#˚ answered asks . . ⊹ feel the morning on my face

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Woke up from the sweetest dream of eating ice cream with Jason in the middle of the night, both in our jammies hunched over a pint in opposite sides of the kitchen island and its just so special to not be doing this exact thing alone.

"There's something so sweet about loving and being loved. Knowing and being known. Especially by a man who makes every past moment of suffering so worth it if it's lead us to this." 🥺🥺

Late Night Desserts 

Pure Fluff ~1k words

It's late, the kind of late that's so far into the night that you can start to call it early. Your kitchen is dark, lit only by the dim street lights and the occasional stray beams of moonlight that break the clouds hanging low over Gotham's sky. There's the sounds of cars driving by, the faint whirl of a helicopter flying overhead, but it's all drowned out by the quiet giggles bouncing off the walls of your apartment. 

"Why are you even whispering," you stumble out between hushed laughs, voice barely above a breath as you point your spoon at Jason, eyes narrowing in accusation.

He grins, mock offense dripping into his quiet tone, "I could ask you the same question, sweetheart." 

"I'm whispering because you're whispering," you bite back, gaze leaving him so you can dip your spoon into the pint of your favorite ice cream resting between you on the counter. 

Jason scoffs, all teasing and playing as he reaches over to knock his spoon against yours, digging into the frozen dessert for another taste, "I'm whispering because it's still dark outside, and the walls of your apartment are thinner than paper."

"That's not my fault," You pout, taking your own bite of the ice cream. Your eyes narrow, but there's no heat to the action, not when the moment feels as sweet as the dessert you're sharing.

"Didn't say it was, doll," he hums, catching you entirely off guard when he reaches over the kitchen island to swipe his thumb over the corner of your lip, collecting what remains of the ice cream on his finger. His gaze never leaves yours as he licks his thumb clean, smile never fading.

He seems intent on knocking your world off center for a second time, because he speaks again, an easy grin on his face, like his words have no consequence either way, "You could always move in with me. Then it wouldn't matter how loud we were at night. Opens all kinds of doors, ya know?"

You think you manage to keep the surprise off your face when you answer (you don't), "It would?"

"Sure," he hums, jabbing his spoon back into the cartoon, it's the only sign that he feels even slightly nervous over the question he poised, "We could cook after eight pm without your neighbors complaining, blast music in the morning, and, ya know, if we ever get the dog you've talked about, it would be nice to have thicker walls."

His words sweep you right off your feet, his easy answer, the slight tension in his shoulders, all point to one thing. He's thought about this. He's planned a future with you, even if it's just coming up with small, mundane reasons on why you should move to his apartment. 

The realization steals your breath away, and it's only when his face furrows and his eyes start to dart over your face, searching for any clues of how you feel, that you remember you have to respond. 

"That sounds nice. I'd like that, " You say, voice melting into a different kind of soft from your previous whispers. It's a soft that's fond, almost reverent in the face of his feelings for you, the cusp of something more you want to build with him. 

The tension drains from his body, and his smile returns to something bright, something real, "Good." Jason lifts his spoon back to his mouth, face thoughtful like he's mulling over his next words, "You could move in anytime, you know. If you wanted. Half your stuff is already there anyway."

The ice cream melting onto the counter doesn't matter anymore, and you drop your spoon, letting it clatter loudly to the granite surface. Jason only has enough time to look confused and vaguely alarmed by the noise before you round the island to get to his side.

He tries to play off his eagerness with a nonchalant shrug, but you see right through your boyfriend. And suddenly, the moment feels so big.

The feeling nearly bursts from your chest. The warm, fluttery love that's so pure and right in your soul that it's nearly overwhelming. The idea that every path you've ever walked has led you to him, and him to you. 

He opens his mouth to talk, and you steal whatever words he means to say with your tongue. The kiss is sweet, so, so sweet. Sweeter than the dessert you were sharing, sweeter than anything you could tell him, sweeter than all the emotions fluttering in your stomach over just how much he means to you. 

Jason kisses you back with a softness that speaks to all the adoration he feels for you, dropping his own spoon to cup your face, to wrap an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

You only pull away first so you can watch the way his eyes flutter open slowly, lingering in the ghost of your lips against his.

"What was that for," he asks, voice so breathless and dreamy it nearly brings you to your knees.

"Just wanted to," you hum out, pressing a kiss to his jaw, to his chin, to his cheek. It's not a lie, it just doesn't encompass all the warmth you feel in your heart, the goofy smile you can't wipe from your face.

His dumbstruck smile matches your own as he squeezes your waist, saying everything he needs to say back with a simple touch. You melt into arms, ice cream, and quiet whispers long forgotten.

But you don't need to explain, don't have to elaborate. Jason knows what you mean when you press another gentle kiss to his lips, he knows what you're trying to say when you tangle your finger in his hair and memorize the feel of his body pressing against yours.

He always seems to know what you can't find the words to say. 

It's just a moment, just a stolen minute of peace as dark creeps towards day, but it's yours. Yours and his. Another warm memory to write into your story, another step towards something that feels like forever. 

The moon lights up your kitchen as it breaks the clouds once again, and Jason chases your mouth for another head-spinning kiss, sealing the promise of words unsaid, emotions that are far bigger than can be spoken into the calm, quiet air of the night.

[tqlepatia]

NOT A LOT, JUST FOREVER

And your dearest fantasy, Is to grow a baby in me I could be a good mother

You remember the warmth of those early days like it was yesterday. The quiet hum of your little apartment in Zaun, the way Sevika's laughter used to fill every corner, rough but genuine. You and her weren't rich, but damn, happy as fuck. Sunday mornings were your favourite—her arms wrapped tight around you, calloused fingers tracing gentle patterns along my skin as sunlight crept through the cracks in the window.

“You know I love you, right, baby?” she’d whisper for you, voice thick with sleep.

“I know,” you would smile, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I love you too.”

It was simple then. You two cooked together, danced clumsily in the living room to crackling music, and built a life out of love and promises. When you told her I that you was pregnant, her eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before.

“We’re gonna do this, yeah?” she said, voice low but steady as she placed her hand over your belly. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

And for a while, she did. She was there for every appointment, every late-night craving, even when you got moody and impossible to deal with.

For the first six months, Sevika was the perfect partner — attentive, present, and fiercely protective. She'd read parenting books at night, muttering under her breath about "stupid baby advice" but taking it seriously nonetheless. Every kick from the baby brought a smile to her scarred face, and you believed nothing could ruin what you had.

But then everything changed.

Sevika began staying out later, consumed by work. She came home smelling of smoke, too tired to hold you or even ask how you were feeling. The warmth that once radiated between you faded into a cold distance. Nights were lonelier, the bed colder, and the silence louder.

At seven months pregnant, you told yourself it was just a rough patch. She’d come back to you — she always did.

But tonight was different.

A sharp pain twisted through your belly, making you gasp. You clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady yourself. Panic surged through your veins. "Sevika..." you whispered, but the empty apartment echoed back. She wasn’t home. Again.

The ache in your chest was worse than the physical pain. Desperation drove you to grab your coat, ignoring the winter chill biting at your skin as you stepped into the dark streets of Zaun.

You knew where to find her.

The bar loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a tired heartbeat. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you pushed open the door, the smell of smoke and stale alcohol assaulting your senses.

And there she was — Sevika, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, surrounded by rough-looking men. Her broad shoulders slumped, eyes shadowed by exhaustion.

"Sevika," you choked out, your voice trembling.

She turned, her eyes widening in shock. "Love? What the hell are you doin' here?"

Before you could answer, chaos erupted.

The door behind you burst open as masked figures stormed in, guns drawn and shouting orders. The patrons scattered, tables overturned, and glass shattered against the floor.

Sevika was on her feet instantly, her instincts kicking in as she drew a blade from her belt. "Get down!" she shouted, but you were frozen in place, your body refusing to move.

A flash of silver caught your eye.

Pain exploded through your belly as the blade pierced your skin. Time slowed. You looked down, disbelief washing over you as blood blossomed across your coat.

"No!" Sevika's roar was primal, filled with terror and rage. She fought her way to you, her fists a blur of violence, but it was too late.

You collapsed into her arms, the world tilting around you.

"Stay with me, baby," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Don't you dare leave me, okay?."

Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're gonna be okay. The baby's gonna be okay. Just... just hold on.. e-everything gonna be okay."

But you knew the truth.

She knew the truth.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sevika shook her head with determination, her expression filled with concern. "No, please don’t say that. I promise you, everything is going to be just fine, and the little one will be safe too."

The encroaching darkness began to creep in at the edges of your vision, a slow descent into a tranquil void. The sharp pangs of pain that had gripped you moments earlier faded into a serene numbness, a gentle wave that washed over your body. This sensation wrapped around you like a velvety shroud, cocooning you in its soft embrace. As the world around you dimmed, you felt a profound sense of calm beginning to take root, shielding you from the chaos that had once consumed your thoughts.

“I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, each word quaking as it escaped your lips. Your heart raced, feeling the weight of the moment pressing around you like a warm embrace. You could feel the cool air brushing against your skin, contrasting the warmth flooding through you. Your lips trembled slightly, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within—hope, fear, and an undeniable yearning. Each syllable hung in the air, charged with vulnerability, as you searched their eyes for a response, longing to see the reflection of your own feelings mirrored back.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, cold and unforgiving. Zaun's streets shimmered under the dull glow of flickering neon lights, but Sevika barely noticed. Her coat was soaked through, hair plastered to her face, but she kept walking, steps heavy with sorrow.

The cemetery loomed ahead, its iron gate creaking as she pushed it open. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. In her hand, a bouquet of wildflowers—your favorite, bright even in the gloom.

Her breath hitched when she reached the twin headstones, side by side like a cruel monument to everything she'd lost. Yours was simple but elegant, etched with your name and the soft promise of "Forever Loved." Beside it was a smaller stone, marked only by a single word: Hope. The name you had chosen for your baby before everything was torn away.

Sevika knelt, the cold seeping into her bones. The flowers trembled in her calloused hands before she gently laid them at the base of the graves.

"I brought these for you," she murmured, voice rough and thick with grief. "I know they’re not much, but... I remember you said they made you happy."

Her fingers brushed against the damp stone, tracing your name as if trying to hold onto some part of you that was still here. The rain mixed with the tears she didn’t bother to hide.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cracking under the weight of guilt. “For not being there... for failing you both. I should've protected you. I should've—” Her voice broke, a sob tearing through her chest.

The storm raged on, but Sevika stayed, anchored by the memories that haunted her every step. She saw flashes of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you teased her, the gentle warmth of your hand on her cheek. And then the image of that night—the blood, your fading breath, the life that slipped away before she could save it.

"I miss you, princess," she choked out, her shoulders shaking. "I miss you both."

The rain washed over her, but it couldn't cleanse the ache buried deep in her chest. Still, as she knelt there, drenched and broken, Sevika made a silent vow: to carry your love, your memory, through every storm.

She pressed a trembling kiss to her fingertips and touched the stone once more. “I love you. Always.”

The wildflowers swayed gently in the wind, defiant against the rain, a fragile reminder that love, even in grief, never truly dies.

Sevika's steps were heavy as she made her way home, the storm still lingering in the dark skies above Zaun. Her coat clung to her drenched frame, boots scuffing against the slick pavement. The rain had soaked through to her bones, but she welcomed the cold—it dulled the ache that never left her chest.

The apartment was quiet when she pushed the door open, silence wrapping around her like a familiar specter. The faint scent of you still lingered in the walls, a cruel reminder of the life you had built together. Sevika stood in the dim entryway, her breath unsteady as water pooled at her feet.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingers brushing against something soft and worn. Slowly, she pulled it out—a creased photograph, edges frayed from being handled too many times. The image was blurred slightly from age, but your radiant smile was unmistakable.

In the picture, you stood with a hand resting tenderly on your swollen belly, the other holding up the ultrasound pictures with pride. Your eyes sparkled with joy, the same joy Sevika had worked so hard to give you. She remembered that day vividly—how she had swallowed her pride and taken on grueling, endless shifts to afford the best hospital in Piltover. She wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, even if it meant sacrificing sleep and her own well-being.

Her thumb brushed over your face, lingering on the smile that had always felt like home. "I tried, bunny," she whispered hoarsely, voice trembling. "I tried so damn hard for you both."

Her knees weakened, and she sank onto the couch, the photo clutched tightly in her hand. The weight of her guilt pressed down on her chest, but there was something else too—love, fierce and unyielding, a thread that connected her to you even now.

Sevika leaned back, the photograph resting against her heart. The rain continued to beat against the windows, but inside, a fragile warmth flickered amidst the grief. She would carry that picture and the memory of your joy with her always, a testament to the love you had shared and the family you had dreamed of.

And though the world had taken you from her, it could never take that love away.

[yelenasdiary]

Hi, I have a fluffy, tiny angst, comfort request for Nat and fem! Reader.

On Valentine's Day, the city buzzes with couples, but a sinister plot unfolds as a Hydra agent hacks into the city's infrastructure, causing chaos. The reader and Natasha navigate the mayhem, fighting henchmen to reach their hideout.

During a fierce battle, the reader gets injured, and Natasha's concern becomes a realization of her deeper feelings. As she tends to the reader's wounds, their eyes lock in a moment of undeniable tension. With newfound determination, they confront the Hydra agent together despite the serious injury.

Later, at the Medbay, Natasha and the reader share a romantic moment, confessing their feelings amidst the chaos. The story ends with a tender Valentine's Day celebration as they embrace their love.

Are You Ready, Black Widow?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem, Avenger! Reader

Summary: When you are hurt on a mission, it leads you and Natasha to confess your feelings for one another.

Angst & Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, Mentions of Violence and Weapons, | 1.9K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you enjoy! x

Cupid’s Masterlist 2025

The restaurants and bars of New York City buzzed with couples enjoying the day of love. Couples scrolling the streets hand in hand, their faces glowing with affection completely unaware of the chaos that was brewing. You and Natasha walked side by side, enjoying the fresh city air that filled your lungs. 

“Do you think Fury’s going to let us enjoy this mandated ‘team bonding’?” You asked, looking over to Natasha. Her expression was always a carefully constructed mask of composure, always knowing her surroundings better than anybody else. 

“Doubtful” The redhead murmured, “Fury’s idea of bonding usually involves defusing a bomb or chasing down some crazed scientists. Besides, I saw Agent Hill giving him a particularly pointed look this morning when he tried to schedule a debriefing” she added with a light chuckle.

“Poor Hill, she’s always cleaning up after him” You replied, playfully shaking your head. 

Suddenly, the city’s cheerful vibe shattered. Streetlights flickered; car alarms blared as traffic came to a halt. Passing strangers stopped in their tracks as panic filled their minds. “What the hell?” You mummed as your eyes took in every new detail about your surroundings. 

“Doesn’t look good” Nat’s eyes narrowed, scanning the scene before her. “Look at the traffic lights” She added, catching your attention. Everywhere you looked, something new caught your attention, you watched as civilians hurried inside buildings unsure of what to expect. 

Natasha’s phone buzzed urgently. She answered and listened intently for a moment before hanging up. “Well, looks like our team bonding is about to be put to use” she said, looking to you. “Hydra have hacked into the city’s infrastructure. Seems like they’re targeting essential services” she explained. 

“The world can never just have a normal day, can it?” You replied dryly, shoving your hands into your pockets as Natasha shot you a smirk, “Come on, we have a city to save. Unless you have Valentines plans?”.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “you know how I feel about this stupid day”.

As you and Natasha navigated through the wave of panicked pedestrians, you couldn’t help but notice how Nat moved with a balletic grace. A group of thugs, clearly running off the thrill of the sudden chaos, attempted to mug a couple. Natasha rolled her eyes before she was able to disarm them in seconds in a blur of perfectly executed strikes. 

“Woah! W-we were just playing around!” One of the thugs said with his hands in the air.

“I suggest you get out of her before my friend playfully shoots you in the kneecaps!” You said sternly, titling your head slightly to the left. The group of thugs scrambled faster than you thought they would, dropping the handbag they had pinched from the younger woman. 

“Thank you! Oh my god! Thank you!” The civilian smiled in relief, picking up her bag from the cold ground. 

“Don’t mention it” Natasha replied softly, “you both should get home” she added. The two women smiled at you both once more before making their way home. 

“Those thugs, they seemed a little too organised” You said, as Nat turned to you. 

