#'Even if you were different from What I remembered if you were happy I had thought perphaps it was okay' *ugly crying*

[kwilquib]

Falling for You, Again.

TripleS Kim Yooyeon x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 14.4k+

Kim Yooyeon sat upright in the hospital bed, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. It no longer unsettled her the way it once did. She had been here long enough to adjust—to wake up every morning knowing she had lost her memories, knowing that her only grasp on the past came from what others told her.

And what they told her was this:

She was married. She was deeply in love. And her husband, who had been abroad for work, had been devastated when he heard about the accident, even more when he couldn't return immediately. Today—the day of her discharge—she would finally go home.

Her parents had been with her since the beginning, threading her past together with their words. Their voices were steady, unwavering—as if the truth could be spoken into existence.

"You and your husband were so perfect together," her mother gushed, her voice thick with emotion. "Always looking at each other like you were the only two people in the world."

Yooyeon held onto the words, testing them, trying to find something familiar in them.

A flicker of memory surfaced. A formal dinner, the gentle clink of wine glasses, a man’s hand resting on the small of her back as they smiled for photographs. She could almost hear the laughter, but it felt distant, muted—like a scene from someone else’s life.

Her father nodded approvingly. "He's a good man. Responsible, capable. And devoted to you, as any husband should be."

Another fragment—her husband adjusting his tie in their shared bathroom mirror, his reflection catching hers. A quiet familiarity between them, practiced and smooth. She remembered feeling something then—a warmth in her chest, steady and certain.

"You don’t remember?" her mother asked hopefully.

Yooyeon hesitated. Did she? The images were there, but they felt too crisp, too clean—like a story well-told, not a memory truly lived.

"I... I think I do. Little pieces."

Her mother brightened immediately. "See? It’s coming back! I always said true love leaves its mark on the soul, even if the mind forgets."

The words settled over her like a soft weight. True love.

With each story they shared, more pieces seemed to surface. Their first dance at a business gala. Weekend brunches with friends where they finished each other’s sentences. Vacation photos where they looked blissfully happy.

Each memory felt genuine—yet the edges of them blurred, like an oil painting smudged by an impatient hand.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted to be the woman they spoke of, the one who had been so deeply in love.

But wasn’t love supposed to feel more certain than this?

The nurse entered with her discharge papers. "Mrs. Kim, you’re all set to leave. Your husband must be relieved—his wife is finally getting discharged."

His wife.

The words settled into the quiet room, lingering in the air longer than they should have.

She had heard it before—"your husband," "your loving marriage," "you were so happy together." Each time, the words had been spoken with certainty, as if they alone could fill the void in her memory.

But this felt different. Final. Binding.

Her fingers curled around the ring on her left hand. The metal was warm, familiar. She traced its shape, searching for something—anything—that felt like certainty.

She waited for the rush of emotion, the deep-seated knowing. It didn’t come.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Your husband called while you were resting. He’ll be returning from his work trip this week.”

Yooyeon nodded, ignoring the flutter of something in her chest. Excitement? Anxiety? Or something else entirely?

As the elevator descended to the hospital lobby, her parents chatting excitedly beside her, Yooyeon let herself lean into the stories, into the warmth they promised.

If she reached for the love they spoke of, if she believed hard enough—would it become real?

Today, she was going home.

To them.

And maybe, just maybe, to the love she was supposed to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step into the familiar quiet of your home, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real.

This place—this moment—was never supposed to happen like this.

You were supposed to come back with a clearer mind, with the weight of your feelings for Yooyeon finally worn down by distance and time. You had convinced yourself that being away, that drowning in work, was the right thing. You had nearly succeeded in quieting the ache of wanting her—of wanting something you were never meant to have.

But then the call came.

The accident. The words you never expected to hear. That she had lost her memories, that she couldn’t remember you.

And suddenly, the distance that was supposed to help you move on became unbearable.

You couldn’t leave. Couldn’t abandon your work, not when this deal had been months in the making. But you couldn’t call her either. You weren’t ready to hear her voice, to confirm with your own ears that she didn’t remember you. Instead, you asked about her indirectly—through doctors, through her parents. Keeping yourself just close enough to know she was okay, but far enough to not face the truth.

Now, you’re home. And for the first time since you left, you can’t avoid her anymore.

She’s in the living room when you step in, arranging flowers—an image so delicate, so carefully composed, that it stops you in your tracks. You never remembered her paying so much attention to things like this before.

“Welcome home,” she says, offering you a small smile. It’s polite, warm even, but there’s something unfamiliar about it. It’s measured, like she’s giving you exactly what she thinks you expect.

It throws you off.

She’s different, and yet—she’s not. She’s not an entirely new person, not a stranger. She’s still Yooyeon, but softened in ways she never was before. Less guarded, less sharp. And it terrifies you how easily she could slip into the version of her you used to dream about—the version that could have loved you back.

You clear your throat, setting down your luggage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner.”

Her fingers still briefly over the petals. “It’s fine… they told me your trip was important.” Her voice is light, but there’s something beneath it. A hesitation. A quiet disappointment.

Then, softer, almost to herself, “We could’ve at least talked on the phone.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know if she’s saying it because she wanted to talk to you or because she thinks it’s something she should say.

“How have you been?” you ask, even though you already know. You know what the doctors have said, what her parents have told you. But you need to hear it from her.

She launches into a recounting of her recovery—how she’s been adjusting, how her parents have practically hovered over her. But as she speaks, something feels off. Her words are careful, almost rehearsed, as if she’s reading from a script someone gave her.

And it hits you—she is following a script.

She’s trying to fit into the life everyone says she had. Trying to be the person they tell her she used to be.

The realization unsettles you.

It should be easy to draw the line. You told yourself, over and over, that this marriage had given you nothing but a lingering ache. That whatever warmth you once felt had long since dulled into something muted, tolerable. Maybe this is the clean break you need—the perfect excuse to finally move on without guilt.

But instead, all the walls you’ve built, the callousness you spent months forging, begin to crack.

You watch her—this version of Yooyeon, untouched by old wounds and past hesitations—and wonder.

Is this a curse? Or is this the only chance you’ll ever have to hold onto something that was never truly yours?

Later, over lunch, the air between you still carries an odd tension—not uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. You catch yourself hesitating before speaking, unsure which parts of your shared past she still holds onto and which have slipped through the cracks.

"Do you remember the trip to Busan?" you ask, testing again, reaching for a thread of the past.

Yooyeon blinks, her brows knitting together. "Busan…?"

"The conference," you remind her. "Last year. You spent half the time making fun of that presenter’s slides."

She lets out a small laugh but shakes her head. "I don’t remember that at all. But it does sound like something I’d do."

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet chuckle from both of you—awkward, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Tell me about it?" she asks, tilting her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I want to know what kind of person I was."

The question throws you off guard, though you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in her voice, the quiet plea to be filled in on the version of herself that she’s lost.

You hesitate, then exhale softly. "You were—" You stop, correcting yourself. "You are sharp. Witty. You never let anyone get away with nonsense."

She smiles at that, as if it reassures her. "That’s good to hear."

Bit by bit, the stiffness fades.

By evening, it’s different. The space between you, once uncertain, feels smoother, more fluid. It’s not the same as before, but in some ways, it’s easier. Lighter.

Yooyeon touches you more. Small, fleeting gestures—her fingers brushing against yours when she hands you a plate, resting a hand on your wrist when she asks a question, leaning into you slightly when you walk side by side. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing she seems to think twice about. But it’s different.

Before the accident, before the marriage, you thought of Yooyeon as a great friend—someone easy to talk to, someone who made life feel less heavy. When you agreed to the marriage, you thought maybe, just maybe, you were moving toward something more. At first, it seemed like it. The familiarity deepened, your feelings began to take shape, creeping in slowly, almost unnoticed. There were moments—glimpses of what could be—where it felt like the two of you were truly building something together.

But then, it stopped. Or maybe it just never went far enough. She was always there, yet just out of reach. She smiled at you, laughed with you, shared meals with you, but there was always a quiet hesitation in her, an invisible wall she never dared to cross. You wanted more. You wanted to pull her closer, to make her see what you were feeling, but something kept holding you back. Kept holding her back.

Your love for her didn’t fade—it grew. And the more it grew, the more it hurt.

You lived together, spent your days and nights side by side, yet the gap between you remained. A happy marriage, but never quite content. Companions, but never quite lovers.

And now? Now she’s changed. Now, that boundary is gone—not in the way you once wished it would be, but in a way that feels almost unreal. Like something delicate and fleeting, something that shouldn’t be yours to hold.

