ask questions never when he's taking down hutts and slavers regardless of their ties to republic commerce #obi-wan is a little bit horrified and a lot turned on by how ruthlessly efficient anakin is #and they manage to save the force sensitives that were being sold ofc #obikin #prompt fill

[goodstories08]

Chase x m!reader fic where they’ve been trying to get alone time all day and when they finally do and start making out they get caught by Bree

Alone Time

Chase Davenport X Male Reader

Ability: Force Field (The Bionic Ability to create and manipulate force fields)

“Don’t be a pusy, get back up and fight him,” I yell at a whimpering dark haired boy. In front of him stood one of my top students, Jason, a powerful pyrotechnic who I might have turned into a killing machine. “Please I…” The boy was cut off by the sound of Jason roaring, a flame erupting from his mouth.

I sighed and flung my arms out ahead of me, a blue glow spreading through my veins and projecting out in front of the scared boy, blocking the fire from harming him. “W-what he could have killed me, you can’t do that!” He yelled while picking himself up from the cold concrete floor. “Ahh correction I can do that, I’m the teacher here. And no you were not going to die, I wouldn’t have allowed it. Yet…” I mumbled the last part sarcastically before turning to Jason. “Good job, but next time take it easy on the scariness,” He mumbled something in an annoyed tone before walking away. “Just practice ok, you’ll get there eventually.”

The boy nodded and opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off, “Sorry got to go, talk later ok.” He simply stood there as I ran toward Chase, my boyfriend who also happened to be training annoying and immature bionic kids all day. “Chase, Oh my god I’ve missed you so dam much.” He giggled as he pulled me in for a kiss. “I’ve missed you to. Had a whole new team to train, drained the life out of me,” I smiled and looked around the empty room. “Looks like no one’s here, how about we…”

“SLAM!” I looked over toward the door where Mr. Davenport stood, “Hey you two, I’m not interrupting anything important right?” We both sigh before sadly saying “No”.

“Great, I have some paperwork to fill out. I was gonna ask Chase to help but your here too so why not. I need all the help I can get so let’s get started,” I looked up from the table I sat at as a giant pile of yellow folders and loose papers came crashing down in front of me. “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath before grabbing a small pile and beginning to fill it out.

As the day grew longer we both longed for each other more. And any chance we got we would be pulled away by someone else.

Currently me and all the other trainers where sitting around a huge table listening to some boring lecture Mr.Davenport was droning on about. No one was really paying attention except Chase, who was scribbling notes on his little planner. I looked around the room bored out of my mind, except for the occasional times Adam would make a funny face or add a stupid comment that made us all laugh.

I turned toward Chase and rubbed my leg against his. His head shot up and he mouthed “What?” I looked him up and down while licking my lips before turning back around to face the board Mr. Davenport was pointing at. I smiled as I heard Chase shift in his seat uncomfortably. Was I evil I’m for teasing my boyfriend in the middle of a meeting, yes, I was but I did not care. I did know that he was definitely gonna see me after this thing though.

The meeting ended after about 10 minutes, it was supposed to go longer but there was a bionic meeting emergency with two kids getting injured in a bad fight. But I mean hey, at least we are finally gonna get some alone time. Chase stood by my side like a shadow as everyone left the conference room, I felt his eyes burning into my skull as he adjusted his tie. I finally turned toward him and slowly walked closer. “I see you got a little exited during the meeting,” I say in a seductive tone as I pulled his tie down toward me, drawing his lips closer.

“Maybe I was, but who’s fault was that,” He mumbled before pulling me by my waist into a passionate kiss. I moaned into it as he lifted me on to the table, I wrapped my legs around his waist as my hands wondered his muscular chest. I unbuttoned the first button on his shirt before, the doors to the room swung open, I quickly pushed Chase off me. My eyes widening as I realized it was Bree. “Wow! My brother couldn’t keep it I his pants for just a while longer could he?” Bree muttered before running away with her speed, probably on her way to tell Adam. “Screw it! I haven’t seen you all day come here!” Chase demanded causing my smile to return.

#chase davenport #x male reader #lgbtq #gay #lab rats