“I agree, could be some distracting from HYDRA”. 

The two of you moved faster, following the trail of disrupt and piled up traffic. The horns of multiple cars filled the streets of New York followed by the yelling of civilians frustrated by the pile up and confusion. Waving through the crowds of concerned people, you and Natasha eventually found yourself heading towards the outskirts of the city. 

Soon, the two of you came to an abandoned warehouse, from afar you could see armored guards wearing masks surrounding the entrance. You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips as you looked over to Natasha, “Now this is what I call a Valentines gift!”.

Natasha playfully shook her head at your sarcasm, “We have to be careful here, there is more of them then there is of us” she reminded you.

“Please don’t ruin my fun with realistic facts” you side eyed her, “you ready, Black Widow?” You asked. 

“Let the team bonding begin” she replied. 

Silently taking down the guards outside the warehouse was almost a little too easy, the two of you working together without speaking a word but using hand gestures. You moved cautiously with Natasha leading the way, her senses just that little more enhanced than yours. Once inside, the scene was exactly as you expected. Computers humming, wires snaking across the floor and more HYDRA soldiers than you cared to count. In the center of it all, was a man hunched over a keyboard, this fingers flying across the keys. 

“Y/n!” Natasha yelled, dodging a blow from a soldier that came out of the darkness and kicking him into a nearby wall. Now all the other soldiers were alerted of your uninvited presence. The stray blast caught you off guard, tearing through your side. 

“I’m fine!” You called back, as you stumbled backwards, clutching at your wound. Trying to ignore the pain, you managed to take down the soldier with your gun before tucking for cover behind a steel crate. Bullets flew around you as you did your best to help Natasha take out the remaining soldiers. 

With brutal efficiency, Natasha was able to take down most of the soldiers before the last remaining ones hurried towards the leader of all the chaos. “Go Nat!” You commanded, wanting to end this mission before any more damage could be done. But Natasha, as furious as she was, watched the soldiers hurry the man to safety.

“Forget them!” She replied, rushing to your side. “Let me see” she said, her voice soft. 

“I told you I’m fine; it’s just a scratch!” You gasp, trying to downplay your pain. 

“Don’t be ridiculous! That’s more than a scratch!” The Avenger replied as she applied pressure to your wound, “you need medical attention” She added as your eyes met. Beyond the concern in the emerald eyes, you were reminded of the affection you had for her, those deep feelings you had for her that you had buried deep down.

“We have to stop them” you said, breaking the silence. 

Natasha hesitated, looking around her before meeting your eyes once more, “Fine” she said with a firm voice, “but we are going straight to medical as soon as this is over”. 

You nodded, not wanting to push Nat too much. She found a jacket on the floor, left behind by one of the soldiers. Using her dagger, she cut the sleeve off to wrap around your wound, pulling it tight. “Which way did they go?” You asked, taking the redhead’s hand as she helped you off the ground. 

“This direction” Nat pointed.

Together, you burst into the main server room, the man from before was hunched over the desk, in a panic as he was yelling and typing away. The remaining soldiers pointed their guns at you as the door behind you locked. 

“You can’t stop us!”  The HYDRA scientist spat, turning on his heels to face the two of you, “HYDRA will rise!”.

“You can rise in hell!” Natasha spat; her swift moves quickly took down two of the soldiers while you focused on taking down the other two. “It ends here!” You said, your voice cold as you shot the last HYDRA soldier. 

“You Avengers know nothing!” The older man spat once more, “you will never save the world from what is to come! This world belongs to HYDRA!” He added, drawing his weapon. 

“Really?” You said, cocking a brow at the scientist, “do you guys ever have something new to say?” You added, confusing the man as Natasha got closer to him. 

“Your pathetic team is no match for HYDRA’s new soldiers! We will take over the world and end all of you so called Avengers”

You chuckled at the scientists’ confidence, “yeah, yeah. HYDRA is so strong, and we are all weak, save me the yawn! At least Thanos put up a fight” you teased. The man’s eyes narrowed, “you want a fight? You will soon get one!” His gun pointed directly at you. 

“Maybe so, but it won’t be from you” Natasha smirked before knocking the scientist out cold. You let out a sigh of relief before allowing yourself to drop to the ground again, “Fury! We got him but you need to get here now! Avenger down” Natasha spoke into her phone as she rushed to your side. 

----

The medical bay was sterile, calm and quiet. Your eyes flickered open as you came to your senses, the soft sound of beeping monitors assured you that you were still alive. Natasha was sat beside your bed, her gaze fixed on you, watching over you like a hawk. 

“It’s rude to stare” You spoke softly, breaking the silence. 

“Good to hear you haven’t lost your sense of humour” Natasha smiled softly. 

You looked to her, “thanks, for saving my life”.

Natasha’s eyes softened, “you’ve would’ve done the same for me”.

Looking into her eyes, you were reminded of the feelings you had kept buried. You gently reached for her hand, it was no or never you told yourself. “Nat” you began, “back at the warehouse….”

“Don’t worry about that. All that matters is that you’re okay” Natasha shifted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Its not that.....you know how you’ve always wonder why I hate this stupid holiday?”

Natasha nodded, “because its cheesy, right?”

You shook your head gently, “no….I mean, it’s a little because of that but its more because….I don’t get to spend it with you”.

The silence hung thick in the air, Natasha’s eyes glued to you as different thoughts ran through her mind and emotions warring across her face. Finally, her voice laced with vulnerability broke the silence. 

“I’m a weapon, Y/n” she began, shaking her head, “I destroy everything I touch”.

“That’s not true” you assured her, squeezing her hand. “You’re anything but a weapon, Natasha. You’re beautiful, kind, strong, loving and you inspire so many people to be better. You deserve happiness”.

Her eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance that you weren’t just saying this because of the pain killers in your system. “You deserve to be loved” you added.

“I’ve never been more scared of something in my entire life” The redhead began, “if I ruin this…I can’t” she added.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m scared too” you confessed with a soft smile, “but I’m more scared of continuing life without telling you how I feel”. With a deep sigh, Nat leaned forward, closing the gap between you two. “I hate how you have a point” she admitted, her lips ever so slightly brushing against yours. 

“I know” you whispered before her lips captured yours in a gentle but deep kiss. All your feelings came to the surface as the kiss deepened and Natasha’s hands softly cupping your face. 

“Once you’re out of here, I want to give you a valentines date” Natasha whispered against your lips as she slowly pulled away. You smiled, “what was wrong with tonight’s date?” You teased, making Natasha playfully roll her eyes. 

“I’d like on where you don’t get shot” she replied. 

“I suppose that is a fair deal”.

Natasha poured two paper cups of water, handing one to you, “to surviving valentines day” she said, raising her cup. 

You laughed, “to literally surviving valentines day!” You countered, clinking your paper cup with hers.

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[cheynovak]

Fevered Confessions part 3

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ later on in the series.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

**Y/N’s POV**

Weeks passed, and Ben started to change. Or maybe… this was who he really was.

At first, he was patient with me. Attentive. He’d cook—nothing fancy, but he made sure I ate. He’d check my wound, sit with me on the porch when I felt too weak to do much else. Sometimes, I’d catch him watching me with something unreadable in his eyes, something that made my stomach flip.

But whenever Annie or M.M. visited, something in him shut down. He’d withdraw, get colder. Sometimes, he’d leave the room entirely. I didn’t understand why.

This morning, I woke up to raised voices, the unmistakable sharpness of an argument.

I sat up slowly, still groggy, and strained to listen.

Annie. And Ben.

“You need to stop lying to her, Ben!” Annie’s voice was angry, but there was something else—desperation? “Stop pretending this is her happy ending when *you’re* the reason she got hurt in the first place.”

Silence.

My breath caught in my throat.

Ben is the reason I got hurt

I swung my legs over the bed, my heart pounding. I didn’t understand. What had happened? I thought this—whatever this was—was real. But if he’d lied about something, if he’d done something…

I stood up too fast, dizziness washing over me. I steadied myself against the wall, then forced my feet forward, following the voices.

I needed answers.

I walked to the top of the stairs, lingering just out of sight, my fingers gripping the railing as their words sank in.

Ben’s voice was sharp, angry. “You weren’t there, Annie! You don’t get to tell me what the hell I should do.”

“I know enough,” she shot back, venom in her voice. “She hated you, Ben. Hated you. And now you’re letting her believe you two are a thing? Now you’re taking advantage of her situation?”

My breath caught in my throat.

I hated him?

My stomach twisted. This feeling, this… pull toward him, was that real? Or was I clinging to him because I had nothing else?

Ben let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Christ on a fucking cross, she sleeps in a different room, Annie. Back off.”

I took a step forward, the floorboard beneath my foot creaking softly.

Both heads snapped toward me.

Annie looked guilty, like she’d been caught saying something she shouldn’t. Ben just looked… furious. But when his eyes met mine, something else flickered there. Panic.

I swallowed hard.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm.

I needed to know the truth. Now.

**Ben’s POV**

Y/N stood there at the top of the stairs, watching us, her eyes sharp despite the confusion. She was almost fully recovered physically, but her memories were still a blank slate.

She’d been trying to figure out what we were for weeks. I felt her frustration every time she looked at me like she was searching for something—an answer, a feeling, a reason.

She saw me for a far better man than I was, and I didn't want to break that bubble. I’d been trying like hell to stay away. For her own good.

I knew she wanted me close. I saw it in the way she gravitated toward me, in the way her face had fallen when she realized the marriage thing was a lie—just something I made up so I could be with her in the hospital. That moment had broken something inside her. And maybe inside me, too.

I exhaled sharply, forcing the walls back up. This is for the best.

“Get back to bed,” I ordered, my voice firm. She crossed her arms. “I’m not a kid, Ben. If you two are talking about me, just say so.”

Annie stepped closer to her, softening her voice. “We’re just worried. You’ve… changed.”

Y/N’s brows pulled together. “How?”

Annie sighed and turned to face her fully. “You hated him,” she said carefully. “You and Ben—God, you two couldn’t be in the same room without fighting.”

Y/N lowered her gaze to the floor, her expression unreadable.

I tensed, waiting for her to run, to agree, to remember. But she didn’t. She just stood there. Silent. Thinking, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to remember the truth… or stay lost in the lie.

**Y/N’s POV**

I stood in the living room now, fully awake, fully aware of the tension in the air. Annie looked at me like I was some lost cause, and Ben… he was watching me with that same guarded expression he always had, like he was bracing for impact.

“Well,” I said finally, meeting Annie’s gaze. “Maybe that was the past. But I can’t say I feel the same way now.”

Annie’s eyes widened, and then she started rambling—about how dangerous he was, how he’d killed people, how I couldn’t just ignore that.

I knew. Or at least, I’d figured it out.

The way Ben carried himself, the anger simmering beneath the surface, the way he reacted to loud noises or sudden movements—it all made sense. I’d watched a movie a few nights ago, something about soldiers returning from war, and I saw it in him. The way they clenched their fists, the way their eyes darted to exits, how easily they snapped when pushed.

Ben had the same anger issues. The same haunted look.

I raised my hand, cutting Annie off. “I feel safe with him, Annie,” I said firmly. “I trust him.”

Annie’s jaw clenched. “Y/N—”

“And maybe,” I continued, “maybe losing my memories makes me see him for the first time.”

Annie scoffed, throwing her hands up. “Oh Jesus, Y/N. He has you rainwashed.” I frowned. Was that what this was? No a refused to believe that.

I turned to Ben, searching his face for some kind of answer. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Annie, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

He looked furious. But beneath that anger, there was something else. Guilt.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said, my voice steady as I looked at Ben.

“What?” Annie snapped. “No!”

Before I could respond, Ben stepped between us, his presence solid, unmovable. “You heard her,” he said coldly. “Go.”

Annie’s eyes darted between us, frustration clear on her face. But eventually, she moved toward the door.

She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back one last time.

“When your little house on the prairie dream collapses and you see him for what he really is, call me.” Her voice was softer now, like she truly believed I’d regret this.

I didn’t answer.

I just stood there, watching her look past Ben—past his broad shoulders, past his protective stance—to me.

Then she was gone. The door clicked shut.

The moment she left, the weight of it all hit me, and my head dropped forward, resting lightly against Ben’s back. I felt the tension in his muscles, the barely-contained anger still simmering beneath his skin.

Without thinking, my arm moved around him, my hand settling against his stomach. He was warm, solid. Safe.

He didn’t move. Didn’t push me away. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep.

I should be questioning everything. But standing there, my body leaning against his, all I could think was—

I didn’t regret this.

**Ben’s POV**

I let myself feel it for just a second—her warmth against my back, her small hand pressed against my stomach, the way she trusted me without question.

Then I did what I always did. I pulled away. I had to.

I carefully lifted her hand off my body, stepping forward, creating distance between us. I couldn’t let her touch me like that. Not when I knew the truth.

Annie was right, in a way.

I wasn’t honest with Y/N. Not entirely. But she hadn’t asked, and she seemed fine with the life I built for her.

And that made me selfish. I knew it. But I didn’t care.

She believed in the life I created because she didn’t know better. And I liked that. I liked having her close, waking up to her voice in the morning, the way she always reached for me when she was unsure.

She looked up at me with those doe eyes, and something in my chest ached when I stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her lashes fluttered, and I saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

“I just…” Her throat bobbed, like she was about to say something important. Something that could change everything.

But then she shook her head. “Never mind.” She turned and walked toward the porch, I had no idea whether to let her go… or stop her.

**Y/N’s POV**

I tried.

I tried to tell him what he meant to me, but the words felt stupid. Too big, too heavy. So I did what he always did.

I ran.

I sat outside for what felt like hours, wrapped in silence, staring at the wide-open field in front of me.

Eventually, I heard him. Ben sat down beside me, saying nothing, just watching the trees sway in the wind.

I let the silence hang for a moment before speaking.

“Even though I’m the one who supposedly hates you,” I said, still looking forward, “you sure as hell don’t seem to like me that much either.”

He didn’t answer.

So I kept going.

“I don’t get it. You stayed with me at the hospital, claiming to be my husband.” My voice was steady, but my chest ached. “Then you brought me here. And clearly, I’ve figured out this isn’t our original home.”

Ben remained silent.

“You keep things from me. I know it’s to protect me from my past, and I’m not even asking you to spill it all.” I turned to him now, searching his face. He still wouldn’t look at me.

“But whenever I try to be close to you, you push me away.”

Nothing.

My stomach tightened. I inhaled deeply and finally asked the question that had been clawing at me for weeks.

“What do you want from me, Ben?”

Silence.

I nodded, lips pressing together. I stood up, my body heavy with disappointment. I turned toward the door, ready to walk away—

And then I felt him.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, firm but not rough. I barely had time to react before he pulled me back, turning me into him, crashing me against his chest.

And then—

He kissed me.

**Ben’s POV**

I lost control.

I should’ve said something—anything. But instead, I kissed her.

And God—it felt like a goddamn crack addict giving in to his fix. She was my drug. Her lips, soft and warm, tasted sweeter than I ever imagined. And the way she moaned against my mouth? It set my whole body on fire.

She didn’t pull away. No—she pulled me in. Not soft. Not tentative. Needy.

Like she needed me as much as I needed her.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping me tight, like she was afraid I’d disappear. I pressed her back against the wall, caging her in, my hands greedy—trailing up her sides, her ribs, her waist.

She was mine.

At least in this moment.

And I wasn’t strong enough to stop.

--

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[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 07

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: +4.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

Jungkook stared at Jimin’s message for a while before locking his phone the moment he heard you move. He placed his phone on the nightstand and turned his attention to you, propping himself up on his elbow. You’re going to hate him. He just got you back, and he’s terrified you might slip through his fingers again. 

He knows what he did is wrong, that Hina is waiting for him. But he can’t help but wonder where you two could be or what you could become. Your story wasn’t over when you broke up with him, and now that he knows the reason, he wants you even more.

“What are you looking at?” you mumble, burying your face in the pillow. Jungkook chuckles softly.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and you shake your head. “How do you feel?”

“Like a truck hit me,” you groan, your hand blindly patting the bed, searching for his touch. He smiles, knowing exactly what you're doing.

His fingers find yours as you pull both hands against your chest. He knows he has to learn all about you again, the woman you’ve become. Jungkook leans closer, brushing the messy strands of your bangs away from your forehead.

“What do you want to do?”