You don’t comment on it.

You tell yourself it’s just her way of adjusting, of seeking comfort in something familiar.

So you play along.

As the evening drags on, you feel her eyes on you constantly, but there’s no familiar ease to it. No comfort. It’s as if she’s studying you, trying to figure out the person she’s married to, trying to place you into this new reality where you don’t fit. You catch her refilling your water glass before you even ask, adjusting your collar just slightly, even suggesting things she thinks will please you—asking how the trip went, what you did, if you’re tired. Every move she makes feels calculated, like she’s not trying to be the woman you married, but the woman she thinks you expect her to be.

Her actions are all wrapped in politeness and care, but it feels like a performance. You’re a stranger to her now, and she’s just trying to fit the role she believes she has to play.

You can’t help but wonder, does she even know who you are anymore?

After dinner, Yooyeon sets her chopsticks down and looks at you expectantly. “Can we watch some videos?” she asks.

You blink. “Videos?”

“Our wedding, maybe? Or just… us?” She hesitates, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I want to see. I want to remember.”

You don’t answer right away. Something about the request unsettles you, but you don’t know why.

She watches you carefully, waiting. And for some reason, you find yourself nodding.

Minutes later, you’re both sitting on the couch as the TV screen flickers to life. The first video plays—a montage of your wedding day. The ceremony, the smiles, the laughter. The perfect image of a couple in love.

Yooyeon watches intently, her gaze scanning the screen like she’s trying to etch every second into her mind. “I remember this part,” she murmurs when the camera captures her slipping the ring onto your finger. “I was so nervous.”

You glance at her. “Were you?”

She nods, eyes still locked on the screen. “I kept worrying I’d drop the ring. But you… you looked so calm.” She tilts her head, studying the way you held her hand in the video. “Did you feel nervous?”

You almost laugh. “No. It was just a formality, I was rushing for the event to be over.”

The words sit between you, stark and unfiltered.

Yooyeon doesn’t flinch. Instead, she hums thoughtfully. “Still. We looked happy.”

You don’t answer.

The video shifts to another clip—your honeymoon. A trip spent half in public, playing the roles expected of you, and half in quiet companionship behind closed doors.

“You remember this?” you ask, testing her again.

She pauses. “Not all of it,” she admits. “But some parts… they feel familiar.”

She leans into your side, her body warm against yours.

You hadn’t noticed when it happened, but somehow, Yooyeon ended up nestled against you, her head resting lightly against your shoulder, your arm loosely draped around her. The closeness should feel foreign—it never used to be like this—but strangely, it isn’t.

It feels natural. Too natural.

On the screen, the version of you from the past smiles at her, something soft in his expression that even you don’t quite recognize.

Yooyeon shifts slightly in your arms, tilting her head up to look at you.

Your breath catches.

She’s close. Closer than she should be.

The glow of the screen casts soft shadows over her face, highlighting the curve of her lips, the quiet intent in her eyes. The air between you grows heavy, charged with something neither of you acknowledges.

And then she moves.

Her lips press against yours—gentle, seeking. A quiet, hesitant question in the form of a kiss.

Your body reacts before your mind does.

You’d spent months trying to forget, convincing yourself that this love was better buried.

And yet, here you were—undoing everything in a single moment.

You kiss her back.

Before your kisses could get any deeper, she breaks it off.

“I— I should probably take a shower…” her breath heavy. “Before we continue…” she muttered almost a whisper. As she runs towards your room.

The warmth of her lips still lingers on yours as Yooyeon stumbles away, her words barely registering in your mind. Your pulse is erratic, breath unsteady as she disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the space, but your thoughts are too tangled to process anything else.

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. What just happened?

The weight of her kiss, the way her body fit against yours—it felt inevitable, like something long overdue.

Minutes pass, stretching endlessly until the water finally stops. The door creaks open, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of her silhouette before she vanishes into your room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Your heart is still racing as you push yourself off the couch. The air feels thick, charged with an energy you don’t know how to name.

The shower is quick, the cold water doing little to calm the storm inside you. Even as you dry off, the memory of her touch lingers—her warmth, her scent, the way she looked at you before she kissed you.

Steeling yourself, you step into your bedroom.

And then—you freeze.

Yooyeon lies on your bed, the blanket pooling around her bare shoulders, exposing smooth skin bathed in the dim light. Her damp hair spills over the pillows, dark strands curling at the ends.

Your throat goes dry.

She watches you, her expression unreadable, lips parted slightly as if caught between hesitation and expectation.

Then it hits you.

Under that sheet, Yooyeon is completely naked.

And so are you.

The towel slips from your fingers, falling soundlessly to the floor. Her gaze follows the movement, trailing over your body before flickering away when it lands lower—shyness warring with curiosity.

You move closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, you peel it back, unveiling inch after inch of her bare skin.

First, her collarbones, delicate and defined.

Then her breasts, supple, rising and falling with her breath.

Your eyes trace the gentle slope of her stomach, the way it tenses slightly under your gaze.

And then, finally, the last of the blanket falls away, revealing the most intimate part of her.

You pause, drinking her in—every curve, every detail, the sheer vulnerability of this moment.

She is beautiful.

You remind yourself not to rush. To take your time.

Slowly, calmly, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss—soft at first, testing, savoring. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she melts into you, her hands trailing up your back, fingertips pressing lightly as if urging you closer.

The kiss deepens.

Your tongues meet, a slow, intoxicating dance. Her taste lingers on your lips, warm and sweet. You tug at her tongue, coaxing it out, teasing, savoring every second before finally breaking apart, breathless.

Both of you pant for air, foreheads pressed together, heat radiating between you. Then, you feel it—Yooyeon’s hand wrapping around your length, her touch light at first, then firmer, stroking you, making you harder than you already are.

You tense, instinctively pulling back for a second, startled by the sudden contact. Her eyes flicker with confusion, but you don’t explain. Instead, you press forward, shifting your focus.

Your lips trail down her body, kissing her skin, feeling the way she trembles beneath you. Her quiet moans spill out as you kiss along her side, then lower, past her navel.

You don’t linger. You know she’s already wet.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you part them, revealing her.

“Yooyeon… can I?” Your voice is low, thick with need.

She nods, her gaze heavy-lidded, filled with anticipation.

You lean in, your tongue sliding against her folds, tasting her, teasing her. She gasps, back arching slightly, her moans growing louder as you work her with slow, deliberate strokes. You take your time, letting each flick, each swirl of your tongue build her pleasure.

You feel her body loosening, her walls softening around your touch. Taking it as your cue, you push your tongue inside, warmth enveloping you as her arousal coats your mouth. She’s overflowing, her body giving in to pleasure.

Her legs clamp around your head, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Fingers tangle in your hair, grasping tightly as her moans turn desperate, erratic.

You hold her thighs apart, refusing to let her escape. The way she writhes beneath you, the way her voice rises with each stroke of your tongue—it only fuels you. Her pleasure feeds your hunger.

You pick up the pace, teasing and flicking against her sensitive bud. She cries out, hands gripping the sheets, her body arching as the sensation overwhelms her.

Then, without warning, you push your tongue back inside, not giving her a moment’s reprieve. Her moans turn to breathless, broken sounds, her mind too lost in the pleasure to form words.

"Fuh…Ah—Nnn… fuah!!!"

Her body tenses, muscles locking up as the pressure builds. Her legs tremble, stretching outward, her hands pressing against your head, trying to ground herself. Her back arches high, head tilting back as the wave finally crashes over her.

And you don’t stop—drawing out every last pulse of her release, savoring the way her body trembles beneath you.

But your hunger isn't satisfied.

Even though she’s already drenched, already ready, you want more.

Moving back up, you claim her breast, taking a hardened peak into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, sucking, teasing, while your hands knead her softness, fingers flicking and pinching in tandem with your lips. You alternate between gentle licks and sharp bites against her sensitive tips, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

A loud moan escapes her, her back arching.

Your eyes flick up, catching the way her head tilts, her neck exposed—a silent invitation.

You answer it immediately, trailing kisses along her skin, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips. Each press of your mouth sends another shiver through her, her body reacting to every touch.

But you need more.

Your lips find hers again, and before you can even take the lead, she’s already parting her mouth, welcoming you, her tongue eagerly meeting yours.

The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of it.

And then—another moan escapes her, breaking the kiss.

Your tip presses against her, teasing her entrance.

You don’t stop. Instead, you return to her lips, deepening the kiss as you rub your length along her slick folds, coating yourself in her arousal.

Her moans sync with each slow, deliberate movement, her body shuddering beneath you. Her hands cradle your face, fingers gliding over your skin, smearing the mess of your mixed saliva as she pulls you in closer.

Your lips part, but your tongues remain locked in their heated dance, unwilling to separate—until she finally pushes you back, breathless.

"Dear… it’s enough… ah!" she whispers between moans.

But is it?

Doubt lingers, and instead of answering, you dip back down, capturing her breast in your mouth, sucking lightly, flicking her sensitive tips with your tongue. She gasps, arching into you, her fingers tightening against your skin.

You trail back up, capturing her lips once more, silencing any protests. She parts her mouth as if to speak, but you don’t let her—your tongue claims hers again, drawing another muffled moan from her.

Finally, she pleads, her voice trembling with need.

"Please… put it in…"

You pull back slightly, your breathing ragged.

Is it really enough?

Your eyes search hers, questioning and hesitating. You want her completely—but only when she’s truly ready.

Then another thought crosses your mind: rubber. Hastily, you reach for the drawer, but before you can, her hand intercepts yours.

“Wait…” she says softly, holding out a condom. Her eyes sparkle with a mix of impatience and assurance. You know you’re supposed to use it, yet in this heated moment, the raw intensity of your desire makes you yearn for an unfiltered connection.

Clutching the condom in your hand, you feel that inner battle between safety and passion. In one impulsive moment, you decide—raw is what you need. With deliberate urgency, you press yourself against her, entering her without delay.

“Ahnnn…” escapes her lips as she welcomes you. Every thrust is met with her rising moans—a rhythmic symphony that spurs you on.

Your hand slides up to her breast, massaging and flicking it, alternating between gentle licks and teasing bites along her sensitive nipple. The sound of her moans draws your attention to the delicate curve of her neck, where your lips trail a fiery path of kisses.

Her insides grow warmer and more intense with each movement, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Sensing that the intensity might soon overwhelm both of you, you briefly pull back—tearing open the condom wrapper with a mix of urgency and hesitation.

You withdraw slightly, and she moans in response. The pause makes you acutely aware of how close you both are to the edge. Desperate not to lose the rhythm, you fumble to put the condom on again.

Sensing your hurry—and perhaps sharing in your urgency—her hand reaches out, deftly fitting the condom for you. Without missing a beat, she guides your length back to her welcoming embrace. Your body re-enters her, and you murmur her name, “Yooyeon.”

“I'm about to cum,” you confess in a low, husky tone, “but… is it okay?”

She meets your gaze with a smile and a nod of encouragement, “Yes… do it whenever you like.”

Emboldened, you resume your pace, each thrust growing more rapid as your kisses overlap with her soft moans. The sight of her—flushed and panting, eyes half-closed in bliss, strands of hair clinging to her flushed skin—drives you closer to your limit. You grip her waist tightly as her arms cradle your head, locking you together in a passionate embrace.

You feel your release building rapidly. Her hips rise to meet your every thrust as she arches her back, her body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. In a final, desperate surge, your finger finds her clit, adding one last burst of stimulation to the electric mix of pleasure.

“No—… Not—There—” she gasps breathlessly as her body twists with the overwhelming sensations.

"I’m—cumming—cumming… Ah!!!" she cries, and in that climactic moment, both of you shatter under the intensity of your shared release.

Her body convulses as waves of heat and pleasure surge through her, each pulse sending shudders down her spine. The sheets beneath you seem to ripple with the force of your climax, every fiber of your being alive with raw ecstasy. You feel her muscles tighten around you, an unspoken invitation to surrender completely to the overwhelming sensation.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, you collapse beside her, your heads turning to face each other. Her expression radiates satisfaction and joy as she softly calls your name. Gently, she plants a kiss on your lips, then on your forehead, and finally on your nose—each tender gesture sealing the memory of your shared passion.

As her eyes close and she nestles into your embrace, you both drift in the afterglow—a raw, unforgettable moment of intimacy that lingers long after the night fades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stirred awake to the warmth of a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, her fingers curled lightly against his bare chest. His arms were still around her, firm yet relaxed, holding her in a way that made her feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

A quiet smile ghosted her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Last night had been…

Her cheeks flushed at the memory—her own boldness, the way she had moved on instinct, the way his touch had set fire to every inch of her skin. She hadn’t thought too deeply about it at the time. She had simply acted on a feeling—a feeling that told her she wanted him, wanted to be close to him in the most intimate way.

And she had been right.

Being with him had felt good, natural. She felt satisfied, happy, content in a way that only reaffirmed everything she had come to believe since waking up in this life—she loved him.

She was sure of it.

The realization sent a quiet thrill through her. She had been nervous, hesitant, unsure if her memories would ever return, but last night had proven that love didn’t need memories to exist. She felt it in the way she craved his presence, in the warmth that filled her chest when he looked at her.

Yooyeon shifted slightly, pressing closer to him, breathing in the faint scent of him—clean, comforting, familiar.

But then his voice cut through the soft haze of her thoughts.

“That was… unexpected,” he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles on her back.

She blinked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Unexpected?”

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, with a careful smile, he said, “It’s been a while.”

A while.

The words settled in her mind, stirring something she didn’t quite understand. Of course, it had been a while—she had only woken up to this life weeks ago. But his tone, the way his hand tightened slightly around her waist, made her feel like it was more than that. Like this distance between them wasn’t just from her accident, but something older.

She wanted to ask—why had it been so long?

But the words never left her lips. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Their relationship was complicated. She might not remember everything, but she could sense it—the hesitance in his touch, the way he always seemed to be holding back, like there was something unspoken between them.

Maybe that was just how marriage worked. Maybe love wasn’t always constant, but something that came and went.

Still, as she rested her head against his chest, the thought lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, it unsettles you.

The way Yooyeon moves around you so effortlessly, the way she reaches for your hand without hesitation, the way she speaks to you with such natural affection—it’s disorienting.

She doesn’t remember.

She doesn’t remember that your marriage was built on something practical, something strategic. She doesn’t remember that love was never part of the equation.

And yet, she looks at you like it is.

Like it always has been.

You catch yourself hesitating around her more often than not. There’s a strange discomfort in knowing something she doesn’t, in feeling the weight of the truth pressing against your ribs every time she smiles at you. You should tell her. You should set things straight.

But you don’t.

Instead, you find yourself falling into the rhythm of her new version of your life together.

You wake up with her in your arms, and you don’t pull away.

You sit together for breakfast, and when she instinctively places a peeled orange slice on your plate, you take it without thinking.

You come home from work to find her waiting, sometimes with dinner already prepared, other times with stories of her day, filling the house with a warmth that never quite existed before.

And slowly, day by day, you stop resisting.

You settle into married life again—but this time, without hesitation.

She reaches for you first. She falls asleep in your arms, waking up smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The distance that once defined your relationship is gone, replaced by something warm, something dangerously easy to believe in.

You let yourself fall into the illusion.

One evening, as you sit in the living room, Yooyeon is curled up beside you, flipping through an old photo album she found while reorganizing the shelves.

“Oh,” she says, her fingers tracing over a picture. “I remember this one.”

You glance over. It’s from a ski trip, a company retreat you attended together two winters ago. She had nearly sprained her wrist trying to prove she could keep up with the more experienced skiers. You had ended up guiding her down the slope, an arm around her waist, both of you laughing as she barely managed to stay upright.

“You do?” you ask, cautious.

“Sort of,” she hums. “It’s faint. More like… I remember how I felt.”

You watch her quietly. “And how did you feel?”

She turns to you with a small smile. “Happy.”

Your chest tightens.

There are other moments, too—soft, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Nights spent in the kitchen, cooking together, bumping into each other as you move around the stove. She steals bites of whatever you’re preparing, grinning at you when you feign irritation.

Late-night talks, lying in bed with the lights off, her voice quiet but filled with warmth as she tells you about all the things she wants to do, all the places she wants to see. And for the first time, you let yourself imagine being there with her.

She steals kisses—teasingly, playfully, like you’ve always been in love. A kiss on the cheek as she passes by, a lingering press of her lips to yours just before bed. At first, it startles you, but then you start to expect it. Crave it.

And before you realize it, you start kissing her back.

You begin to dream of a life where this isn’t just a lie.

Another time, during dinner, she asks a question you aren’t prepared for.

“What was our first date like?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering midair. “Our first date?”