“Die,” you mumble, making him chuckle. “Sorry... about last night.”

Jungkook tilts his head curiously as you sigh and lift your eyes to meet his.

“When... I tried to ruin everything with sex,” you confess, swallowing hard. His eyes soften at your words.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Can we... just stay like this for an hour or two before going out?” you ask, clearly embarrassed, like a child requesting something timidly.

He closes the distance between your bodies, wrapping his free arm around you and kissing the top of your head.

“Anything you want, Nabi,” he murmurs against your hair as you relax.

His fingertips trace the curve of your spine softly while your hands find their way under his shirt to caress the skin of his back. It’s something you used to do when you were a couple, and Jungkook feels content. 

He doesn’t want to think about the mess he’s in, or about his fiancée. Right now, he just wants to stay with you—forever, if possible. He hopes you want the same.

“Are you still up for that date?” Jungkook asks, watching as you lift your head to meet his eyes.

“Pay me,” you joke, your face deadpan.

“How much?” he plays along, freezing when you close the distance and kiss him softly.

Jungkook cups your face, deepening the kiss just a little. He doesn’t want to go further; he just wants to feel you.

“Fuck, Nabi,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, his eyes still closed. “I need an extra pillow now.”

“What?” you chuckle, confused, as he grabs a small pillow and places it between your bodies near his crotch. “You’re getting hard from a kiss?”

“I always get hard when it’s you,” he groans, embarrassed by his body’s lack of control.

Before you can tease him, he’s kissing you again, mostly to shut you up but also because he can’t resist. You let out a slight moan that makes his situation worse, but he pushes his dirty thoughts aside and focuses on enjoying the moment. His body has always reacted to you. He realized this when you sat on his lap at sixteen, and he had to hold his breath.

Jungkook spends the morning watching you walk around the hotel room—first to wash your face, then to grab your clothes. Even when you scold him for staring, he just grins. On your way to your father’s apartment, his hand reaches for yours while he drives. He needs to touch you, too scared that this might all be a dream.

Your father is the first to make fun of you when he sees you step inside, still wearing Jungkook’s clothes. Jungkook smirks as you head to your room to take a shower and get ready for your date. He sits next to your dad on the couch, extending his hand as your father groans and reluctantly hands over some cash.

“You should be ashamed, taking advantage of your in-law,” your father grumbles, and Jungkook smirks.

“You’re the one who loves to bet,” he says playfully.

“Sometimes I forget how competitive you are, kid,” the older man says, shaking his head in amusement.

“I always win,” Jungkook replies with a grin. “And this time’s no different,” he adds, glancing at the bathroom door.

Your father studies Jungkook's profile for a moment before sighing with a fond smile.

“Thank you,” he says unexpectedly.

“For what?” Jungkook asks, surprised, turning to face him.

“For loving her, even through the bad.”

Jungkook’s expression softens as he chuckles.

“Ah, Ahjussi, you’re getting sentimental,” Jungkook teases, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“Always when it’s about her,” your father replies, patting Jungkook’s arm affectionately. “But I’m serious. You know how much I love her. I’d never let any man get close if I wasn’t sure his intentions were good.”

“She’s twenty-seven,” Jungkook reminds him with a soft smile.

“She’ll always be four years old to me,” your dad retorts, and Jungkook nods, understanding.

Jungkook wonders if he’ll see his future daughter the way your father sees you: his little girl, no matter how old she gets. Or if he’ll even have a daughter one day.

“I know you’re a good guy. I’ve seen you two grow up together. If it were up to me, I’d have married her off to you a long time ago.”

“Argh, stop, I’m blushing,” Jungkook laughs, still watching your father. “Too bad fathers can’t decide that stuff anymore,” he jokes, and your dad smiles.

“Even if I could, she’d beat both our asses if we tried,” your father chuckles, and Jungkook agrees.

Jungkook knows your father was—and still is—your biggest supporter in your relationship. When Jungkook was younger, he thought his future girlfriend’s father would be an overprotective bear who would make his life difficult. But your dad was different. From the moment they met, your father treated Jungkook like his own son, teaching him how to fight, letting him stay at his apartment when he needed, and even after you two broke up, Jungkook would still visit your father whenever he was in town, always bringing a bottle of sake.

“I’m going to win her back,” Jungkook whispers as he hears the shower stop.

Your father’s lips stretch into a soft smile before he turns his attention back to the TV. It doesn’t take long before you appear, dressed warmly for the cold November weather. Jungkook can’t help but smile. He remembers how nervous you were on your first date, spending hours picking out the perfect outfit and styling your hair.

“I’m ready,” you say, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and shoving your hands in your pockets.

He loves how comfortable you’ve become, casually dressed for what feels like a second-first date. Jungkook stands up, waving at your father as he joins you.

“I’ll be back before eight,” you say. Your father nods and hums softly as you turn away, Jungkook placing a hand on the small of your back as he follows you out.

After stopping at a convenience store for snacks and a fast-food market, Jungkook parks the car in the familiar spot you used to visit together. He refuses to let you carry any of the bags, which frustrates you. When you reach the shore, you immediately kick off your shoes to feel the sand beneath your feet.

“I’ll spend the day with my parents tomorrow,” he announces as he sits down beside you.

“I told you,” you reply, opening the bag and pulling out your drink. “I knew your mom wouldn’t be happy that you’re in town but not with her.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know everything, don’t you?”

“Call me God,” you smirk, and he chuckles, pulling a blanket from the car and draping it over your shoulders.

“You should put your shoes back on, ‘God.’ You’ll lose a toe,” he teases, and you simply tuck your feet under yourself, sitting on your knees.

“How long are you staying at Jimin’s?” you ask, taking a bite of your burger.

“Maybe another month or two. I’m looking for a place. Why?” he says, tossing a fry in his mouth before opening a can of cola.

“Just asking,” you shrug, swallowing your bite as you look out at the shore. “If you get too annoyed with him, I have an extra room. For a few days, I mean.”

“We spent the night in the same bed,” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, amused.

“I was drunk.”

“Not when you kissed me this morning.”

“Shut up,” you groan, pulling your knees to your chest as you eat your burger in silence.

Jungkook presses his lips together, trying not to grin as he unwraps his own burger. He’s holding back his feelings. If he were alone, he’d probably be kicking his feet like a giddy teenager because right now, he finds you incredibly cute with your blushing cheeks. No other woman makes him feel like this.

“But... I’m serious. If you want to stay at mine... I know how Jimin can be overwhelming. So, if you need a place to breathe, you can come to me,” you mumble, looking away.

His smile softens as he nods.

“You know, you shouldn’t say things like that because I hear you loud and clear, and I’ll be at yours the second we get back to Seoul,” Jungkook teases, taking a sip of his drink.

“Maybe I want you to,” you nearly whisper, making his heart skip a beat as you shift your attention back to the beach. “The sunset in Busan is prettier,” you say, quickly changing the subject.

His eyes follow yours, staring out at the horizon before drifting back to you. He knows you can feel him watching you, but he doesn’t care.

“Do you really want to try again?”

The question lingers in the air, surprising him. Are you opening the door?

“Do you?” he asks, his fingers playing absently in the sand.

“I... I think you’re right. Our story wasn’t over when I broke up with you,” you say, taking a deep breath. “And I think we won’t be able to move on unless we see where... this could take us,” you add, gesturing between the two of you.

The way you say it makes him frown slightly. It’s almost as if you’re giving your relationship a second chance to prove that you weren’t meant to be together—to help you grieve properly.

“Do you really want to try again?” Jungkook asks softly, watching as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“I... want to,” you reply shyly before meeting his gaze.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” he replies gently before taking a deep breath. “Do you want this?”

His eyes never leave yours. He’s holding his breath, terrified of your answer.

“Yes,” you say with more conviction. “I hate when you make me say things out loud.”

“I’m a little dumb. I need to hear it clearly,” he jokes, pushing the food aside to scoot closer, stealing a corner of the blanket to wrap himself with you. “I want to try again. But only if you want that too.”

Jungkook gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“I don’t want to try again just to properly grieve the breakup. I want this because I know we’re meant to be.”

“Says who?” you ask with a playful smile.

“Me. You. We both know we’re meant to be together. Ever since I saw you hit that girl with your tray,” he teases, and you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“That was hot.”

He watches as you move closer, your fingers brushing his cheek before you lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, so softly that he almost doesn’t feel it.

“Let’s try again,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his as you close your eyes. He can sense the vulnerability in your words. “Not to grieve. Not to stay stuck in the memories we made. I want to learn about the person you’ve become. And...”

Fall in love again. Jungkook knows what you’re about to say. But both of you leave the words unspoken. You need to rediscover who you are now and learn to love the new versions of yourselves.

“I want that too,” Jungkook murmurs before pulling back, smiling at you. “Alright. Once we’re back in Seoul, I’m taking you on a fancy date and wooing you properly.”

You chuckle softly at his words, watching as he gets up while you wrap the blanket around yourself like a cocoon.

“Aren’t we already on a date?” you ask, pushing your hair away as the wind whips it back across your face.

Jungkook takes off his cap and places it on your head to keep your hair out of your face. He remembers how you always forgot to bring a hair tie. Back then, your hair was long enough to twist into a bun without one.

“Of course, it’s a date. I plan on driving you home and stealing a kiss after complimenting you all afternoon,” he grins as you stand up, wrapping yourself tightly in the blanket.

“Please don’t,” you laugh, shaking your head, and he shrugs, making no promises.

Jungkook pulls his mother into a warm hug with one arm, his other hand carrying his travel bag. He had spent the day with his family, and since he was leaving today, his mother had prepared way too much food for everyone, even for his brother and sister-in-law.

“Don’t forget this,” she says, handing him plastic bags full of packed lunches for him and Jimin. “And tell Jimin to visit us next time.”

“Yes, mom,” Jungkook smiles, amused, kissing the top of her head.

When he hears the honk of your car, his eyes shift toward it, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Ah, my Uber is here,” he jokes, giving his father a quick hug before gathering all his bags. As you step out of the car to open the trunk for him, his mother calls out.

“Y/N?” She sounds unsure, making Jungkook scrunch his nose. “Oh my, look at you!” she beams, walking over to you as you shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Hello, Ahjumma,” you greet her with a smile before she pulls you into a hug. “You’re looking great.”

“You too. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” his mother compliments while Jungkook places his bags in the trunk, leaning his hip against the car. “How long has it been since I last saw you?”

Jungkook smiles proudly at your interaction, watching from the sidelines as his mother holds your hands. She’s a chatterbox, and he knows you’ll be stuck here for at least ten or fifteen minutes. He frowns slightly when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he swallows hard. Fuck. Excusing himself, he walks a few steps away from you and his mother to answer the call.

“Hi, darling,” he whispers, turning his back to you.

“Hi, my love. How’s Busan? You didn’t send me any pictures,” Hina says, and he knows she’s probably pouting.

“I, uh, I’ve been busy with family... But I did take some photos. I’ll send them to you once I’m back in Seoul.”

His eyes drift back to you, laughing with his mother, and guilt washes over him. It feels wrong to be playing both sides.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Hina coos, while Jungkook bites his bottom lip, his gaze still on you.

“How are you? It must be getting colder there now,” he asks, trying to focus on the conversation. He hears her soft hum and the sound of her settling into bed.

“I can’t wait to explore Seoul with you. I’m starting to pack next week. Our apartment is already on the market. Have you found anything interesting in Seoul yet?” she continues, but his attention is elsewhere, on you now hugging his mother—albeit, a bit awkwardly.

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve started looking. Jimin’s helping me,” he responds, scuffing a rock with his foot, preoccupied, before her words fully register. “Wait for me; I’ll book a ticket to Tokyo to help you with the move.”

He hates what he’s doing. He should break up with her now—to avoid hurting her and to fully focus on you. But breaking up over the phone would be an asshole move. He owes her a face-to-face conversation. Plus, he doesn’t want her preparing to move to Seoul for nothing.

“Oh, my love, that’s so sweet of you,” Hina replies, her voice pitched a little higher. “I miss you. Should I start looking at tickets for next week? The sooner you’re here, the better.”

“No, don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, as you wave at him, signaling that it’s time to leave. “I have to go now. I’ll call you when I’m back in Seoul.”

Hina sighs softly, clearly disappointed not to have more time to talk with her fiancé.

“Alright... I’ll wait for your call,” she murmurs. Jungkook adjusts his cap. “I love you. Drive safely.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek. Hina has no idea that he didn’t go to Busan with someone, and certainly not you. He told her that Jimin let him borrow his car.

“I... me too,” he replies, his voice nearly a whisper before ending the call.

His stomach churns, twisted with guilt. Lying to two women feels awful, and he knows the feeling won’t go away until he resolves this mess.

“I’m going to leave you here if you don’t start running,” you tease playfully, and he nods, jogging back to the car.

Both of you wave one last time to his mother, his father now standing at the door. Once you start the engine and leave Busan behind, Jungkook is quiet, staring out the window, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay?” you ask, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, though it’s brief and followed by a shake of his head as if trying to shake off the feeling that’s eating at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re usually more talkative.” You glance at him quickly before focusing back on the road. “Do you miss your mom already?” you tease, lightening the mood, and he groans.

He’s well aware of his “mama’s boy” reputation—something both you and Jimin always teased him about.

“I didn’t think your mom would be so welcoming,” you say softly, and he arches a brow.

“She’s always loved you. She hated my first girlfriend, and all the ones after you. But never you,” he replies, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Even after we broke up, she blamed me, said it was my fault for not being able to keep you.”

Jungkook watches as you press your lips together, trying not to smile. His mom always wanted daughters, but she got two sons instead. So, when Jungkook introduced you, his mom had been over the moon—a well-mannered, lovely girl who loved her son unconditionally. You instantly became her favorite kid.

“You cut your hair?” you ask, noticing the buzz cut at the back of his head, partially hidden by his cap.

“Actually...” he grimaces, taking off his hat and glancing at himself in the rearview mirror before brushing his bangs. “My mom did. She said I have a ‘girl’s face on a man’s body with my long hair.’”

He carefully watches your reaction as you quickly glance at his new haircut before stopping at a red light, then turn to really stare at him.

“Oh, hell no,” you chuckle softly. “Forget about that second date.” You joke, and he groans, playfully nudging your shoulder.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters, giving his reflection another look on his phone.

“It’s actually worse,” you grimace before bursting into laughter. “Does your mother know any haircut other than the awful chestnut style you always have?”

He has to admit, he does look like a chestnut. It never bothered him until you started teasing him about it.

“Argh, shut up. I think I look cute,” Jungkook sighs, adjusting his hair again.

“The ‘Kookoonut’ era is back,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m heading straight to the hairstylist as soon as we’re back in Seoul.”

“You have the same face as when you were sixteen. Except for the buff body and tattoos, I mean.” you say, sneaking another glance. Inside, he knows you’re warming up to his new look, maybe even liking it. But of course, you’d never admit it out loud.

“You still fell in love with me, even with that haircut,” he boasts, smirking when your cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.

“I didn’t fall in love for that haircut back then,” you mumble, blushing so hard that even your ears are red. You crank up the radio to signal that the conversation is over because you’re too embarrassed.

Jungkook chuckles softly, shaking his head before turning his gaze back to the window, pulling his cap down over his head again.

“Oh, she’s going to hate you,” Yoongi chuckles, taking a sip of his beer as Jungkook palms his face. “They’re both going to hate you.”

Jimin lets out a chuckle as he sits next to Jungkook on the couch, handing him another beer.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Jungkook asks dramatically, falling back against the couch, hiding his face in his hands.

“Which one do you love more?” Yoongi asks, earning a slap on the back from Jimin before laughing. “What? It’s easier that way—to know what you want.”

“Neither Y/N nor Hina deserves to be treated like disposable objects,” Jimin scolds, and Jungkook stares blankly at the coffee table.

Jimin’s right. Neither of them deserves to be treated that way.

“I thought Jimin would pull a shitty move like that, not you,” Yoongi adds, wetting his lips as Jimin gasps dramatically.

“I’ve never done that to any woman,” Jimin groans, and Jungkook arches a brow.

“You dated three girls back in high school,” Jungkook reminds him.

“I was a teenager,” Jimin defends himself. “A stupid teenager.”

“You’re still stupid. Just now you’re an adult,” Yoongi retorts, shrugging.

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle slightly. He likes how unbothered Yoongi is, saying things casually. To people who don’t know him, Yoongi might seem pretentious, but it’s just his humor.