She nods eagerly, resting her chin in her hand. “I was thinking about it earlier. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t, so… tell me.”

You exhale slowly, setting your chopsticks down. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden. “You don’t remember sneaking out of that charity banquet when we were seventeen and eating instant ramen at a convenience store?”

Her eyes widen in surprise before a small, delighted laugh escapes her. “That was a date?”

“You called it one,” you say, smirking. “Said it was the best meal you ever had.”

She hums, thoughtful, before grinning. “I must’ve been charming back then.”

“You still are,” you murmur without thinking.

Her expression softens. Then she tilts her head playfully. “That’s cute, but I meant a real date. You know—one where we both knew what it was.”

You hesitate, because you know what she’s really asking.

There was never a first date in the way she’s imagining—no sweet, nervous anticipation, no deliberate choice to step into something romantic. Your relationship had always been tangled in something more complicated.

But now, as she looks at you with expectation, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her napkin, you find yourself saying—

“Then let’s have one.”

She blinks. “What?”

“A first date,” you say simply, watching her reaction. “One you can remember.”

Her face brightens, eyes gleaming with something warm, something real. “Okay,” she says, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this doesn’t have to be a lie.

You don’t realize when you stop overthinking things.

When she slides her hand into yours while walking through a park, you don’t flinch.

When she leans against you while watching a movie, you don’t stiffen.

When she laughs at something you say, her whole face lighting up, you don’t look away.

And one day, you catch yourself smiling at her when she isn’t looking.

The feeling that stirs inside you is unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

Because the truth is—you’ve always had feelings for her.

You just never let yourself acknowledge them before.

But now, standing in the middle of a life that feels almost real, you wonder if this is a sign.

A sign that maybe, just maybe, you can start again.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to tell her the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting the delicate bracelet around her wrist. A soft hum of excitement bubbled in her chest as she checked her reflection one last time. Their first real date—the kind she had always dreamed of. She wanted today to be perfect. Not because it had to be, but because it already felt like it would be.

She had spent the past hour choosing the right outfit, something that felt effortless yet pretty, hoping he would notice. Hoping he would look at her the way she was starting to look at him.

By the time she stepped out of the bedroom, he was already waiting near the door. His gaze flickered over her, lingering just long enough for warmth to spread through her.

“You look nice,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

She grinned. “Only nice?”

He exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head as if she was impossible. Then, more sincerely—“Beautiful.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to tease him, but the way he said it, like he meant it, left her speechless. Before she could find the words, he extended his hand.

A simple gesture. A quiet offering.

She took it without hesitation, her fingers slipping between his, fitting as if they belonged there. He gave her hand a small squeeze, and together, they stepped out into the world beyond their home.

The day unfolded like something out of a dream.

Their first stop was a small bakery-café, the kind nestled between old bookstores and cozy boutiques. It smelled like fresh bread and vanilla, warmth curling in the air like an embrace. Yooyeon picked a selection of pastries for them to share, carefully choosing the ones she thought he would like.

She watched with barely contained excitement as he took a bite of a strawberry tart.

“It’s good,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

“Good?” She gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “This is art.”

His lips quirked into a smirk. “Alright, it’s art.”

Satisfied, she took her own bite, savoring the sweetness. The café was quiet, filled with the murmur of soft conversations and the gentle notes of a piano melody playing in the background. She found herself stealing glances at him, memorizing the rare ease in his expression, the way the afternoon sunlight kissed his skin.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like they weren’t pretending.

The movie theater was next. She had picked a lighthearted romantic comedy, wanting to keep the mood playful. He hadn’t protested, only giving her an unreadable glance when she insisted it would be fun.

It was.

She found herself laughing at the silliest scenes, and every now and then, when she peeked at him, she caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing outright, but he was watching her more than the movie, and somehow, that made her heart flutter more than anything on the screen.

At one point, when she reached for the popcorn, their hands brushed. Neither of them moved.

Slowly, he intertwined their fingers beneath the dim glow of the screen.

Her heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He squeezed back.

By afternoon, they had made their way to the park, where a small picnic awaited them. She had planned it in advance, packing simple homemade sandwiches and fresh fruit. The air was crisp, the sky stretching endlessly above them, and for a while, they simply enjoyed the peacefulness.

Yooyeon leaned against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He didn’t move away. Instead, his hand found its way into her hair, his fingers brushing through it absentmindedly.

Her heart melted.

“I think this is the first time we’ve actually done something like this,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Spent a whole day together… just being a normal couple.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice so low she almost missed it—

“Yeah.”

She smiled, closing her eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of him. The world felt quieter like this. Like it had shrunk to just the two of them, existing in a space untouched by the past.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

Night had fallen by the time they reached their final stop—a quiet hill overlooking the cityscape. From afar, the lights twinkled like stars, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. The air was cool, crisp against her skin, but standing beside him, she barely noticed.

“I used to come here alone sometimes,” he admitted, his voice softer, more open. “Just to think.”

Yooyeon turned to him, searching his face. “And now?”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. As if seeing her for the first time. As if realizing something he hadn’t before.

“Now, I think I’d rather share it with you.”

Her breath hitched.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and charged.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into her touch, like it was something he had been waiting for.

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

The tension thickened, the world around them fading until there was nothing left but the space between them.

She moved first, closing the distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it felt like a secret. He inhaled sharply against her mouth, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, filled with something warm and terrifyingly sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed as if grounding himself.

“Maybe we should go home,” he murmured, voice husky.

Yooyeon nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”

He took her hand again, this time holding it a little tighter as they made their way back.

And deep down, she knew—tonight wasn’t over just yet.

The drive home is quiet, but not tense. Her fingers remain laced with yours the entire way, her grip firm—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You don’t say anything about it. You just hold on.

By the time you step through the door, the house feels different. Warmer, despite the lingering shadows. It’s strange how just her presence can make it feel like home again.

Neither of you turn on the lights. There’s no need. The dim glow from the night city lights outside is enough to guide you through the familiar space. Without a word, you both make your way to the bedroom, as if some unspoken understanding pulls you forward.

And now—here you are.

Sitting side by side at the edge of the bed, your hands still loosely linked. The weight of the night settles over you, thick with all the words that haven’t been spoken yet.

You steal a glance at her, only to find her already looking at you. There’s something different in her eyes tonight—not just longing, not just resolve, but something deeper. Something that makes your breath catch.

You thought you had lost her. And maybe, in a way, you did. But now she’s here, choosing you—not because of old memories, not because of a past you held onto alone, but because of now.

And that’s when it hits you.

You had loved her before. Loved her in quiet ways, in restrained touches, in the unspoken words that always hovered on the tip of your tongue. But now—now, you’ve fallen again. Harder. Deeper.

She tilts her head slightly, waiting. For you to speak, for you to move, for you to reassure her that this isn’t a mistake.

You exhale, threading your fingers through hers, squeezing once. “Yooyeon…”

Her name feels different when you say it this time—like something new and familiar all at once.

She smiles, small but real, and she pressed her lips against you.

And just like that, you fall all over again.

She pulls away, her lips barely parting from yours as she searches your face. There’s warmth in her gaze, a quiet certainty that makes your chest tighten. Then, she smiles—soft, unwavering.

You cradle her face in your hands, and she leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if memorizing the feel of you.

You kiss her again. This time, there’s no hesitation—just slow, unhurried intimacy, deepening with every passing second.

Her hands rest lightly against your chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. You can feel her heartbeat, unsteady yet eager, mirroring your own.

Your hand slides up the smooth curve of her thigh, fingers ghosting over her soft skin before slipping under the hem of her skirt. She shudders but doesn’t pull away—if anything, she presses closer, her breath coming faster, anticipation thick in the space between you.

Your lips break apart just as her gaze flickers down—drawn to the movement of your hand between her legs. She knows what’s coming. She wants it.

Without hesitation, your fingers slip beneath her panties, gliding over her soaked heat. A slow, teasing stroke along her slit makes her breath hitch, her thighs twitching in response. You find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, and she gasps—soft at first, then louder as your touch grows bolder.

Her head drops onto your shoulder, her body sagging into you, surrendering. You let your free hand tangle in her hair, stroking her, keeping her close as she clings to your other arm. Her grip tightens whenever you rub just right, her body reacting instinctively, desperately.

She’s soaked now, dripping, her slickness coating your fingers as you ease one inside her. She tenses, then relaxes, her walls fluttering around you as you curl your finger, testing, teasing.