“So, what are you going to do?” Jimin arches a brow, ignoring Yoongi’s remark.

Sighing loudly, Jungkook looks down at his beer bottle.

“I don’t know… Should I leave Hina and try my luck with Y/N? I feel bad for her. Or should I give up on Nabi and continue with Hina?” he mumbles, wiping the condensation off his bottle with his thumb.

“Which one do you love more?” Yoongi repeats his question.

Jungkook sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. It’s an easy question, but he can’t say it out loud.

“Hina’s always been there for me…” He begins, and the other two roll their eyes. “I can’t just dump her like a trash bag, guys. She’s nice, I like her. She’s always supported my dreams and plans in life. She accepted the heartbroken guy I was and helped me get better. It would be ungrateful and disrespectful to leave her for my ex. I just can’t.”

“So, you love Nabi,” Yoongi concludes with a shrug. Jungkook groans, throwing his head back.

“Honestly, I feel bad lying to both of them,” Jimin says, absentmindedly scratching a stain on the table. “Nabi is one of our oldest friends. And Hina… she’s a sweetheart.”

“I know that,” Jungkook says, raising his voice slightly. “I know, okay? They’re both great in their own way. And I hate that one of them is going to get hurt.” He frowns, frustration creeping in.

The two men exchange a glance before Jimin sighs. “I know it’s hard, Kookie. But sooner or later, they’ll both find out. And Hina will be here soon.”

Jungkook tries to push those thoughts aside as he knocks on your door two days later. It’s Friday night, and as promised, he’s here to take you out. You open the door, your nose nearly brushing his chest before you lift your eyes to meet his.

“Sorry, I’m almost ready,” you say, stepping aside to let him in while putting on some golden earrings.

“No problem,” he replies with a smile, following you into the living room.

His eyes wander over your figure, appreciating how you’ve dressed up for him. He can’t help but admire how the black dress hugs your body. His gaze follows you as you disappear into your room, returning moments later with your heels in one hand and your iPad in the other.

“I finished the design. Tell me if you like it,” you say, handing him the tablet as he sits on the couch. He forces himself to focus on the sketch instead of you. “If something doesn’t fit right, just tell me, and I’ll correct it.”

Jungkook smiles at how meticulous you are with your work. Every little detail is exactly how he envisioned it.

“It looks good to me,” he says, watching as you sit on the coffee table to put on your heels.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, and he nods, taking one of your heels from your hand. “Alright. If you’re free next week, I’ll fit you into my schedule,” you say.

“Already eager to see me again?” he teases, gently grabbing your ankle to help you with your heel.

You don’t protest to his gesture, and stare at him with a slight smile.

“Can I ask you something, Nabi?” he says softly, and you hum in response.

“I have this friend… back in Japan. He’s seeing two girls,” Jungkook begins, focusing on slipping your foot into the heel, letting his fingers trail lightly along your leg.

You frown slightly as he picks up your other foot.

“He likes them both, but one of them is his greatest love. The other is… someone special to him.”

“Do the girls know?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“No, neither of them knows. But he knows he has to make a choice before hurting both,” Jungkook continues, busying himself with putting on your other heel.

He avoids meeting your gaze, focusing on the task.

“How would you react if you were in his position?”

You take a moment to consider the question.

“I can’t put myself in his position,” you finally reply, crossing one leg over the other, eyes still on him. “But it’s not fair to the girl who’s just ‘special.’ Deep down, he’ll always be thinking about his greatest love while he’s with her.” You continue and Jungkook nods, taking in your words. “If I’m being honest, if I were him, I’d choose the greatest love.”

“You would?”

“Hm… I have a lot of affection for Baekhyun. But you, you’re my greatest love,” you mumble, your cheeks turning rosy. Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, his eyes softening. “But if I were either of those girls, I’d dump his ass for trying to have it both ways,” you add, colder this time as you stand up.

His heart drops at your words, and he mechanically stand up too. His hands are shaking. Jungkook takes a deep breath, hiding them in his pockets.

“I hope they both find out and that he ends up alone,” You add, walking to the door. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” You smile, grabbing your coat and Jungkook knows deep down—he’s screwed.

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Me and My Husband PT2

Milf Abby x Suburban Wife Reader

Warning: Abuse, Sexism, Smut (in later part), cussing, homophobia, Men being Men, child abuse, happy ending, substance abuse, cheating.

A/N: This fic is based off the song Me and My Husband by the Queen Mitski. 8k words.

tags: @glass-apothecary. @asothinking. @half-of-a-gay. @0h-basic. @antobooh

P1 P2 PT3

It’s been days since the kiss. Days filled with the weight of silence, of not knowing how to look at her, how to look at yourself. The memory of her lips—soft, fleeting, but searing—lingers in the back of your mind, always there. You try to bury it, to drown it in the routine of your daily life, but it keeps resurfacing, like a whisper that won’t go away.

Each time you see her, you look the other way, pretending not to notice her standing just across the street, pretending she’s not there, like she doesn’t occupy a space in your heart that you can’t shake. You feel guilty—so guilty. Not because you don’t know what to say to her, but because you wish you didn’t feel that way at all. You wish you could pretend like it didn’t happen, that it didn’t matter.

But it does. It matters more than anything, and that’s what scares you.

The first light of morning seeps into your room, slanting through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the floor. The quiet is thick, the kind of quiet that follows a night spent tangled in your own thoughts. You shift in the bed, blinking the sleep from your eyes as your mind refuses to quiet down. Your eyes drift to your husband, turned away from you, deep in sleep. His back rises and falls in an even rhythm, unaware of the turmoil swirling within you.

You stare at him for a long moment, searching for some kind of comfort, but it’s no use. There’s nothing there but the same distant emptiness that’s been there for months now, maybe even longer. His body takes up space in the bed, but it feels like there’s a thousand miles between you.

You shake your head, the exhaustion from the past few days weighing on you. You don’t even have the strength to keep pretending, to keep up the act. You want to slip away from this—away from him, away from the guilt that churns in your stomach every time you think about Abby.

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him. The cool floorboards press against the soles of your feet, sending a chill up your spine as you move toward the door. For a moment, you pause, casting a glance back at your husband’s sleeping form—his steady, rhythmic breathing a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside your chest. The weight of it all crashes over you, a tidal wave of guilt, confusion, and frustration, but you don’t let yourself linger. You can’t afford to. There’s no time for weakness, no time for any of this.

You let out a quiet sigh, closing the door softly behind you as you step into the hall. The house is still, eerily so, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant creak of floorboards as you make your way down the hallway. The silence feels suffocating, a constant reminder of how far you’ve fallen from what you once hoped for, from what you once promised yourself.

You stop in front of the kids’ bedroom, hand hovering over the door handle. There’s a moment of hesitation as you draw in a breath. And then, with a quiet push, the door creaks open.

Your eyes immediately find Madison. She’s sitting up in bed, her small body curled into the softness of her blankets, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her face, still heavy with the remnants of slumber, lights up when she sees you, her lips forming a sleepy smile.

“Mornin’ momma,” she murmurs, pushing herself off the bed with a small groan, her tiny hand clutching the stuffed animal she’s never without. The worn edges of the fabric are familiar, comforting in a way you wish you could be for her.

Her eyes—half-lidded and still filled with the haze of sleep—search your face for something. Comfort. Reassurance. The answer to a question she doesn’t know how to ask yet. She doesn’t know how broken you feel, how fragile the thread holding you together is. All she knows is that she’s still her innocent, trusting self, believing that everything is okay.

Your heart aches as you look at her, at the way she clings to the safety of her stuffed bunny as if it can protect her from everything in the world. You want to believe that it can, want to believe that you can, but the weight of the day presses on you.

For a brief moment, you forget everything else the guilt, the confusion, the tension. You forget about the kiss that has turned your world upside down, the storm that’s been brewing inside you. All that matters is her. This small, precious part of your life.

You kneel down in front of her, letting your smile slip out even though it feels foreign on your face. You reach out, brushing her messy hair away from her face, the soft strands still damp with sleep.

“Morning, sweet girl,” you whisper, your voice soft despite the storm brewing deep inside you. You kneel down to her level, your hands gently cupping her small shoulders, pulling her into a hug. Her tiny frame melts into yours, the warmth of her little body against you grounding you in a way you can’t explain. It’s a fleeting comfort, a moment of peace in the chaos, but for that heartbeat, you let it fill you.

The scent of her hair, faintly sweet and so familiar, clings to you as she leans against you, her small hands resting lightly on your back. The weight of everything falls away for just a second, and in that moment, she’s your world. The kiss that changes everything, the confusion in your heart none of it matters. Not when you’re holding her, when you feel her so close that her breath mingles with yours.

After a beat, you pull away reluctantly, though her little arms stay wrapped around you for just a moment longer, as if she knows something you’re not ready to admit. You smile softly, brushing her messy hair from her forehead, your fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Her face, still marked with the remnants of sleep, gazes up at you with wide eyes full of innocent curiosity.

“Can I help you clean, Momma?” she asks, her voice sweet and earnest, her words thick with the slowness of early mornings. The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re struck by how much she wants to help, to be part of something, to ease your burden in the way only a child can.

Her eyes search your face, her little brow furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if you’ll let her. The innocence in her expression makes your heart ache—a gentle reminder of the simple world she’s still living in, unaware of the messiness that exists beyond it. It’s almost unfair, you think, that she should be forced into this too early.

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing another smile, though it feels tight and hollow. “Not today, baby,” you say gently, stroking her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under your fingers. “You just go sit at the table, okay? Let me take care of breakfast.”

She looks at you for a second, her brows furrowing slightly in quiet contemplation, as if she doesn’t quite understand why she can’t help. But then, with the same unwavering trust that only a child can have, she nods, the tip of her stuffed bunny still clutched tightly in her tiny hand.

“Okay, Momma,” she says, her voice small and soft. She gives you one last lingering look before turning to shuffle off toward the kitchen, her steps still clumsy with sleep.

You watch Madison as she trudges toward the kitchen, her little feet padding softly on the floor, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s something so painfully normal about this moment, something that makes the chaos in your mind feel so foreign to the routine of this life you’ve built. It’s all so normal, so mundane, yet you can’t shake the feeling that you’re losing grip on it.

The clock is ticking louder in your ears as you move toward the kitchen, still caught in the weight of the moment with your daughter. You glance at the hallway mirror for just a second as you pass, catching a glimpse of yourself—tired eyes, hair slightly mussed from sleep, shoulders tense with the weight of everything unsaid, unresolved. It’s like staring at a stranger, someone who’s supposed to be in control, who’s supposed to know what to do. But you don’t. You can barely keep it together.

In the kitchen, the sunlight filters through the window, casting soft light on the countertops and the little chairs where your children sit. Madison is already at the table, her bunny still clutched tightly against her chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. She’s so small, so innocent, and yet, here you are—holding it all inside, pretending that everything is fine.

“Momma, are we goin' to church today?” Madison asks, her tiny voice drifting over from the kitchen table. She peeks over the top of her chair, her big brown eyes already searching for reassurance. You pause for a moment, glancing up from where you’re pouring the orange juice, catching the innocence in her expression.

You smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yes, dear. After breakfast,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

As you pour her a glass of juice, you walk over to where she’s sitting and place it gently in front of her. She looks up at you with a soft smile, her fingers wrapping around the glass like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Thank you, Momma,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep, before her little hand caresses your cheek. You lean into it for just a moment, letting the softness of her touch remind you of something pure, something you’re desperately clinging to.

You return her smile, though it’s brief, and continue your movements—trying to keep the world at bay. You turn to finish preparing breakfast, the sizzling of the pan and the smell of eggs filling the air. But before you can focus, you feel small feet smacking against the floor. The sound is familiar, like the thudding of tiny hearts that always need something from you.

Suddenly, you feel a tiny arm wrap around your leg, a gentle, unrelenting pull that makes it hard to move. You look down, already knowing who it is without having to check.

“Jayden,” you say softly, your voice tinged with patience, but also a little exhaustion. “You need to let go of my leg so I can finish making breakfast.”

But he doesn’t listen. Instead, his little arms tighten around your leg as he looks up at you, his wide, pleading eyes silently asking to be picked up. You sigh quietly, the weight of the moment pressing against you.You bend down slightly, resting one hand on his small back, but you don’t pick him up just yet.

Before you can respond, you hear a soft giggle from behind you. You turn, and there’s Kimberly, already out of bed and standing next to Jayden, holding the glass Madison had been drinking from. She’s sipping from it with an exaggerated slowness, clearly enjoying the attention it brings. Her messy curls are sticking up in all directions, and her pajama pants are a little too big, trailing on the floor as she moves.

“Momma, she’s drinkin’ my juice!” Madison’s voice rings out, sharp and accusatory as she points at Kimberly, who is savoring the last of the orange juice in the cup that had once been hers. The three-year-old’s small hands wrap around the cup with exaggerated care, making sure she gets every last drop.

You turn toward Madison, catching her eye as you try to soothe the situation. “I’ll get you more, okay?” you say gently, your tone soft but firm. You know it’s a small issue, but you also know how big these moments feel to them. Madison’s face scrunches for a second before she nods, the hint of a frown still playing at the corners of her mouth. She then turns back to the table, her focus shifting from the juice to the task at hand.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes scanning the room—your kids, the mess, the dishes piling up in the sink, the sound of the ticking clock echoing louder with each passing second. Time is slipping away, and you feel like you’re falling behind, trying to keep up with a constant whirlwind of needs. The push and pull of duty—caring for them, tending to the house, getting everything in order—is a familiar rhythm, one you know well. But right now, it feels like more than you can keep up with.

You don’t have time to stop, though. You don’t have the luxury of slowing down. You move, you keep going—because that’s what you do. For them. For your kids.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, crouching down to scoop Jayden up into your arms as his soft whimper reaches your ears. His little face is scrunched in frustration, clearly wanting something that you can’t quite understand, but as soon as you pull him close, his small hands wrap around you, and his head presses into your shoulder. His warmth is like a balm, settling your restless heart for just a moment. You close your eyes, allowing yourself the briefest taste of peace as you feel the gentle rhythm of his breath against your skin. It’s fleeting, but it’s enough.

You pull yourself back into the present, gently placing Jayden back down on the floor. His small feet begin wiggling, eager to get to work on his own breakfast, his determination as strong as ever, even at his tender age.

“Can I help set the table, Momma?” Madison asks, her voice sweet, but you can hear the excitement bubbling in it as she looks up at you. Her eagerness to help, to be part of the action, is both endearing and distracting.

You smile softly, grateful for the momentary relief. “Yes, sweetie. Put the napkins on the table, please.” You try to keep your tone calm, to keep your voice from betraying the chaos that’s swirling just beneath the surface.

Madison’s face lights up, her eyes sparkling with joy as she hurries to grab the napkins. Her little feet patter against the floor, quick and purposeful as she scurries off, determined to help in whatever way she can. You turn back to finish breakfast, the sizzle of food on the stove a constant reminder that there’s no time to waste, no time to slow down.

Your husband’s heavy footsteps thud down the stairs, breaking the quiet of the house. He appears in the doorway, stretching as he yawns and looks around the kitchen. “Good mornin’,” he mutters, his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Madison, focused on the task of finishing up the table, doesn’t respond right away. She’s arranging the utensils and napkins, meticulously placing them in their spots. When she looks up and catches your eye, you give her a gentle smile and nod, signaling that it's okay to greet him.

“Good mornin’, Daddy,” she says finally, her voice soft but sweet as she carefully sets a fork down, her tiny fingers brushing the table’s surface.

Your husband nods, distracted, and without another word, he turns toward the door, heading outside to grab the morning paper. The cold air rushes in as the door opens, and the sharp click of it slamming shut causes a slight jolt in the room. You hear him muttering to himself as he shuffles through the paper. He doesn’t waste time before speaking, his tone irritated, the sharpness clear in his voice. “Hurry up, why don’t you? I don’t wanna be late to church.” The words hang in the air, heavy and impatient.

Before you can respond, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoes loudly throughout the house, a final punctuation to his command. The noise is too much for Nico, still in his crib. The sudden sound jolts him awake, and his wail rings out, cutting through the air with urgency.

You glance at your husband, hoping for some recognition, some shift in his expression. But his gaze never leaves the paper. He remains seated at the table, sifting through it as if nothing has happened. His eyes flicker toward Nico’s cry, and then he sighs, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You gonna shut that baby up?”

The words strike like a cold slap. You feel the frustration well up, but you swallow it down and manage a tight smile. “I’ll go do that, dear,” you reply, the words a mere formality, as you turn away to deal with the mess the morning has stirred up.

You walk down the hall and into the nursery, the sound of Nico’s cries getting louder the closer you get. As you open the door, the sight of him sitting up in his crib brings a mixture of exhaustion and tenderness. His tiny face, scrunched in discomfort, softens when he sees you. His cries instantly stop, and he breaks into a soft, happy giggle, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

The moment he giggles, your heart catches. He’s so small, so innocent, and so full of life that it feels like the weight of everything else can be pushed aside, if only for a second. You smile down at him, reaching into the crib to scoop him up, cradling him close. His warmth calms you, even if only for a moment, and you allow yourself to breathe deeply, letting go of the noise and tension of the house.

Breakfast is finally on the table, and the smell of it fills the air, but there’s little time for you to savor it. You sit at the table, holding Nico in your arms, spooning bits of soft cereal into his mouth as you try to keep him content. He gurgles and kicks his little legs, his tiny hands grasping at the spoon with more interest than his actual hunger. You smile down at him, but there’s no real time to enjoy the moment—there’s too much to do. The clock ticks away, each second pulling you closer to the time you need to leave.

Your husband finishes his breakfast quickly, pushing his chair back with a slight scrape of the legs on the floor. Without a word, he stands up, grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, and heads for the hallway, likely to get ready for church. The sound of his footsteps fades as he disappears into the bedroom, leaving the weight of the morning all on your shoulders.

You sigh softly, trying to focus on the task at hand. As Nico babbles happily in your arms, you turn your attention to the chaos at the table. Madison is finishing her last bite of toast, Kimberly is poking around at her bowl of cereal, and Jayden is already starting to squirm in his seat, clearly done with his food. You give them all a look, your smile warm but tinged with the exhaustion that’s been building all morning.

"Alright, let’s get you gremlins ready for church,” you say, your voice light despite the underlying tension. The kids look at you, their faces a mix of anticipation and the remnants of sleep. They all seem to know the drill by now—church means more clothes, more brushing, and a little less time to play.

Madison, always the helpful one, hops off her chair and starts gathering her things, ready to get dressed. Kimberly follows her lead, mimicking her older sister with enthusiasm, while Jayden, still too small to fully understand, just starts to wander around, his small feet pattering against the floor. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, even as you feel the weight of everything pressing in.

You gently place Nico back in his high chair, making sure he’s secure, before standing up and walking toward the kids' room to get them dressed. The day is already slipping through your fingers, but as always, you push forward, taking one step at a time.

Once the kids are dressed and ready, you finally slip away into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. The room is small, the air still carrying the faint scent of lavender soap and baby powder. For the first time this morning, you are alone. No tiny hands tugging at your clothes, no cries demanding your attention—just you and your reflection.

You take a deep breath, turning toward the mirror. Your dress is simple yet elegant, the fabric soft against your skin as you smooth it down over your hips. The color compliments your complexion, bringing a subtle warmth to your tired features. You reach up, your fingers slipping through the tight coils of your hair, adjusting a few stray curls that frame your face. No matter how much you try to tame them, they always have a mind of their own. Some days, you find it frustrating. Today, you don’t have the energy to care.

You take a step closer, examining the woman staring back at you. There’s exhaustion in your eyes, dark circles just barely concealed beneath a thin layer of makeup. You tilt your head slightly, searching for something beyond the weariness—something that still feels like you. But before you can dwell on it for too long, a voice slices through the brief moment of peace.

"Can you hurry up!" your husband’s voice rings from downstairs, sharp and impatient. The sound grates against your nerves, making your shoulders tense involuntarily.

You exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the sink for just a second longer before forcing yourself to let go. One last glance in the mirror, one final adjustment to your dress, and you step away. The moment of solitude is over. Time to go.

You step out of the bathroom and make your way into the living room, smoothing out your dress once more as you enter. The morning sunlight filters through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room, making the scene feel almost peaceful—almost.

Madison is the first to notice you. She turns from where she’s standing near the couch, her big, expressive eyes lighting up as she takes you in. A wide, toothy grin spreads across her little face as she hurries toward you, her small hands reaching for the fabric of your dress.

"You're beautiful, Momma," she says sweetly, tilting her head as if she’s admiring you like one of her storybook princesses.

Your heart swells at her words, a warmth spreading through you despite everything weighing you down. You crouch slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, baby," you murmur, brushing a stray curl away from her face.

Before you can savor the moment any longer, your husband strides toward the front door, his heavy footsteps echoing through the space. Without a word, he pulls it open, letting the morning air rush inside.

"Let's go," he says curtly, his voice lacking the warmth you just shared with your daughter.

You swallow down the sigh threatening to escape and straighten up. Turning back to your children, you gently herd them toward the door, checking to make sure their little shoes are on properly, their clothes are neat. Jayden clutches your hand tightly, his tiny fingers wrapping around yours like he’s afraid to let go. Kimberly trails just behind, still clutching a toy she refused to leave behind. And Nico, bundled in your arms, lets out a soft coo, entirely unaware of the tension surrounding you all.

With everyone gathered, you follow behind your husband, stepping outside into the bright morning light. The crisp air greets you as you carefully help the kids into the car, making sure seatbelts are fastened and little legs aren’t dangling awkwardly.

The ride to church is fast. Too fast. The silence in the car is thick, heavy uncomfortable in a way that makes your chest feel tight. No one says anything. Not Madison, who usually chatters about everything she sees out the window. Not Jayden, who often hums under his breath when he's content. Even Kimberly, your little mischief-maker, sits quietly, uncharacteristically subdued.

Your husband keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tight. You stare out of the window, watching the world blur past, your own thoughts just as tangled as the curls on your head.

The church appears in the distance, its tall steeple standing against the sky like a quiet reminder of the place you’re heading a place of worship, of peace, of reflection. But as the car slows to a stop in the parking lot, you can’t shake the feeling that none of those things will come easy today.

"Welcome," the pastor greets warmly as you step inside with your children. His kind eyes sweep over your little ones, offering them a gentle nod before turning to the next family arriving behind you.

Your husband barely acknowledges the greeting, already walking off in another direction where to, you don’t know, and frankly, you don’t care. You exhale softly, adjusting Nico in your arms before scanning the room for an open seat.

You find one near the middle of the congregation and begin making your way toward it, guiding Madison, Jayden, and Kimberly along. But just as you step closer, your movements falter. Someone’s already sitting there.

Abby.

She’s leaning back slightly, her muscular frame relaxed in the wooden pew, her expression unreadable. Your breath catches for just a moment, your mind instantly flashing back—to the last time you saw her. The last time you spoke. The last time her lips were on yours.

You don’t say anything. You simply lower yourself into the seat beside her, placing a pacifier in Nico’s mouth to quiet his soft babbling. The warmth of Abby’s presence lingers at your side, almost palpable, yet neither of you move.

"Y/N," she finally says, turning toward you, her voice softer than you expected.

For the first time in days, you glance up at her really look at her. It’s brief, fleeting, but your eyes meet, and the unspoken weight of everything that has happened sits between you.

You don’t answer. Instead, you give her a small, polite smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Before she can say anything else, your husband appears beside you, settling into the pew with a heavy sigh. His presence feels like a shift in the air, pressing down, suffocating.

And that’s when the pastor begins his sermon.

Abby slides a folded piece of paper toward you, the slight rustle barely audible over the pastor’s voice. Your fingers hesitate before picking it up, unfolding it carefully beneath the shield of the table.

Are you gonna continue to ignore me?

The words are scrawled hastily, but they hit like a hammer to your chest.

You swallow, your grip tightening around the note as your eyes flick up to her. Abby doesn’t look away. She holds your gaze, her expression unreadable, but there’s something there—something expectant, something frustrated. She places a pencil in your hand, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest second, sending a jolt up your arm.

You inhale sharply, turning your focus back to the paper. The weight of everything of the sermon, of your husband’s presence, of your children sitting beside you presses in on all sides. But still, your fingers move.

I don’t know, Abby.

You hand the paper back without looking at her.

There’s a pause, long enough for you to hear the scratch of the pencil as she rereads your words. You can feel her reaction before you see it—the way her body tenses ever so slightly, the way she shifts just a little away from you, like your words pushed her back.

You don’t turn. Instead, you stare ahead, eyes settling on Madison, who sits with her hands neatly folded in her lap, the picture of a little lady in public, soaking in every word from the pastor. Meanwhile, Kimberly and Jayden fidget beside her, their tiny bodies struggling to keep still, feet kicking lightly against the pew.

Your husband's glare burns into the side of your face, his displeasure a silent but suffocating presence. You place a gentle hand on Jayden’s lap, shaking your head in a quiet warning. He stops immediately, Kimberly following suit, though the restless energy still hums beneath their tiny limbs.

Nico shifts in your arms, his small body pressing closer as he buries his face into your chest, his breathing slowing.

You exhale softly, rocking him just a little, grounding yourself in his warmth.

Beside you, Abby is still.

The note is gone.

But the words between you feel louder than ever.

Minutes pass, the weight of the sermon pressing down on you, but your mind is anywhere but the words being spoken. The steady hum of the pastor’s voice fades into the background as a gentle touch brushes against your arm. The warmth spreads across your skin, slow and deliberate, and for a second, you think you imagined it.

But then it happens again—soft, lingering.

Your breath hitches as you glance down, watching as Abby’s fingers trail featherlight along your forearm before she subtly intertwines her hand with yours. Her grip is firm yet careful, as if she’s testing how far she can go, how much you’ll allow.

She doesn’t look at you.

Her eyes remain ahead, fixed on the pastor, her expression unreadable. But her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand, grounding you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Your stomach twists.

You should pull away. Your husband is right beside you, just inches away, unaware of the way your fingers are slotting so easily between Abby’s. The air feels too thick, too dangerous, like one wrong move could bring the whole world crashing down around you.

But your heart is screaming something different.

You want this. You want her.

For the first time in a long time, something as simple as holding hands feels like breathing again, like being seen. Like being wanted.

But then Madison’s laughter echoes softly from the pew beside you, the sound pure and innocent as she giggles at something Kimberly whispers in her ear. Jayden kicks his feet against the bench, restless, while Nico sleeps soundly against your chest.

Your babies.

They need stability. They need a father.

Your throat tightens as guilt claws its way up, drowning out the desperate ache inside you.

But Abby? She doesn’t let go.

And when you finally turn your head, meeting her gaze, she’s already looking at you—her face bathed in soft, warm light filtering through the stained-glass windows. A quiet, knowing smile tugs at her lips, as if she already knows what you’re thinking.

As if she’s willing to wait.

The pastor’s voice shifts. It’s subtle at first, but you notice it immediately. The words coming from the pulpit are still about marriage, but there’s a sharp edge to them now, a condemnation of something unsaid, something hidden.

“Marriage, the sacred union between a man and a woman,” he begins, emphasizing each word as if he’s driving a point home. “A covenant made before God, one meant to reflect His love, His plan. Yet, we live in a world where many try to twist that meaning, where people think they can redefine love, change what’s holy to fit their desires, to suit their will.”

You feel your chest tighten. It’s not loud, but it’s there like a dark cloud forming in the room. You glance at Abby, whose hand is still gently resting on yours, and for a moment, you feel the weight of the pastor’s words sink in like an anchor. The tension in the air is palpable.

“Some people believe that love can exist outside of what God intended,” the pastor continues, his voice thick with disapproval. “That love can be shared between anyone, regardless of the bounds He set. But the truth remains: God’s word doesn’t change, and His truth is eternal.”

A quiet chill runs down your spine. The words are directed at you, at what you’ve been hiding, at the way Abby’s hand feels in yours, so natural, yet so wrong in this moment.

You try to focus on anything else, but the room feels suffocating. You hear the faint rustling of the papers your husband is flipping through, unaware of what’s happening around him, and for a moment, you wish you could disappear.

“There are those who take what is sacred and twist it into something unrecognizable, to fit their desires and pleasures,” the pastor’s voice rings out, almost louder now. “But don’t be deceived. What is unnatural cannot stand in God’s eyes. What is not meant to be will crumble under the weight of its sin.”

You feel a wave of panic surge through you. The pastor’s words sting, each one a direct hit to something deep within you. You want to pull your hand away from Abby’s, but the weight of the moment keeps you frozen in place. Your heart is racing, a knot of guilt tightening with each word. This isn’t just about faith or religion anymore it feels like an attack on who you are, on who you and Abby are together.

Abby’s hand moves slightly, as if sensing your hesitation, but neither of you speaks. The tension between you both is thick, but neither of you can break the silence. You don’t dare meet her eyes, terrified of the truth they might hold, terrified of what she might think if she sees the panic in yours.

The pastor’s voice grows louder as he delivers the final blow: “Do not let sin rule your heart, for those who fall into temptation will find that they’ve strayed too far to return. It may feel right in the moment, but it leads only to destruction. And those who partake in it, no matter how much they try to hide it or justify it, will be called to account for their actions.”

You slowly pull your hand away from Abby's, the loss of her touch like a cold breeze against your skin. Your fingers linger for a moment, but then you place your hand gently on Nico, cradling him in your arms as if that will make everything okay. The weight of the pastor’s words presses down on you like an invisible hand squeezing your chest, suffocating you with its intensity.

You glance up at Abby, and her eyes meet yours. There’s a flicker of pain there, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you. She doesn’t say anything, but the hurt in her expression is unmistakable. It's like the connection you had—something so simple, so natural—has been shattered in an instant. You look away, unable to meet her gaze, afraid of what you’ll see in her eyes, afraid of what she might think.

The pastor’s voice swells again, his words cutting through the tension that now clings to the air like smoke. You feel exposed, like a spotlight is shining down on you, pulling everything you’ve tried so hard to hide into the light. Your stomach twists into knots as you try to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. It feels like everyone can see the turmoil inside you, see the truth you’ve been hiding from your family, from your community. It’s all out there now, hanging like a dark cloud over your head.

Nico stirs in your arms, his small hands reaching up for you as if he can sense the shift in your mood. You rock him instinctively, your gaze fixed on your husband, who’s still completely absorbed in the service, oblivious to the storm that’s brewing right next to him. You want to scream, to shake him awake, but instead, you hold Nico tighter, hoping the physical act will somehow center you, make the world stop spinning for just a moment.

The pastor’s words continue to echo in your mind, louder now, as if they’re meant to be a reminder of the sin you’re entangled in. You can feel the weight of the judgment hanging in the air, suffocating any hope you had of escaping it. You glance down at your lap, wishing you could disappear, wishing you could erase the space between you and Abby, wishing you could undo everything that’s happened in the last few days.

But you can’t.

You glance at Abby again, and she’s looking ahead, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face carefully neutral, but you can’t shake the feeling that she’s fighting something too. The silence between you feels like it’s stretching on forever, thick with the unspoken. Your heart aches with a mix of guilt, longing, and confusion.

The sermon drones on, the words meaningless now, just background noise to the chaos that’s unraveling inside you. The damage has already been done. The secret you’ve been hiding, the bond between you and Abby, has been exposed, even if only to yourself. There’s no going back now

__________

The evening is thick with the hum of forced smiles and conversations you’re not really part of. Your husband’s church friends fill the house, laughing too loudly, clinking glasses, and pretending like everything is normal. But you know better. You know it’s all a façade, and the cracks are beginning to show. Abby is here, of course, a little too present in every corner of the room, her gaze never straying too far from yours. She’s holding a beer, her fingers wrapped tightly around the bottle as she watches you from the couch. Her face is tight with something—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. You can’t tell, but you feel it, like an electric pulse connecting the two of you.

Nico is asleep in his crib, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air. Your other three kids are outside in the backyard, playing with the other children who came over. They’re lost in their own little world of laughter and shouts, and for a moment, you allow yourself to wish you could be as carefree as they are.

But instead, you're stuck playing this role. The perfect wife, the dutiful hostess, the one who smiles and serves.

“Y/N, get me another beer,” your husband’s voice cuts through the noise of the room, his tone sharp and demanding, as though he believes that’s the least you can do. You don’t argue. You don’t have the energy to.