“Hnnng…” A breathy moan spills from her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She leans into you, eyes wide and desperate as they lock onto yours—raw, pleading, and hungry for more. You can tell she’s craving every inch of this moment, and you’re more than ready to deliver.

“Can... can I—like, you... lie down?” she asks shyly, her voice low and breathy.

“Sure,” you reply, a mix of confusion and intrigue in your tone as you both head for the bed. Once there, she starts undressing, and you watch, not quite sure what she’s planning.

“Should I... too?” you ask with a playful smirk.

“Ye—yes,” she stammers, her voice thick with anticipation.

Before long, you’re shedding your shirt, pants, and boxers, leaving you completely bare as you wait for Yooyeon to finish. With a final, deliberate move, she slips off her soaked panties, revealing everything. Her eyes linger hungrily on your throbbing package, and after a deep, steadying breath, she crawls over and positions herself on top of you.

Meeting your gaze, she confesses, “It’s because... last time, you teased me way too much,” her cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and desire.

Before you can even reach out for a cuddle, her hand finds your cock, stroking it with a confident, teasing rhythm.

“Yooyeon...” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Without missing a beat, she shifts so that her dripping, slick pussy meets your throbbing tip. Her natural juices make every touch wet and irresistible.

“Hnnng…” she breathes as she slowly pushes down on you, her warm, inviting opening taking you in inch by inch. Her body settles over yours, fully engulfing you as she adjusts to the sensation.

Then. Her hips start moving—first slow and deliberate, then quickening into a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The heat of her body surrounds you as she rides you hard, every thrust drawing you deeper into a night of raw, unfiltered passion.

“I can feel it twitch…” she breathes, her voice husky as she asks, “Do—does it feel good?”

“Yeah, Yooyeon… it feels amazing,” you reply, your words thick with desire.

Your lips collide, entangling in a deep, fervent kiss as your fingers cradle her cheeks. The kiss intensifies, every touch stoking the fire between you. Rising slightly, she quickens her pace—her desperation unmistakable as she chases her own pleasure.

Before long, exhaustion begins to claim her, and her movements slow; yet even as she gasps for air, her hips remain insistent, grinding slowly despite her fatigue. Sensing an unspoken urge, you murmur, “Yooyeon, there’s something I want to try,” offering an excuse in case she’s too shy to ask outright.

A quick nod is all you need. You reposition her gently to your side, guiding her so that her head rests on your arm. With her back to you, you slide into her again, savoring the fresh angle as both your rhythms realign. Her moans return, matching the new, steady pace that builds once more.

As your hands explore, hers finds yours, fingers interlocking tightly as the intensity escalates. Your other hand wanders over her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples with every deliberate stroke. “I’m—I'm close,” Yooyeon confesses, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Noticing her gaze drifting back to you, you grasp her chin and pull her into another searing kiss, your tongues dancing together. Shifting once again, you climb atop her, pressing her flat against the bed as you prepare to drive her to the edge. “I’m close too,” you murmur between kisses, the admission fusing your sensations into one.

The pace quickens; her moans grow louder, her movements erratic as both your breaths come in ragged bursts. The heat between you becomes almost unbearable, every thrust and every touch amplifying the approaching climax. “Cum with me… please,” she pleads, her voice raw with need.

In that electrifying moment, her body convulses in overwhelming pleasure. You feel your own climax surge through you as you pull away, releasing your heated burst onto her back. The space between you, though charged with the remnants of passion, holds the echo of every gasp, every moan, and every shared moment of unbridled ecstasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying in bed, Yooyeon feels the warmth of his arm draped over her waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside. She should be at peace, comforted by his presence—yet something gnaws at her, an unease she can’t quite place.

She traces slow circles on the back of his hand with her fingertips, a habit that feels instinctual, familiar, though she can’t remember why. The motion soothes her, but the ache in her chest lingers. Without thinking, she murmurs,

“You always used to hate holding hands.”

His entire body stiffens.

She feels it instantly—the tension in his muscles, the way his breath halts for a split second before resuming, just a little too controlled.

She blinks, turning to look at him. His face is carefully blank, but she knows better now. Knows enough to recognize the way his guard snaps into place.

“…Didn’t you?” she presses, searching his face for an answer.

He exhales slowly, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t remember saying that.”

But she knows he does.

Her memories aren’t whole—just flickers, shadows of something real but unreachable. Yet, in those fragments, there’s a truth she can’t ignore.

She starts noticing it more—the subtle moments when he pulls away. The slight hesitation before he responds to her touch. The darkness in his eyes when she speaks too easily of their love.

And it starts to hurt.

One night, the weight of it all crashes into her. “Why do you act like this?” she asks, voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid of me?”

His expression hardens. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists, stepping closer. “I see it in your eyes. Every time I talk about us, about our past, you look at me like—” Her throat tightens. “Like you’re waiting for something to fall apart.”

His jaw clenches. He looks away. “Yooyeon, drop it.”

But she can’t. She won’t.

“Why did we choose the beach?” she asks suddenly, searching his face for the truth she feels slipping through her fingers.

His arm stiffens around her shoulders. “You wanted something grand.”

No. The memory surfaces, unbidden. I wanted it small. Private. Just us.

His gaze is raw, almost pained, as if she’s a ghost he can’t touch. When she reaches for him, he hesitates—a heartbeat too long—before brushing a kiss to her temple.

Something inside her cracks.

The fear she’s been trying to suppress rises to the surface, wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe. She needs to hear it. Needs him to say it.

“Did you love me from the start?” she whispers in bed that night, her palm flat against his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

He goes still. Seconds stretch into something unbearable before he answers,

“Yes.”

But it’s the wrong kind of yes—heavy with guilt, not devotion.

She sits up, the sheets pooling around her. “Then why does it feel like you’re lying to me?”

His jaw tightens. Moonlight catches the sheen of sweat at his temple.

“Yooyeon—”

“Tell me the truth.” Her voice cracks. “Please.”

He turns away, his silhouette rigid against the night. “You’re still recovering. We shouldn’t—”

“Stop treating me like I’ll break!” The words burst out sharper than she intends. When she grabs his wrist, he flinches.

He actually flinches.

Her breath catches. “You… you’re scared of me.”

“No.” But his pulse is racing beneath her fingers.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” She cups his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers. What she sees there steals the air from her lungs—anguish, regret, something deeper, darker.

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Because when you remember everything… you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You notice it the moment you step inside.

The air feels different—thicker, colder, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Some of the lights are off, casting the house in an eerie dimness, as if it were holding its breath.

And Yooyeon—she isn’t there to greet you.

That alone makes you pause. Even on days when she’s distracted, even when she’s lost in thought, she always turns at the sound of the door unlocking. Always lifts her head, always meets your gaze.

But tonight, she doesn’t.

Your chest tightens. You don’t even take off your coat before stepping further inside, following the faint glow of the living room lamp.

Then you see her.

She’s sitting on the couch, unnaturally still. Her hands rest in her lap as if she’s forcing them to stay there. But it’s her eyes that give her away—locked onto something on the table, unblinking.

A single sheet of paper.

Something prickles at the back of your neck.

“…Yooyeon.”

She flinches. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

Then, like a switch, she turns to you, a smile flickering onto her lips—too practiced, too forced. “You’re home.”

Your gut twists. Something is wrong.

Still, you don’t press. You nod, greeting her quietly. She nods back, but her fingers tighten against the fabric of her dress, her nervousness seeping into you.

You tell yourself to let it go. To wait. If it’s important, she’ll bring it up.

So you step away, heading toward your home office. The silence follows you.

You place your briefcase down, reaching for the drawer to put away your documents—

—and stop.

The drawer is open.

Your heart stutters.

It shouldn’t be. You always keep it locked. You always make sure.

Your breath is shallow as your eyes lower—and then you see it.

The contract.

The one detailing everything. The terms of your marriage.

The proof of how pragmatic your relationship was.

The paper that stands in direct contrast to the warmth you’ve built with her now.

Your pulse pounds.

Yooyeon.

She saw it.

You’re moving before you can think, your footsteps brisk as you retrace your steps, each second stretching unbearably long.

When you step into the living room again, she’s already looking at you.

Panic. That’s what you see first. She opens her mouth, stumbling over her words, voice thin and desperate, like she’s trying to contain a flood. “I—I found it when I was cleaning. I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

She stops, swallowing hard. Then, softer, like she already knows she won’t like the answer:

“…What does it mean?”

Your throat tightens.

The weight of it crashes between you, an invisible force pressing against your chest, against your ribs.

She knows.

She doesn’t know.

Not completely. Not yet. But she’s one breath away from understanding.

You could lie. You could say it was nothing. That it was just an old, forgotten document. You could keep pretending.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is already here, unraveling between you.

You exhale, stepping forward, your voice quiet, steady.

“Yooyeon… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The silence is suffocating.

Yooyeon doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. You see it in her eyes. The confusion, the disbelief, the quiet, desperate hope that this isn’t what she thinks it is.

You wish you could spare her. Wish you could rewind to a moment before she found that damned contract, before she looked at you with that kind of fragile, breaking expression.

But you can’t.

So you force yourself to meet her gaze, force yourself to let the truth spill before it’s too late.

“Our marriage wasn’t… real. At least, not the way you think it was.”

Her breath catches.

You don’t look away. “It was arranged. A contract. Your parents and mine, they wanted us to marry. We went along with it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. You can see the gears turning in her head, the memories she’s tried so hard to piece together now twisting into something cruel, something she never saw coming.

She swallows. “So… so you’re saying…” Her voice shakes. “It was all fake?”

Something twists in your chest.

“No,” you say immediately. Desperately. “No, I—” You drag a hand down your face, frustration clawing at you. “It wasn’t like that. Not for me.”

She flinches.

And that’s when it happens—the moment her heart breaks.

You can see it, feel it, the way her entire body tenses like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the cracks are already there, spreading, widening.

“…Every time you told me you loved me,” she whispers, “was it just part of the act?”

“Yooyeon.” Your voice is strained, pleading. “I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth.”

She stares at you.

Then she lets out a quiet, shaky laugh—one that isn’t amused at all.

She takes a step back. Then another.

Your stomach drops.

She’s leaving.

You don’t know where, don’t know if she even has anywhere to go, but she’s walking away from you.

“Yooyeon, wait—”

She shakes her head. “I need to think.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to think.”

Everything in you screams to stop her. To explain, to beg, to do anything but let her go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you inhale sharply and take a step back first.

“I’ll give you space,” you say, though it nearly kills you. “But don’t leave. Please.”

She hesitates.

You reach for her hand—just barely, just enough for her to know you would still hold on if she let you.

And finally, finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping as if she’s too exhausted to fight anymore.

“…Okay,” she whispers.

She stays.

But the distance between you has never felt wider.

You exhale, slow and measured, though everything inside you is fraying at the edges.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “For as long as you need.”

Yooyeon doesn’t respond right away. She’s still looking at you like she doesn’t know who you are anymore. Like she’s seeing you for the first time and hating that she ever trusted you.

It’s unbearable.

“I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your throat. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you in a place built on lies.”

Her breath stutters, but she quickly masks it. She’s still trying to be strong.

You wish she wouldn’t.

You wish she’d yell at you, cry, say something that doesn’t feel like an unbearable silence stretching between you.

“Okay,” she finally whispers.

You nod, forcing yourself to move. To walk away first, even when every instinct in you screams to stay.

But before you reach the door, her voice stops you.

“How long?”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“How long were you going to keep this from me?” she asks, arms wrapping around herself. “If I hadn’t found out… would you have ever told me?”

The truth is cruel, but it’s the only thing she deserves now.

“…I don’t know.”

Yooyeon swallows, then looks away.

That’s when you realize—you’ve broken something that might never be fixed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon wakes up alone.

The bed feels bigger now, colder, the silence stretching around her like an unwelcome embrace. She lies there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside her, before finally sitting up.

Another day.

She moves through the house like a ghost, her footsteps quiet, her routine unchanged—yet everything feels different. The kitchen table where they used to share quiet breakfasts, the couch where he used to sit, sifting through papers while she curled up beside him. It’s all the same, and yet it isn’t.

Because he’s not here.

He never called. Never came back.

She should be relieved. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Time.

But instead, all she feels is this aching loneliness.

Her eyes fall to the coffee table, where the contract still sits, edges curled from how often she’s touched it, read it, searched it for something—anything—that could make this hurt less.

Each word, each line, feels heavier now. A binding agreement, an arrangement born from necessity. But as the days pass, as she reads it over and over, something in her shifts.

It was never just that.

Her mind drifts back to that night—his voice, raw with emotion.

"I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth."

She remembers the way he looked at her, desperate, conflicted, afraid. She hadn’t been able to see it then, too consumed by the betrayal, by the weight of everything she didn’t know. But now, with time, with distance—

Hadn’t she felt the same way?

She rests a hand over the contract, fingers trembling slightly.

Her memories come in fragments. Unclear at first, like pieces of a puzzle she can’t quite fit together. But slowly—painfully, inevitably—they start to return.

She remembers loving him. Wanting him. Long before marriage was even a question.

They had been friends first, before their parents had forced them together. But she had never felt trapped, had never resented the idea. Because she had wanted it too.

She had been happy, at first. Happy at the opportunity to be something more, to step into a future where she could love him freely.

But then—she hesitated.

Fear had crept in, silencing her before she could say the words, before she could risk what they already had. She had told herself it was better this way. Safer.

And then—

The accident.

The memories she had lost. The love she had forgotten.

Yooyeon lets out a shaky breath, pressing her palm against her forehead.

She had already fallen for him before the marriage.

And now—she's not going to lose him again.

She already lost him once to her memories. She won’t let it happen a second time.

It doesn’t matter how it all started, doesn’t matter what had happened before. She had fallen for him before. More importantly is that she fell for him again.

She loves him. Now.

And that’s enough.

Her hands tighten around the contract for a moment before she exhales, setting it aside. She grabs her coat, her keys. She needs to see him.

She needs to fix this.

Without another thought, she heads for the door, heart pounding as she makes her way to his hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t expecting her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Days had passed, stretching into something unbearable, something you forced yourself to endure because it was what she needed. Space. Time. A chance to decide if she even wanted to come back.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait forever. That if she wanted to leave, you would let her. That you wouldn’t be selfish—not anymore.

But when the knock comes, sharp and hesitant against the hotel door, your heart betrays you.

You open it, and there she is.

Yooyeon stands in the dim hallway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her hair is slightly damp, as if she’d rushed here without thinking twice. Her lips part, as if searching for something to say—something to explain why she’s here at all.

But then she steps forward.

Her hands reach for you first, fingers curling into your shirt, and before you can ask, before you can even breathe—

She kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not hesitant. Not like before.

It’s deep, unrestrained, filled with something desperate and aching, like she’s trying to grasp something that’s always felt just out of reach.

You’re stunned. For half a second, your body locks up—because how could you have prepared for this? For her? For the way she clings to you, pressing herself close like she’s afraid to let go?

And then you give in.

Your arms wrap around her, pulling her fully into you, returning the kiss with everything you’ve held back for too long.

She came back.

She wants this.

When she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between you. “I don’t want to remember a love we pretended to have.” Her voice is quiet, steady despite the way her fingers tremble against your chest. “I want to love you for real.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow, pressing your lips together, hands tightening at her waist. “Are you sure?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

And that’s all you need.

You don’t know how you make it to the bed. Only that she doesn’t let go. That every step, every kiss, every touch feels like something slipping back into place—like something that had always been there, waiting to be found.

She’s warm against you, tucked under the sheets, her body curled into yours as if she belongs there.

And maybe she does.

Her head rests against your chest, fingers playing absently with the fabric of your shirt. She’s quiet, but not distant. Not like before.

You hesitate, then run a hand down her back, slow, deliberate. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away.

“I thought I lost you,” you admit, voice low in the quiet.

She shifts, tilting her head up to meet your gaze. In the dim light, her eyes are soft, filled with something painfully tender.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmurs.

You inhale sharply.

She presses her hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat pounds—steady, strong.

“Not again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their steps were slow, unhurried, yet every kiss, every touch, pulled them further inside, as if gravity itself was drawing them together. Yooyeon wasn’t even sure who was leading. It didn’t matter. Between soft sighs and the heat of his hands on her waist, guiding her closer, she only realized they had reached the bed when the backs of her knees met the edge.

She looked up at him, breathless, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. There was no hesitation this time, no uncertainty. Just them.

She kissed him again, rising onto her toes to meet him, her lips warm and insistent. He responded without pause, deepening the kiss, his hands steady on her waist as he pulled her closer. The sensation of him, solid and warm, sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Then, he pulled away just enough to rise above her, his gaze heavy with intent. Yooyeon’s breath caught, her skin buzzing with anticipation as his fingers found the hem of her sweater. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, the fabric sliding over her skin, gathering just above her chest. Cool air met the warmth of her body, sending a shiver through her as her stomach and the lace-covered swell of her breasts were revealed to him.