You nod, giving a soft “Yes, dear,” and walk over to the kitchen, trying to move like it’s just another task, another thing on the endless list you’ve been given. You grab a beer from the fridge, your hands shaking slightly as you twist the cap off. The cold metal in your palm feels like a lifeline—something tangible you can hold onto, even as everything around you feels wrong.

You walk back into the living room, handing the beer to your husband without saying anything. He takes it without a second glance, already absorbed in a conversation with one of his friends. You should feel relief, but instead, it’s just another reminder of how little you matter here. He’s not even looking at you. Not really.

"I’m gonna get the chips from the pantry. I’ll be back," you say, your voice too bright, too forced. It’s a lie, but it’s the only way you can escape.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk away before he can demand anything else. You move quickly, almost too quickly, towards the pantry. Your heart is pounding now, the quiet thud of it growing louder in your ears with every step. The last thing you want is to stay in that room, to be near Abby, to feel her eyes on you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and things left unsaid.

When you slip into the pantry, you push the door closed softly behind you, the darkness offering a momentary escape from the chaos of the house. You rest against the shelves, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. For a few seconds, you let the silence wrap around you, the stillness almost comforting. But then the reality of the situation crashes back down on you.

Abby. The way she’s been looking at you. The way her presence alone feels like a weight you can’t lift. You should have handled things differently. You should have said something. Done something. But all you can do now is hide, just a little longer. Just enough to breathe.

You wipe your hands on your dress, trying to shake off the nerves. You know you can’t stay in the pantry forever. You know you have to go back out there, back to your husband, back to the role you’ve been cast in. But for just a moment, you let yourself be still. You let the noise from the party fade away, as if this tiny space could give you a breath of freedom.

Until you hear it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate steps approaching the door. Your heart skips a beat. The door opens, and Abby walks in, closing it behind her with a soft click. She stands there, taking up the small space between you and the shelves, her eyes not leaving yours.

Neither of you says anything at first. The silence is thick, almost oppressive. You both know exactly why you’re here, why you're in this cramped, dark space away from the prying eyes of the party, away from everything that’s been gnawing at you all evening. The tension that’s been simmering for hours finally finds its release, but it’s more suffocating than freeing.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” Abby says, her voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

You don’t answer right away. You can’t. The words feel stuck in your throat, tangled in the mess of everything you’re feeling. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, refusing to look at her directly. Your eyes are locked on the rows of canned goods in front of you, as if they hold some kind of answer.

“I’ve been busy, Abby,” you say, your voice a little too defensive, a little too brittle.

Abby lets out a bitter laugh, a sound that’s not at all amused. Her gaze burns into your side, and you can feel the weight of it even without looking. “Busy? Really?” she says sarcastically, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Is that what you’re going with? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been busy avoiding me, not just the damn chips.”

You wince, the words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Her voice cuts through you—like she’s reading you, peeling back the layers you’ve been trying to hide behind. She knows. She knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Why are you doing this?” Abby continues, her voice quieter now, but there’s still a sharp edge to it. She takes a step forward, closing the distance between you two, though you don’t move. She doesn’t touch you, but her presence is almost too much to handle. “You can’t keep pretending, Y/N. Not with me, not with yourself.”

Your breath hitches. Her words rattle something deep inside of you, something you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You know she’s right. You’ve been running from this, from her, for so long. But the world outside this pantry—the world with your husband, the role you’ve played for years feels like a trap you can’t escape from. Not yet.

“I’m not pretending,” you say, though you know it’s a lie. You’re pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re pretending to be someone your husband wants, someone your kids can rely on. Someone perfect. But when Abby looks at you like that, when she makes you feel seen, truly seen, you realize how far from perfect you really are.

“You are, though,” Abby replies, her voice softer now, but the pain in it cuts through you. “You’ve been pretending for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be... to just feel.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint sound of the party in the other room—the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses. It feels distant, like a world you don’t belong to anymore.

You want to respond, to say something, but the weight of it all crushes your chest. Abby’s still watching you, her gaze never wavering, waiting for you to answer. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, and if you move even a little bit, you’ll fall.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you say, your voice trembling. The words feel foreign, like you’re speaking someone else’s truth. You wish you had more to give, more to offer, but all you feel is exhaustion.

“I want you to talk to me and stop avoiding me,” Abby says, her voice quiet yet firm, as she leans in closer, invading the small space between you both. Her eyes lock onto yours, unreadable but full of intent. “You’ve been weird since that kiss at my house.”

The words hit you like a wave. Your heart stutters in your chest, and suddenly, everything feels too much. The kiss, that kiss plays over and over in your mind, but hearing Abby bring it up like this only makes you tense up. You instinctively turn your head away from her, feeling the heat rise in your face.

Abby doesn’t let you off the hook. Without hesitation, she reaches forward, her fingers brushing gently against your chin. She tilts your face back to meet hers, her smirk soft but knowing. “If you’re feeling guilty about it, don’t,” she says, her voice low and almost soothing, like she’s trying to take the weight off your shoulders.

Her words land in the pit of your stomach, and for a brief second, it feels like time stops. You’ve been carrying this guilt, this feeling of what am I doing? for days now, but hearing her say it don’t feel guilty is like a brief moment of release. It’s as if she’s given you permission, even if you’re not entirely sure what that permission means.

You look up at her, your thoughts spinning. Abby’s gaze is steady, unflinching, but soft. She doesn’t look at you with judgment. Just understanding. A part of you wants to pull away, but the other part of you—the part that feels so exhausted from holding everything in—just wants to let go, to let her in.

You stand there, caught between two worlds—one where you're still clinging to the role of the perfect wife, and the other, where Abby's presence pulls you in directions you never thought you'd go. The tension crackles in the air, thick and palpable, and for a moment, you feel paralyzed. You want to speak, to let everything out, but the words are locked behind a wall in your throat. The silence stretches between you, suffocating, and it feels like the longer you stay silent, the harder it becomes to break the stillness.

Abby doesn't let the silence grow too long. She takes a small step closer, the space between you narrowing until you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours. Her hand hovers near yours, just a breath away, as if she's waiting for you to make the first move, to close the gap, to break down the wall you've put between you two. It's a silent invitation, one that you feel deep in your bones, but you're not sure if you're ready to cross that line.

“I know this is hard,” Abby says, her voice barely a whisper, yet it cuts through the tension. It’s soft, but carries an edge of determination. “But you can’t keep running, Y/N. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Pretending. The word hits you like a punch to the gut. That's exactly what you’ve been doing—pretending everything is fine, pretending that you can hold everything together while you're suffocating. You want to argue, to tell her that it’s not that simple, that it’s too complicated to walk away from everything you’ve built. But the words don't come. The weight of her words is enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I know it’s not easy,” Abby continues, her voice steady, but the quiet urgency behind it is clear. “But you deserve more. You deserve to be happy. And your kids deserve to see you happy too. They’re gonna grow up seeing the way you are, and they’ll start to think that this—” She gestures between you and  behind her, “—is normal. That this is okay.”

Her words lodge themselves in your heart. The thought of your children growing up, learning from you and believing this chaos is what love is supposed to look like, breaks you open in ways you didn’t think possible. You’ve always tried to protect them from it, tried to shield them from the anger, the cold distance, but Abby’s right. They’re learning from you. They’re watching everything, and if you don’t change, if you don’t do something, they’ll grow up thinking this is how relationships are supposed to be. That thought claws at you, making your chest ache with a mix of guilt and pain you can't escape.

“I don’t know how to leave,” you finally say, the words barely a whisper. Your voice trembles, and your hands begin to shake. “I don’t even know where to start.” The weight of everything presses down on you, suffocating. How do you walk away? How do you leave when you’ve spent so long trying to keep the facade intact?

Abby steps forward, her presence steady and calming. She reaches for your hand, her touch gentle, but firm. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles, and it’s enough to make you pause, enough to make you feel like you’re not completely alone in this. “I’m here,” she says softly, her voice so much more than just words. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her words are a lifeline, but they bring a new kind of fear. What if you do this? What if you let go of everything you’ve known? Everything changes the moment you reach for her, the moment you accept her help. And yet, as much as you’re scared, there’s something inside you that’s telling you this might be the only way to breathe again. That you deserve more than what you've been settling for.

“I... I’ll think about it,” you whisper, your voice wavering, unsure but desperate for change.

The silence hangs in the air, but it’s different this time. It’s not the suffocating kind you’ve come to know; instead, it feels like the world is suspended, waiting for something to happen. There’s a shift between you and Abby, something unspoken but undeniable, and for a brief moment, everything feels still. You can almost hear the beating of your heart in your ears, drowning out the noise of the world outside.

And then, just as you begin to think you’re safe, as if you can breathe again and maybe just keep the world at bay for a little while longer, Abby steps forward. There’s no hesitation, no second guessing. She closes the distance between you with quiet certainty. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing your arm lightly, sending a wave of heat through you.

Without a single word, she leans in. The space between you shrinks, and then, her lips are against yours. The kiss starts soft gentle, like she’s testing the waters, unsure of how far you’ll let her go. But it doesn’t stay tentative for long. It deepens almost instantly, as though it was always meant to be this way, as though both of you have been waiting for this moment your whole lives. You can feel it—the raw urgency in the way she pulls you closer, the electricity that builds with every second.

Abby’s hand moves up to cup your face, her touch warm and steady, and suddenly, everything falls away. The walls you’ve built around yourself, the guilt, the fear, all of it crumbles. There’s no room for any of it now. It’s just the two of you in this moment, the weight of everything else fading to nothing. She kisses you with an intensity that steals your breath, a kiss that’s more than just a physical connection. It’s an unspoken promise, an understanding that says, I see you. I’m here.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself go. You let the world outside disappear, and you let Abby pull you deeper into the kiss, into this uncharted territory. The pull between you is magnetic, a force that feels both terrifying and liberating, and you let yourself surrender to it, not caring about the consequences. You feel seen for the first time in forever, like she’s holding you in a way no one else ever has.

When the kiss finally breaks, you’re left breathless, your chest rising and falling quickly as you try to regain some semblance of control. Abby pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching yours, her gaze soft but filled with something more, something that makes your heart race all over again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, her voice low and full of conviction.

You don’t need her to say anything more. At that moment, you know. You know that whatever happens next, whatever the future holds, you don’t have to face it alone. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe.

second part done the third part will be the final part so if you wanna be tagged let me know Ⓒ︎ seulszn

[st4rgiirll]

first i love you

s2!jj maybank x gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

the sunrise painted kildare island in shades of gold, and for once, jj was awake to see it. he sat at the end of the dock, legs dangling over the water, his usual bravado stripped away by the early morning quiet.

you found him there after waking up to a cold bed, with no protective arm around you. you knew where he’d be, he always sat by the water when his thoughts got too loud.

“couldnt sleep?” you ask, settling beside him.

you lean your head on his shoulder, you felt his head rest on your own.

“nah.” he replied, his signature half-smile playing at his lips. “too much thinking. dangerous activity, i know.”

you smiled slightly, pushing his side lightly. after months of being together, you’d learned to read between the lines when it came to him, to understand when his jokes were armour rather than humour.

”want to talk about it?” jj was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixated on the horizon where the sun was climbing higher in the sky.

his fingers fidgeted with the bandana tied around his wrist - one you’d given him months ago when he’d cut his hand trying to fix his bike. he washed it and kept it, asking you to tie it around his wrist and of course you obliged.

“my old man showed up yesterday,” he finally said, his voice barely about a whisper.

“started spouting the same old shit, ‘bout how im just like him, how i’ll never amount to anything.”

your heart clenched. you’d seen the shadow his father had cast on him, how deep those wounds ran. “jj…” you started, but he shook his head.

“that’s not even the part that kept me up.” he continued, finally turning to look at you. his blue eyes were intense, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw them.

“what kept me up was thinkin’ about how different everything is now. how different i am. ‘cause of you.” your breath caught in your throat.

jj maybank didnt do serious conversations, didnt bare his soul unless something was really eating at him.

“you make me want to be better.” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “you make me believe i can he. and thats…” he swallowed hard.

“that’s fucking terrifying.”

“why is it terrifying?” you asked softly, despite already knowing the answer.

“because i love you.” he blurted out, then immediately looked away, as if bracing for impact. “and everyone i’ve ever loved has either left or hirt me and i cant… i cant lose you too.”

the vulnerability in his voice made your heart ache. this was jj maybank, the real one - no swagger, no deflecting jokes, just raw honesty from a boy who’d never been taught how to love or be loved properly.

you reached out, gently turning his face back toward you. his eyes met yours, uncertainty warring with hope in their depths.

“jj maybank.” you said firmly. “i love you too. and im not going anywhere.”

the smile that broke across his face was like watching the sun come out after a storm - brilliant and a little disbelieving. before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted of salt air and promise.

when you finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath. “say it again.” he whispered, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“i love you.” you repeated, feeling him pull you closer.

“one more time?” you laughed, the sound carrying across the water.

“i love you, you idiot.”

“good.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “‘cause i love you too, and i plan on saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”

“i dont think that’s possible..” you smile, nuzzling your face into him.

the sun was fully up now, turning the water to diamonds, and jj’s arms were warm around you. you stayed there together, watching the island wake up, both understanding that something had shifted between you – something as vast and deep as the ocean stretching out before you.

and for the first time in his life, jj maybank wasn't scared of falling. he was already caught.

[reidphobic]

Prompt 28 and 36 please!! :D

mdni. cw: sub!spencer, ass play (m receiving), feminisation. prompts here. part of the neighbor!au

wc 774. probably not what you were expecting, hope you enjoy anyway

you kiss spencer slowly, indulgently, moaning happily and twining your bare legs with his. “morning, pretty,” you mumble, rubbing your foot along his calf.

it’s one of his rare days off, and an even rarer day he’s agreed to spend the day in bed with you instead of planning an elaborate (wonderful, but exhausting) date. “morning, baby.” he pretends to just be shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable, but you can feel his dick pressing into you where he tries to grind against your body.

“did you have a good dream?” you tease, and he flushes.

“being awake’s better,” he answers, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. you make out with him for you don’t even know how long, content to let him map every inch of your body with lips and hands, map his in your turn. but you can feel him getting restless, and soon enough he breaks away to blink at you with lust-blown eyes, his lips swollen and spit-slick. “i want— i want you.”

you grin widely. “what do you want, honey?” spencer’s face is flaming. “if you can’t say it, you’re not ready for me to give it to you, okay?” you cup his jaw, smile at the slight stubble under your palm, thighs tingling at the prospect of feeling it between your legs.

spencer presses his lips together in a thin line, apprehensive. you brush your thumb reassuringly over his cheek, give him a gentle smile. “i want you to, um…” he fumbles for the words. “i want you to fuck me… with— with your fingers,” he murmurs, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

you can’t help but feel a little proud at his openness. god, he’s come so far. “all you have to do is ask, sweetness,” you croon, fishing under your pillow for a bottle of lube as you kiss at spencer’s neck and jaw. “you’re so pretty, baby. mommy’s gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

spencer writhes as you trail your hand down his body, and he whimpers out a plea. “why are you already squirming?” you coo, gazing up at him from where you’re knelt between his legs. “i haven’t even started yet.” you slide a slicked-up finger between his legs, circle his hole, his entire body jolting. “almost there, sweet, just breathe for me, okay?” you murmur as you slip one finger inside.

“mommy,” he chokes out as you start to thrust your finger, carefully add another. “i— oh, my god,” spencer gasps, incoherent babbling stumbling off his normally curated tongue. “please!” he moans after a few minutes of teasing thrusts, never quite pressing your fingers where he desperately needs them.

“take it like a good girl and stop whining,” you say, gentle but firm, and spencer’s eyes roll back in his head. “can you do that, honey? can you be a good girl for mommy?” spencer’s entire body convulses, mouth opening and closing like he can’t find the words.

you lean down, press a kiss against his chest. taking pity, you find his g-spot and spencer damn near screams. “oh, honey. so desperate,” you murmur, dripping condescension. “you want mommy to make you cum?” he nods frantically, chest heaving. “just gotta do one thing for me first, okay?”

“anything,” spencer promises instantly, voice shaking with want.

“tell me what a good girl you are for mommy, baby. just say that one little thing and i’ll give you what you want.”

you scissor your fingers a little, making him gasp and twitch, tossing his head back and forth and screwing his eyes shut. you press encouraging kisses to his chest and stomach. “m’your… your good girl, mommy, all yours, please!” he gasps, hiccuping through desperate tears.

“was that so hard?” you say softly, taking up a rhythm in earnest that drives him wild. “that’s my good little girl, honey.” after barely more than a few quick, sharp thrusts, spencer screams out your name, back arching as cum splashes across his belly and lands on your tits. you smirk catlike down at him. “feel good? don’t think i’ve ever seen you cum that hard before, baby,” you say smugly.

spencer winces as you pull your fingers free. “every time i think there can’t possibly be anything new…” he says, laughing through heaving breaths.

“you should know by now, sweetness. i’ll never be done with you,” you giggle, crawling up the bed to plant a kiss on his slack lips. “and, speaking of…” you pat his cheek. “i wanna ride this pretty face of yours. you gonna let me?”

spencer’s tongue is inside you practically before your next heartbeat.

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ RAFAYEL | breakfast (valentine's day)

── ◜rafayel x fem!reader — ◜short special | specials from the rest of the LIs soon on my profile

She had been so tired the last week because of work. She spent all day out, only coming home at night to cuddle up to her boyfriend and sleep until the next day. When she woke up Rafayel was already doing something related to his work. The only moments they had together throughout the day were that hour in the mornings before she had to leave again.

The previous night had been no different. When she woke up that morning she was sure it was much later than usual and she had slept longer than she was supposed to. Rafayel was next to her in bed but unlike her he was dressed and staring at her.

"What time is it?" she asked, still somewhat sleepy, but Rafayel didn't answer.

"Do you know what day it is?" She shook her head as she rubbed her eyes. She certainly didn't know what day it was. "It's Valentine's Day." Rafayel got out of bed and walked to the other side of the room.

She couldn't see what he was doing as she shifted in bed and sat down before rubbing her eyes again. She was tired, she needed to sleep a couple more hours but she had work to do. Rafayel still hadn't answered her question about what time it was.

The weight of something on her lap distracted her. When she stopped rubbing her eyes and her vision cleared seconds later she noticed a tray on her lap with breakfast already made. She looked at Rafayel again without understanding, she would love to stay in bed and have breakfast but she still had work to do for her bad luck.

"did you make breakfast for me?" He nodded, pressing his lips against her forehead. "Is this a Valentine's Day celebration?"

Rafayel laughed and shook his head. "Well, I thought I could spoil my girlfriend and it turns out Valentine's Day got in the way," he answered in that carefree tone. Clearly what he was saying was a lie, at least the last part.

"But… I have to work. I can't stay in bed all day." She felt guilty at the thought of not spending Valentine's Day with him. She took a strawberry from the small plate of fruit, she wasn't going to waste breakfast, especially if her boyfriend had prepared it for her.

"About that… I talked to that girl who's always sending you more work and told her to go to hell." She almost felt the strawberry stuck in her throat. "I was joking. I just talked to her."

Rafayel slid back into bed until he was beside her. She still didn't know if she believed him completely. "How did you do that?"

"Well… let's just say an invitation to my next exhibition works pretty well as a bribe." She smiled when she felt his arm wrap around her waist.

"Oh… My famous boyfriend did it again."

He laughed as he moved closer to her, wanting to feel her body pressing against his. "You're mine for the whole day," he murmured, brushing the strands of hair from her face to kiss her cheek. Maybe it didn't sound that bad to spend the rest of the day in bed.

[biibini]

hello!! i reaally really love your writing i reread ur mizu fics all the time i swear i have them memorized HAHA i love the way u characterize her she is so dear to me

ive never requested anything before but i was wondering if you could write something about the pet names that mizu and reader would use ?!?! i think they are so sweet ...

my little pet ₊˚ෆ

pet names modern!mizu would give you

tags: sweet mizu, nsfw later on, modern!mizu headcannons, mdni, 18+, pet names, praising, degrading tones, smut, reader is gorjus!!

a/n: and what if i called her my shayla? who gonna stop me??? ok but fr ty everyone for sending reqs and ur love ♡ i appreciate each response, rt, and comment sm mwah mwah mwah

honey

“Hi honey, how was your day?”

the typical form of endearment Mizu uses to call your name

if she’s feeling playful, she’ll say “honey, i’m homeeee” in a sing-songy voice

when she calls you this and sees your face, she smiles everytime

(she can’t help it i fear)

my pretty girl

“God, my pretty girl looks so cute.”

emphasis on the “my”

nothing in her eyes is as gorgeous as you

(she is very gorjus to me 🤓☝️)

typically used to compliment you, especially during dates

when you finish doing your makeup, she can’t stop staring at you, mumbling how well done your work is

the words can be paired with your hand intertwined with hers, the pet name gently whispered into your ear

the name can also be heard when you’re feeling hesitant about yourself, as she tries to relieve you of your doubts

sweetie

“Sweetie, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

typically used when talking to you in disagreements

also used when in concern for some cases

or sarcastically, if she were to push your buttons

not commonly thrown out there (buttttt i’m a big fan of it bc she can get sassy w it)

dear

“Good night dear…”

a favorite of hers

simple but sweet

usually said before placing a good night kiss atop of your lips, her hands wrapped around your body, loving every bit of you until you fall asleep

if not at night, the term is used to call you over or to get your attention

either way, she uses it very lovingly

girl

“Girl if you don’t—”

unfortunately, akemi & ringo’s lingo rubs off on you two a bit… and they can get kinda… rambunctious and witty when it comes to comebacks

usually, this pet name (if u can even call it that) is used in a teasing setting

or if you accidentally give her the wrong directions

or push her buttons in a grumpy mood

or if you bother her to the point of her snapping, ending with her tickling you until you admit defeat

i fear the silent but sassy side comes out at times when she uses this name

dearest

“Dearest, can you please fetch me a cup of freshly brewed tea?”

both of you use this jokingly

and of course, in a british accent

usually used when asking a favor or in a silly mood

the one answering must respond back in their best british accent

and mizu is lowk good with it

too good at it…

baby

“You like it like that, baby?”

when she feels more romantic and intimate, ohhhh this one WILL be used

especially in that low, deep voice when she’s really into it

a banger when y’all ban-

(oops my hand slipped)

or when she got that morning, groggy voice when she’s half away and cuddly

either way, great usage

hon

“Fuck, hon—”

a variation of “honey” that is typically used during the uh… later parts of the night

(nudge nudge wink wink)

most commonly used when she’s overwhelmed with the pleasure, slipping and forgetting her words

or when your grasp on her shoulder frantically tightens, pulling her body closer to yours while you reach your limit

or when she looks down at the sopping wet mess you two made on your lower half

sometimes, the term becomes an incentive, paired along with a rough smack or hickey on your neck

princess

“Aw princess, you want it deeper, don’t you.”

oh this one… this one is a mean one…

at times, she can be quite dominant and persistent

it may not seem like she’s degrading you, but the fakeness of her sweet tone proves otherwise

paired with her long, deep strokes, you would think you were going to ascend from the pleasure

but all you can do is nod, having little control of your moans as she rams deep inside your wet cavern

she cracks a smile at your failed attempts at answering back to her, hearing the shakiness of your voice mix with the wet noises erupting from her work

[g1rld1ary]

Could I request an Anthony Lockwood x Reader fic where Reader falls ill and Lockwood tries his best to take care of us with a side of lots and lots of fluff <3

wc: 848

summary: lockwood takes care of you when you're ill

me: thanks for waiting love this was such a cute request hope u like!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“was that a cough?” lockwood asked as you broke the silence that had settled over the library in portland row.

“no,” you lied to his face, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “choked on a biscuit, s’all.”

“you haven’t had a biscuit in fifteen minutes,” lockwood pointed out, “i’d be worried if you just started choking.” you rolled your eyes, caught out.

“fine. i took a walk this morning and it was bit colder than i thought. my body’s just trying to adjust, i’m fine. should we go back over the case?” lockwood shook his head, tutting like a mother hen.

“you know the rules, read the sign.” he pointed through the library door into the kitchen, where the back page of a bill was pinned to the fridge. your bold handwriting read do not work when sick. sick days are bed days!!!!! now that the message was directed at you and not lockwood you thought five exclamation marks were probably overkill.

“i’m not sick, lockwood. can we just get back to work?” you smiled despite the complaint, touched at the way lockwood was fretting about you.

“no way,” he said, impetuous tone creeping into his voice. you ignored him, figuring it was just another bite back. suddenly you were hoisted into the air, grabbing onto lockwood for dear life.

“what are you doing?” you shrieked, squirming in his arms.

“taking you to bed, darling,” lockwood said, smiling softly down at you, “not like that, don’t be a perv.”

“it’s not my fault!”

lockwood tossed you onto his bed, busying himself with tucking you in under the covers. seeing your pathetic pout he just laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“oh shit,” he said, “you’re warm, do you feel feverish?”

“no,” you lied again, trying to push yourself up. lockwood shook his head, pushing you down lightly with a joking hand over your face.

“i’m getting you some medicine. stay put,” he instructed with a warning finger, ducking out of the room.

you wanted to be frustrated, to be annoyed that lockwood was babying you and interrupting your workflow. but when you thought about the warmth of lockwood’s duvet, of his smell lingering between the sheets, when you saw the framed photograph of the two of you on his nightstand, any hostility crumbled into fondness. you loved that boy, and it was easy to love him.

lockwood returned minutes later with a tray and more kindness than you could have expected. no one had ever looked after you like this.

“have you brought the whole kitchen up with you?” you laughed, propping yourself up on your arms. the tray was crammed full with a glass of water, juice, a mug of tea, medicine tablets, snacks, and a hot water bottle. it was past ridiculous, especially given the fact that you were hardly ill.

“i just want you to be comfortable, love,” lockwood answered easily, and all your teasing melted away.

he adjusted you so the tray fit nicely over your legs, pillows stuffed behind your back so you were sitting comfortably. when satisfied that you were in a good position lockwood raced around to the other side of the bed, crawling underneath the covers next to you.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, big brown eyes examining every inch of you. you laughed sweetly, enamoured by the boy in front of you.

“i feel fine, lockwood. great, even.”

“but sick?”

“but sick,” you confirmed, taking a sip of the tea he’d made you.

lockwood began to talk, chatting about whatever popped into his head as you consumed all of the beverages he’d prepared for you. you liked listening to him, lockwood was a good talker and always told the best stories. jokes in all the right places, dramatic pauses and the right amount of background information. it was one of the things that first drew you to him, you couldn’t stop begging for more stories so you could hear his voice for a few more minutes.

lockwood noticed you zoning out, immediately removing the tray from your lap and arranging you into a comfier position without being asked.

“you should nap,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear gently.

“will you tell me another story?”

“of course, darling.” lockwood never said no to you, he wasn’t wired that way.

despite the initial sickness running through your body, all you felt was love. love for lockwood and love from him. some people considered lockwood to be dramatic, some thought he had too much bravado for his own good. whilst that was all true, you knew that primarily, lockwood had kindness and generosity written into his genetic code. if he thought he could do anything to help you, he’d make sure he did it.

“anthony?” you murmured, three seconds from sleep.

“yes, my love?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too,” he leant down to kiss you softly, not caring about the germs he’d get from you. “so, so much.”

[wonlvures]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 — YANG JUNGWON

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, romance

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you surprise Jungwon on his birthday!

𝐀.𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: im back?? anywayss happy birthday to jungwon <33

The sun had barely risen, but you were already awake, heart fluttering with excitement. Today was Jungwon's birthday, and you had planned a surprise that would make him feel like the most special person in the world. You had spent the last few days planning everything, picking up decorations, a personalized gift, and, of course, the perfect cake.

You peeked at your phone—8:00 AM. Jungwon always texted you first thing in the morning, and sure enough, your phone buzzed with a message from him:

"Good morning, Y/N! I hope you slept well. I can’t wait to see you today! :)"

You smiled to yourself, heart skipping a beat at how sweet he was. It was his birthday, but he still thought of you before anything else. You quickly texted back:

"Good morning, birthday boy! I have a little surprise for you later ;) See you soon!"

After sending the message, you began to prepare your little surprise. You set up the decorations—twinkling fairy lights hanging across the ceiling, rose petals scattered across the floor, and a small table with candles that flickered softly. The room looked cozy, warm, and perfect for a private celebration. The only thing missing was Jungwon.

A few hours later, you heard a knock at the door. Your heart raced as you rushed to answer it. Standing outside was Jungwon, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple sweater and jeans. But what really caught your attention was the soft blush on his cheeks and the excitement in his eyes.

"Happy birthday, Jungwon!" you said, smiling brightly as you pulled him into a tight hug.

He chuckled, his arms wrapping around you in return. "Thanks, Y/N. I’m really looking forward to today. But... what's this surprise you mentioned?" His voice had a playful tone, but you could tell he was both curious and excited.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, leading him to the cozy setup you’d prepared. Jungwon's eyes widened in shock as he took in the decorations and the glowing candles. He looked at you in disbelief. "You did all this… for me?"

"Of course, you deserve it," you said softly, your heart melting as you watched him take in the surprise. He looked so touched, his expression sweet and almost shy as he stepped closer. "I wanted to make sure your birthday was as special as you are."

Jungwon’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his fingers brushing against yours. "You really know how to make a guy feel loved," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His words made your heart swell with warmth.

You smiled up at him, your hands resting on his chest. "Well, I think you're the one who deserves all the love today. I’m so lucky to have you in my life."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling as he leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. "I’m the lucky one," he murmured, his lips lingering near your skin.

After a moment, he pulled away, his eyes meeting yours with an adorable sparkle. “Is there more to the surprise?” he asked, his voice teasing.

You giggled, feeling giddy from his affection. "Of course. There’s a gift, too." You handed him a small, neatly wrapped box.

Jungwon looked at you curiously before carefully unwrapping it. His eyes lit up when he saw what was inside—a bracelet with a charm that had both of your initials on it. It was simple, but the meaning behind it was something special. He turned it over in his hands, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"This... this is so thoughtful," he whispered, his fingers grazing the bracelet. "I’ll wear it all the time. Thank you, Y/N."

You felt a warmth spread in your chest, your cheeks flushing as you reached up to gently tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I’m glad you like it. You deserve something that shows how much you mean to me.”

He smiled shyly, his cheeks flushed. "You mean the world to me, Y/N." His voice was so soft, and in that moment, it felt like the whole world was just the two of you.

The two of you spent the rest of the day cuddling, talking, and enjoying each other's company in the most intimate way. Jungwon would occasionally glance at you with that adorable, bashful smile of his, and every time, your heart would skip a beat.

When the clock struck midnight, Jungwon pulled you closer, his hands gently cupping your face. “Thank you, Y/N, for making my birthday unforgettable. I’ve never felt so loved.” His voice was so sincere, so full of emotion.

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “You’ve always been special to me, Jungwon. And I’ll always make sure you know that.”

Without another word, he leaned in and kissed you gently, the warmth of his lips sending a thrill down your spine. The kiss was soft and tender, a promise of more moments like this to come. And as you held him close, you knew that this birthday would be one he would never forget.

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 18

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

The next day at work you were exhausted and distracted, almost putting the wrong shade of foundation on two different clients and completely forgetting primer and setting spray on another. You never fell back asleep after you got home that morning and you spent the entire day constantly checking your phone to see if Tom had texted you, even though you told yourself you didn’t want him to. You needed space from him to get over whatever was going on with you. However, the longer the day went on without hearing from him, the more depressed you got. What the fuck was happening to you?

When you went to bed that night, you checked the On Demand Entertainment website to see if Tom’s interview was online yet. Sure enough, the video was just posted. You settled back against your pillow and pressed play. 

Tom was dressed in a classic white button down shirt with a navy suit jacket and trousers. He was also wearing his glasses, which usually meant he was too tired for contacts. Still, you always thought he looked especially sexy in his glasses. 

The interview started with the classically attractive blonde reporter asking about Tom’s latest projects. His face lit up as he answered her, like it always did when he talked about his work. It wasn’t long, however, before she began ramping up to ask him about his love life, at which point, he began fidgeting more than usual, touching his face, rubbing his thighs, adjusting his glasses, and running his fingers through his hair. 

“So Tom, many of your films and series revolve heavily around romance, something you seem to have quite the knack for on screen,” the reporter began. 

Tom blushed. “Well, thank you. You’re too kind, really.”

“But what about off screen,” she continued. “You would have a hard time convincing me that Tom Hiddleston doesn’t have someone special in his life.”