Her heart pounded as he leaned down, his lips tracing a slow, unhurried path along her jaw, then lower, down the delicate curve of her neck. Every press of his mouth left her skin tingling, warmth pooling deep inside her. His hands followed, tender yet assured, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. A quiet sigh escaped her, her back arching instinctively into his touch, silently urging him on.

His fingers skimmed the slope of her waist, tracing along her ribs before venturing lower. The anticipation made her breath stutter, her senses sharpening as his hand found the waistband of her jeans. She felt his fingers slip past the fabric with ease, the heat of his touch pressing against the thin lace of her panties.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat as he explored, teasing at her center with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure curling through her. She clung to his shoulders, her grip tightening as he pushed her further into sensation—patient, unhurried, savoring every reaction she gave him.

Beside her, his warmth enveloped her, grounding her even as his fingers continued their slow, teasing rhythm. Every movement was precise, coaxing, igniting a fire deep within her. She could feel the way her hips responded, rising instinctively to meet his touch, chasing the pleasure he so expertly drew from her.

Her breath came in quiet, uneven gasps, each one only spurring him on. His gaze flickered between her flushed face and the way her body moved under his touch, drinking in every sound, every shiver.

Then, seamlessly, their position shifted. He sat up, pulling her with him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled her against his chest. Her head rested against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, her breath shaky, her body trembling in his hold. Yet his hand remained between her thighs, never faltering, never rushing—just holding her there, guiding her deeper into sensation.

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself against the pleasure that threatened to consume her entirely.

“Yooyeon…” He whispers her name, his voice deep and coaxing.

His free hand stroked her hair, tender and grounding—a stark contrast to the way his other hand moved with aching precision. She gasped, thighs trembling around his wrist, and he tightened his hold around her, murmuring soft reassurances against her temple.

She could feel his arousal pressing against her through his pants, heat radiating from him. Instinctively, her hand drifted down, palm grazing over the rigid outline. A quiet sigh escaped him at her touch.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet desire.

A silent agreement passed between them as he slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, releasing her just long enough to let them shift.

Yooyeon pulled her sweater over her head, the fabric slipping away to reveal bare skin beneath. He helped her, his fingers grazing along her arms as he eased it off. She returned the gesture, undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders, baring him to her touch.

Piece by piece, they undressed—her bra, her jeans, the soft slide of lace slipping down her legs until nothing remained between them. She moved closer, hands finding the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with deliberate care. He watched her, breath shallow, as she worked the zipper down, easing his pants over his hips and letting them pool at his feet.

Left only in his boxers, his arousal strained against the fabric, the tension between them thick with anticipation. Settling between his legs, Yooyeon reached for the waistband, fingers curling around it as she tugged it down, inch by inch. The moment the fabric gave way, his erection sprang free, no longer bound by restraint.

She glanced up at him, lips slightly parted, her breath warm against his skin. He looked down at her, eyes dark with something between restraint and longing.

“Yooyeon… you don’t have to,” he murmured, his voice low, hesitant.

She shook her head, her heart aching at how gentle he was with her. “But I want to.”

And she did. It wasn’t just about desire—it was something deeper, something that went beyond the heat simmering between them. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much she trusted him, how much she loved him. Every touch he had given her had been filled with tenderness, with devotion. She wanted to give that back to him now, to see him unravel because of her.

Holding his gaze, she leaned in, letting her lips brush against him first—soft, deliberate, reverent. His breath caught. Encouraged, she let her tongue flick out, tasting him, before slowly taking him into her mouth. He twitched against her tongue, and a quiet groan slipped from his lips. The sound sent warmth curling through her, not just from arousal, but from the knowledge that she could bring him pleasure like this. That he would let her. That he wanted her to.

She moved slowly, savoring the weight of him, the heat, the way his fingers threaded through her hair—not to guide her, not to demand, but simply to touch, to hold. His restraint was palpable, and it only made her more determined to make him feel good.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the sight of him nearly stole her breath. His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn together, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But it was his eyes that struck her most—heavy-lidded, filled with something deep, something raw. It wasn’t just lust. It was trust. It was need. It was him letting her in, completely.

She took him deeper, her fingers gripping his thighs as she found a rhythm—slow, unhurried, giving him everything she had. She wanted him to feel it—to feel her. To know that this was more than just pleasure, that it was her love, her devotion, poured into every movement.

“Yooyeon…” His voice was strained, rough with need.

She stilled immediately, understanding him without question. He wasn’t asking her to stop—he just wanted something different. Something more.

He reached for her, his hands open, waiting. Without hesitation, she took them, letting him guide her up, pulling her closer.

She followed his lead, moving effortlessly into his lap, their bodies pressing together as she settled atop him. Face to face now, her knees hugged his sides, her chest brushing against his with every breath. A sharp shiver ran through her as she felt him—hot, hard, pressing against her stomach, the intimacy of their position making her pulse race.

She gazed at him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, memorizing every inch of him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers, and for a moment, they simply breathed together, held in the gravity of this moment.

Slowly, tenderly, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss—one filled with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

But she wanted to show him. To give him everything.

Her gaze drifted downward as she reached between them, her fingers grazing along his hardness, feeling the heat of him against her palm. A quiet shiver ran through her as she caressed him, taking her time, savoring the way he responded to her touch. With careful precision, she guided him, adjusting her position, her body instinctively preparing to take him in.

And then, without hesitation, she moved.

A quiet gasp left her lips as she slowly enveloped him, her body stretching to accommodate him, every inch sending waves of sensation through her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, seeking both support and connection, her forehead resting briefly against his as she took a steadying breath.

She felt him—deep, warm, filling her completely. But more than anything, what she felt was joy. A slow, radiant smile formed on her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with something beyond just pleasure.

And then, as if that smile was all the invitation he needed, he began to move.

The first thrust sent a sharp, sweet pleasure rippling through her, her breath catching before it spilled out in a quiet moan. The next had her clutching onto him, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling. The sound of their mingled breaths, the heat between them, the way their bodies moved together—it was all-consuming.

She melted into him, lost in the rhythm, lost in him.

The intensity overwhelmed him, and he fell back, bringing her with him. A gasp left Yooyeon’s lips as she followed, her body molding against his as his thrusts remained unrelenting. His hands moved to her hips, then lower, gripping her firmly as he guided her movements, driving her deeper into pleasure.

She felt the heat, the desperation between them, the way their bodies refused to part even for a second. Every movement sent another wave of sensation crashing through her, pushing her closer to the edge.

But she wanted more than just the pleasure. She wanted him—completely.

Yooyeon cupped his face, her fingers threading into his damp hair as she looked down at him. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, lost in the sheer intensity of their connection. She could see it, feel it—the tension coiling tight within him.

So she kissed him.

Soft at first, then deeper, her lips parting to welcome him, their tongues meeting in a slow, tangled dance. She poured herself into the kiss, coaxing, soothing, grounding him even as the pleasure consumed them both.

And slowly, she felt him relax beneath her, surrendering to her touch, to her.

As his pace became less erratic, she adjusted, matching his rhythm with newfound confidence. She learned his movements, feeling the way their bodies aligned, and slowly, she took control—rolling her hips in time with his, meeting each thrust with her own.

Their breaths synced, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his hands tightened on her waist, guiding her but letting her lead. A quiet thrill coursed through her at the unspoken understanding between them, at the way he let her set the pace, trusting her, surrendering to her.

Their eyes met, locking in an intimate gaze, the world around them fading away. There were no words—there was no need for them. In that moment, everything was clear.

It was just them.

“Yooyeon… I’m close…” His voice was ragged, strained, barely holding on.

She gasped, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Me too…” she whispered, her breath hitching. Then, she met his gaze, her eyes soft, full of trust. “You can… it’s fine.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, at the quiet certainty in her voice.

And then, together, they unraveled.

His grip on her waist tightened as he thrust deep, his release spilling into her just as she came undone around him. A sharp, breathless cry escaped her lips as pleasure surged through her, overwhelming, consuming. She trembled in his arms, her body clinging to his as the waves of ecstasy pulsed through them both.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just the sound of their breaths mingling, their bodies still entwined, the warmth of each other keeping them grounded.

Slowly, Yooyeon melted against his chest, her heart still racing, a soft, contented sigh escaping her.

They had never felt closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up before her.

The first thing you notice is the weight of her arm draped over your chest, her fingers lightly curled against your skin. The second is how deeply she sleeps—peaceful, unguarded, as if she belongs here, as if there was never a time when she didn’t.