He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs as he laughed nervously. Your heart rate sped up a little bit. You told yourself it was just because you were nervous for him, but the truth was you were genuinely anxious about what he would say. “Actually, I am currently unattached,” he replied coyly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better answer than that.” He chuckled bashfully.

“In that case, I’m sure our viewers would love to know how you would describe your perfect woman,” she responded without missing a beat. You rolled your eyes. Hear we go, you thought.

Tom furrowed his brow and rubbed the pad of his index finger across his lips contemplatively. “Should have seen that one coming,” he joked. Then he blushed again and smiled, seemingly thinking of something. “I think my so-called ‘perfect woman’ is anything but perfect. Someone who is passionate, almost to a fault, who recognizes the beauty in everyone but herself, and who calls me out on things that no one else will because she sees me for who I truly am, not what the world makes me out to be.” His face lit up again, just like when he talked about his work. That usually didn’t happen when he talked about his personal life. Was he thinking of someone specific, or was he acting? You’d like to think you knew him well enough to know whether he was acting or not, but then again, he was incredibly talented. 

Once the video ended, you set your phone aside and stared at the ceiling, debating if you should text Tom or not. You definitely hadn’t cleared your head of those annoying thoughts and feelings from the night before, and you wanted him to be the one to text you first. Still, you were the one to leave abruptly this morning, and you should still be a supportive friend about his interview. After about an hour of wrestling with yourself, you finally picked up your phone.

Goddammit, you thought. So much for getting some space. 

A few minutes later, you heard Tom enter your house. “Sweets?” he called, looking for you.

“In here,” you responded from the bedroom. You continued scrolling through your phone, wanting to appear indifferent.

Your bedroom door was open, but he gave a courtesy knock on the door frame anyway. “May I come in?”

“I was under the impression that I didn’t have a choice,” you replied, never looking away from your phone screen.

He chuckled lightly and then flopped down next to you on the bed. He gave you a quick peck on the shoulder and then positioned himself so he was laying perpendicular to you, with his head resting on your stomach.  “Hi.”

“Hi.” Your eyes stayed on the screen.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to hold your phone hostage to get you to talk?” 

“You will do no such thing,” you told him firmly, still not looking at him. “You were the one who decided to interrupt my quiet evening.” He swiftly plucked your phone from your hands and tucked it underneath him, forcing you to finally look at him. “Oi!”

“Talk,” he commanded. 

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“You literally just told me that you’re too in your head lately. So what exactly is going on in your head?”

You sighed and rubbed your face. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, trust me.”

“Fine then. Tell me what you meant when you told me to take you out of my ‘rotation.’”

“You know what I meant.”

“Actually, no, I don’t. Do you really think I just have a bunch of women on retainer, ready to come when I call?” 

You raised your eyebrows at him. “You expect me to believe that you don’t?”

“Is that really what you think of me?” He looked concerned. 

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. “I just meant that you could literally have anyone you want. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of that opportunity?”

He sighed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly. I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that?”

“You started it!”

“I just… I hope that’s not what you’re upset about.” He searched your face for confirmation, but you weren’t about to give it to him.

“It’s not. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’m sure you’ll find something or someone else to do while I work through my shit.”

“That’s not why I’m concerned. You’re my friend and I want to help you. I don’t understand why you won’t let me.”

You paused, feeling a lump form in your throat as you fought back tears. “Because it’s not something you can help with,” you choked out.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly as he sat up and took your face in his hands. “You’re starting to scare me, Y/n. Please talk to me.” 

You closed your eyes for a moment, causing some tears to fall down your cheeks. Tom brushed them away with his thumbs. You looked back up at him. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you whispered, your teary eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. With genuine concern still in his eyes, he slowly leaned forward and just barely touched his lips to yours. You brought your hands up to cradle the back of his neck and gently pull him closer to you. His lips caressed yours tenderly, moving cautiously. 

After a moment, he hesitantly broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “Should I stay, or do you want me to leave?” he asked in a low voice.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” you replied, echoing his own words from moments ago.

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly.” Though there was still sadness in your eyes, a slight smirk crossed your face from giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He gave a small chuckle. “Then I think I’d like to stay. I’d rather not leave you like this.”

Your stomach filled with butterflies, but your brain told you not to think anything of it. “You really don’t have to,” you told him as he stood up and stripped down to his boxers. “Honestly, I’m okay.”

“While I one hundred percent believe you,” he said sarcastically as he climbed back into your bed and gently brushed one last stray tear from your face. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign that he was just doing this out of pity. When you couldn’t find one, you gave him a small smile. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to let you stay.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, smiling back at you. He’d never called you that before– his girl– and even though you knew it was just an expression, you were sure that if you’d been standing, your knees would have buckled. He kissed you again briefly and then laid down on his side facing you. You turned on your side so the two of you were face to face and he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close.

”I noticed you wore your glasses for your interview. Did you get any sleep after I left this morning?” you asked him.

“You know me too well,” he replied, running his foot lazily up and down your calf. “No, I couldn’t fall back asleep after you left.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “You were sleeping so soundly before I woke you up.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

You lifted your head back up to look at him. “You were snoring.”

“What? I do not snore,” he argued in disbelief.

“It’s just a soft, little snore,” you explained, trying to hide your smile. “It’s kind of cute actually.” 

He looked at you suspiciously. “Are you sure it wasn’t just that one time?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh no. You’ve snored every night that we’ve slept together. I can’t believe no one else has told you this before!”

He shrugged. “Not everyone is as honest with me as you are, darling.”

“Well, someone needs to put you in your place once in a while,” you teased.

He laughed. “You’ll have no arguments from me about that.” His expression quickly shifted back to concern. “Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m positive,” you assured him. “Like I said, I think it’s cute.” You tried to fight the yawn that crept up on you, but you lost.

Tom carefully tucked your hair behind your ear. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead and held you close to his chest. You fell asleep almost instantly.

…

When you woke up the next morning, you rolled over to find that Tom was gone and there was a note on the side table. 

Had to rush to a meeting. I would have said goodbye but you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you. I hope you’re feeling better, and know that I’m always here if you need me. xx -T

With a heavy sigh, you let your forehead fall onto the mattress. This man was not making this easy on you. Why did he have to be so goddamn sweet? And why did you let him stay over in the first place? Even without the sex, you wouldn’t be able to get over…whatever was going on with you… if you kept up all this cuddling, and kissing, and sleeping over. Unfortunately, that meant that you had to set that boundary with him.

He didn’t reply right away, and your mind and heart started racing. Was it just about the sex for him this whole time? Did you just lose who you thought was your best friend over this? You felt yourself about to break down in tears, but then your phone buzzed.

You let out a sigh of relief, but there was still a small pit in your stomach. You desperately hoped that this would work; that the two of you could just focus on your friendship for a while and you would get over your silly emotions, and maybe you would go back to having casual sex one day, or maybe not. The important thing was that you wouldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose him.

…

Tom threw his phone to the other end of the sofa and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. You wanted to focus on being friends. Of course. Just when he’d finally admitted to himself that he had feelings for you. He wanted so desperately to take a step forward, and instead you took a step back. At least he hadn’t made a fool of himself like Evelyn had suggested he do in Hawaii. 

It was a few nights before you came to visit him, and he and a few cast members had gone out for some drinks. 

“So Tom, are you ever going to tell us who she is?” Evelyn said with a nudge to Tom’s side.

“Who who is?” Tom asked, confused. 

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Do you really think no one has noticed when you get a text and you start grinning like an idiot?”

“I don’t grin like an idiot,” he defended. 

“Oh, you so do,” Lily, another co-star, chimed in. 

He chuckled nervously. “It’s just my friend, Y/n.”

Evelyn scoffed. “Your friend? If she’s just your friend, then why are you blushing?”

Tom felt his cheek with his hand and looked down in embarrassment. “She’s my best friend, actually. And yes, we sleep together occasionally, but it’s casual. Nothing more than that.”

“You sleep together??” Evelyn and Lily squealed in unison. 

He blushed harder. “Okay, tone it down, ladies. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” Evelyn contested. “You’re best friends, you sleep together, and she makes you light up like a fucking christmas tree… You’re completely smitten!”

Tom shook his head. “Stop. I am not smitten. We’ve had an agreement to keep things casual and that’s what we’ve done.”

Lily’s face suddenly lit up in realization. “Wait! Is this the friend that’s coming to stay with you this week?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Casual, my ass!” Evelyn accused, pointing her finger in his face. “You are SO smitten!”

Tom hid his face in his hands, failing to hide his ears which were now bright red. “Okay, fine… Maybe a little.”

Evelyn and Lily both let out another squeal, this time reaching a pitch only dogs could hear. 

Tom was actually surprised himself. Maybe it was because he was a bit tipsy, but they just got him to admit something out loud that he’d never even admitted to himself before. 

Evelyn grabbed his arm rather aggressively. “You have to tell her!” 

Tom’s head shot up from the cover of his hands. “Absolutely not,” he protested. 

“Why not?” Lily asked.

“Are you mad? What if she doesn’t feel the same? Then it’s going to be awkward between us and I could lose my best friend!”

Evelyn looked at him like he was stupid. “She’s coming all the way from London to spend a whole week with you!” 

“Because she desperately needs a holiday, and the only reason she decided to take it was because I already arranged it!”

“Dude, you’ve got it bad,” Lily said, shaking her head. 

“I do, don’t I?” Tom groaned, returning his head to his hands. 

Evelyn rubbed his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “Look, see how the week goes. If you detect any sign that maybe she has feelings for you too, tell her. If she doesn’t feel the same– which I find highly unlikely, by the way– at least you know, and then you can move on. And if she’s truly your best friend, then this little hiccup won’t matter!”

Tom sighed and then turned his head to look at her. “You really think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

He almost did it. He was going to tell you how he felt on the ride to the airport, but then you suddenly closed yourself off and told him not to come with you, saying you had to “get back to reality,” and it made him question everything he thought he felt between you the night before.

Despite Evelyn’s hopeful sentiment, however, you only seemed to pull away more and more after that. You stopped wearing his clothes, you were texting him less and less, you wouldn’t tell him what’s wrong, and now you just wanted to strictly be friends. He would no longer be able to kiss you, to hold you, to feel you in his arms while he slept, to wake up to your beautiful face. But he’d sacrifice all of that if it meant he wouldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly , @the-princess-of-loki , @princess-ofthe-pages , @darcylikesloki , @kikster606 , @foxherder , @simone818283 , @newtomofgods @christinebloodwrittings @tom-hlover , @lulubelle814 , @kingliam2019

[rafesweetie]

track viii. DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS! (feat. jj maybank and reader)

“ flashbacks waking me up, i get drunk but it’s not enough “

it’s a small town, you’re bound to run into jj. in fact, it happens a lot. it still hurts the same every time you make eye contact.

he broke up with you before he went to south america, claiming that he’s putting you through too much with his stupid adventures. he didn’t want you to have an emotional attachment to him, just in case something happened. a breakup couldn’t fix your feelings for him though, he was silly to think they’d just… disappear. you felt lonely without him, you missed him.

you had a nightmare one night — you’d had them a lot recently, actually. but this one was different. it started with the chandelier flickering in a dark prison cell, with no one around. beer bottles are scattered around you, empty ones. you’re the only person who could’ve drank them. you look around, then see him — jj. he’s staring at you through the bars, looking at your hands. only then do you glance down. small paper cuts. they’ve barely broken skin, but they sting. only then do sheets of paper appear floating beside you, personified, the paper that must’ve cut you. you look back at jj.

“jj? what’s happening?” you ask him.

he glances back up to your face. “you’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts.”

you wake up in tears.

unfortunately, as mentioned earlier, you’re lonely. so the only person to call for comfort is jj, the only person who you ever truly felt comfortable with.

he answers, and you’re surprised you haven’t been blocked this whole time. “y/n?” he asks your name sleepily and confused, because you’ve woken him up. “what’s up?”

“nightmare,” you answer with a sniffle.

he tries to wake himself more. “what was it about?” you’re also surprised he’s instantly here for you.

“um, you,” you answer honestly. “well — mostly me, you were just… there, i dunno. and there were sheets of paper who were alive and cutting me, and you said i’d be alright— i’m sorry i woke you, it sounds dumb now that i’m saying it out loud.”

“yeah, uh — it kind of does,” he admits.

“… i miss you,” you say softly, out of nowhere.

there’s silence on the other end. “that why you called me? is this nightmare a lie?”

“don’t be mean. i don’t think i could make up personified paper, anyway,” you say softly.

“…shit,” he sighs, and you can tell he’s thinking. “i miss you too, okay? obviously i do.”

“so can we get back together?”

a breathless, sleepy chuckle from the other end. “straight to the point, huh? i don’t know, mama, what if we get back together, and i end up dying? would rather you say ‘my ex died’ than ‘my boyfriend died.’”

“you won’t die, thought you were done with the gold anyway, you found it,”

“m’just saying,”

“so you’ll be alright. jj, i’m dying over here, okay? i can’t pretend i’m okay, i’m not okay without you,”

you not being ‘okay’ gets him, because of course he still cares way too much about you. “i’ll come over tomorrow, to talk, okay?”

you know you’ll end up with your legs spread as you scream and confess how much you missed him, but you play along anyway. “okay, please do,”

“see you then,” then he hangs up.

you sleep peacefully for the rest of the night, knowing that you’ll be alright, the morning will come and he’ll be your baby again.

[starrysan]

nouvelle vague

↳ ᴅᴀɪꜱʏ [16]

masterlist || prev chap || next chap

pairing: korea local!yunho x new to city!reader [smau]

a/n: not much to say but I was originally going to put this all in part 15 but I was like nah that'd be too fast pace (svt ref, sorry im insane). as always not proofread hope you.. enjoy!

2nd person pov

"why haven't you picked up my calls or answered my texts?!" yunho says, a panicked tone in his voice. you didn't even realize all the texts you saw this morning were from him. "shit sorry-" you start to say. "no y/n please let me- im sorry I fucked you over and I ignored you and I made you feel like nothing. there's no excuses. what I did was fucked up and im sorry.. just please. don't leave." he says, tears running down his face. you'd never seen him like this before. he was usually so put together. or as put together as someone with a 5 day 9-5 could be.

"yunho.." you say, "I- even if I wanted to stay I can't I already-" as you start to speak you get a call from your boss. "uh sorry one sec" you say before picking up. "hello y/n? sorry this is so last minute but the Australia branch just called saying they have a candidate for the spot they needed you for. unless you really want to go back to Australia.. you could stay in Korea." you almost drop your phone. "Im so sorry could you give me 5 minutes?" you say before hanging up and looking at yunho.

"my boss just told me.. I could stay here." you say. you couldn't believe it. "but yunho.. us... if I stay what does that mean for us? as much as I love you.. I dont know how much longer I can wait" you say quietly. "well its a good thing waiting time is over" he says shortly after and you look up at him. "what?"

"y/n.. will you go out with me? for real this time. no trial run, or almost dating.. a real date" he says looking you right in the eye. "yunho.. i've been waiting for you to say that" you say as you jump into his arms. you go back to your landlord, he hands you your key back as if he knew you'd be coming back. you open your apartment door and stare at your once full apartment as yunho helped you bring your stuff in.

"shit wait.. chris" you say going to call him but there was a text from him. 'stay in korea' was all it said with a photo of him, Felix and your boss. you completely forgot Felix was friends with her. you call him just as fast as he sent the message. "Christopher.. what did you do?" you say "nothing" he says, faux innocence coming through as Felix giggles besides him. "maybe pulled some strings" he says with a shrug.

"chris.." you sigh. "y/n.." he says in the same tone. "guess who's in my room right now" you say as you glance at yunho sitting on your bed. "who?" he asks. "yunho" you say and yunho whips his head towards you and you giggle waving him off as he nods looking back at his phone. "isn't he the guy that screwed you over?" chris says skeptical. "he apologized its okay chris" you say. "ok.. but if he does anything I will hop on a plane and beat him up" chris huffs and you laugh. "yeah yeah sure" you say. "I'll visit soon okay? bye chris I love you" an 'I love you too' comes through before you hang up.

"you're gonna help me unpack right?" "yeah of course" "also give me your number whats wrong with you" you say hitting him lightly as he types it in your phone.

extras!

uhhh uhhh uhhhh uhhhhhhh

im running out of extras uh oh

yn likes ramen

ty for reading!

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