Something tight eases in your chest.

You should move, should slip away before she stirs, but you don’t. You just lie there, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way the early morning light catches the strands of her hair.

She came back.

Not out of obligation. Not because of memories.

But because she chose you.

Your fingers brush over her knuckles, tracing the shape of her hand. She shifts at the touch, her brows scrunching slightly before her eyes flutter open.

For a second, she blinks at you, dazed with sleep. Then, she smiles—small, warm, real. "You're staring."

You huff a quiet laugh. "You're the one who came here in the middle of the night and threw yourself at me."

She flushes, burying her face into your chest. "I did not throw myself at you."

"You did." You smirk, tightening your hold around her. "Not that I’m complaining."

She groans but doesn’t pull away, only presses closer. You feel the sigh she lets out, something soft and content against your skin.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant—“What happens now?”

Your grip on her tightens slightly.

Because the truth is, you don’t know.

There is no contract binding you anymore. No pretense of a marriage built on expectations, no excuse to hide behind the illusion of what you used to be.

There is only this—the love she chose to give you.

And you—the love you’ve always had for her.

You exhale, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We take it one day at a time.”

She tilts her head up, searching your face. You meet her gaze, your voice quieter when you add, “And this time, we don’t hide.”

Her expression softens. She lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing just below your eye.

"Okay," she whispers.

And just like that, it’s decided.

This time, it’s real.

No pretending. No distance.

Just you and her.

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[shockercoco]

Better Late Than Never

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings - fluff, some kissing, Valentine’s Day shenanigans, flirty!Bucky

Word count - 2167

a/n - Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, especially to all my fellow single readers! I’ve somehow ended up in my Sebastian Stan era again, so I thought why fight it. It’s been a while since I’ve written an imagine, and I’m feeling a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy and thanks in advance for reading :)

“What’s got you smiling so much?” You ask Wanda as she sits down across from you.

It was Wanda’s idea to meet up for lunch after finding out about the rough morning you had, and she had also told you that she had some good news to share that might cheer you up. 

You had woken up late for work, couldn’t find your car keys, and when you reached the halfway point on your journey to work, you realized you didn’t have your phone. Today just wasn’t your day.

“Remember how I said I had some good news?” Wanda asks, her smile huge as she leans in and rests her elbows on the table. When you nod, she continues. “Well, Vision surprised me at work and finally asked me to be his girlfriend! He brought me flowers and everything.”

Yeah, today just really wasn’t your day.

“That’s really great, Wanda, but how exactly is that supposed to cheer me up?” you question, giving her a small smile to soften your words.

“Because you were the one who suggested that I should confess my feelings to him, and you’ve pretty much been with me every step of the way,” Wanda tells you. Her expression then turns into confusion. “Is something wrong?”

You honestly were really proud and happy for Wanda, and if this were any other time of the year, your reaction would’ve been different. But it’s not. Valentine's Day is at the end of the week and you just want the week to be over with.

While you were walking down the street on your way to the restaurant, you walked past a woman getting proposed to in the park. While you were waiting for the light to change in order for you to cross the street, you saw a couple making out. As you walked past a street vendor selling flowers, you overheard the vendor making conversation with a man who was apparently looking for the right flowers to buy his crush. Now, Wanda hits you with this.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” you quickly shake your head. “I’ve just had a weird day.”

She looks at you for a moment longer, not fully believing you. “Hmm, there’s something else. Tell me.”

You let out a laugh. “Wanda, I’m fine. It just…it’s nothing really. I’m good.”

“It’s just what?” Wanda asks. When you hesitate again, she adds, “We’re not ordering until you tell me what’s up,” she smirks at you. 

A small groan leaves you, before you speak up, “It’s just that Bucky hasn’t asked me to be his valentine yet, and this is our first Valentine’s Day as a couple. It stupid, I know. I shouldn’t even be upset.”

“No, it’s not stupid. Have you mentioned how you feel to him?”

“No, I didn’t think I had to since he’s always surprising me with gifts any other time of the year. I just figured this would just happen naturally, but nothing yet.”

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. After all, it’s still the beginning of the week. Who knows, he could just be waiting for the actual day to come,” Wanda says, and when you don’t say anything, she places a hand on top of yours and continues, “I’d honestly be surprised if Bucky does absolutely nothing for you. Everyone knows how obsessed he is with you.”

That makes you smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am, and when Valentine’s Day comes and he still hasn’t asked you to be his valentine, call me, I’ll hunt him down,” Wanda tells you right as a waitress walks up to the table to take your guys’ order. She catches the end of Wanda’s sentence and has a confused, yet amused look on her face. “Sorry, just relationship problems.”

The waitress laughs as she says, “Don’t worry I understand.”

Later that night when you're at Bucky’s place for a movie night the two of you had planned the week before, you can feel Bucky looking at you repeatedly while your eyes are still on the screen. You’re cuddled up into his side with his arm wrapped around you, but you still notice the constant shifting of his head.

You finally give in and look up at him. “Is there something on my face?” you ask him, your tone teasing.

Bucky’s confused with your question. “No, why?”

“Because you keep looking at me.”

“What, I can’t admire my own girlfriend anymore?”

“It feels more like staring than anything,” you tell him, and Bucky just laughs.

“Well, then I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes as he places a hand on your cheek to lift your head up. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on your lips, a smile still tugging on the corner of his lips. When he pulls away, he still keeps the distance between the two of you small as he looks into your eyes.

“Seriously, what is it?” you whine as you playfully shove him away from you, causing him to laugh. He knows how much you hate it when he does that. “Is there something bugging you?” you casually slide in the question, slightly hoping that he would use this time to ask you to be his valentine.

“No, there isn’t,” he laughs and pulls away, turning his attention back to the screen, but keeping his arm still wrapped around you. “I’m done, I promise.” 

He misses the slight drop in your expression, but you quickly fix your face before looking back at the tv as well.

As the week goes on, you try to focus on more important things, but as Friday continues to get closer, your hope continues to diminish. You and Bucky continue to text normally throughout the week, but when Thursday afternoon comes Bucky calls you to let you know that he’ll be going on a mission the next day. On Valentine’s Day.

“I’m sorry it’s such short notice, doll, but Steve needs me,” you hear Bucky softly tell you through the phone. You’re sitting on a chair in front of your window watching people pass by with Bucky on speaker.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I understand,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “How long will you be gone?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, before Bucky speaks, “A couple of weeks.”

Weeks? 

Your heart drops at his answer and you feel your throat start to tighten. You quickly mute yourself to clear the tears from your throat, before unmuting.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asks, noticing your delayed response. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? There’s people out there that need you,” you speak up.

You catch sight of your neighbor’s boyfriend walking up to her house with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You momentarily forget you’re on the phone and unintentionally let out a frustrated sigh at the sight, catching Bucky’s attention.

“Listen, I can probably get out of it. I’m sure Steve doesn’t need me that bad, there’s a whole team of people that are available to help out.”

A sad laugh leaves you. “Bucky it’s fine, I promise. He’s your best friend and he specifically asked you because he wants you, so go.”

“If you insist,” you hear Bucky sigh “I know you’re upset, though, so I promise to make it up to you when I get back, okay?”

That makes you crack a smile. “Okay.”

When the next day rolls around, you take your time getting out of bed. Unfortunately, you had the day off today, which of course you would’ve been happy about under different circumstances. 

You decide to keep yourself busy and do some chores to pass time, but by the time you’re done cleaning every crevice and doing laundry, it’s only four in the afternoon.

At some point, Wanda calls to check up on you and asks if you wanted her and Vision to come over and have dinner with you. Vision was planning on cooking for just the two of them, but he told you he had no problem making more. Although the two of them both repeatedly insisted they didn’t mind making the drive to your place, you declined.

It felt wrong to intrude on a special night like tonight. 

After telling Wanda and Vision that you would just order in, the two of you finally end the call.

You weren’t currently that hungry so you decided to just order something later. You make yourself comfortable on the couch and decide to put on a tv show you’ve been wanting to watch. 

A couple episodes later, you finally start to get hungry, and right when you’re about to place an order, your doorbell rings. You shake your head thinking it was just Vision and Wanda coming to share their food, but as you look through the peephole to see Bucky standing outside holding a bouquet of flowers and a stuffed animal you had been wanting, your heart drops along with your jaw.

You look down at your outfit and contemplate quickly changing, but decide against it.

“Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you had to go on a mission?” you ask when you open the door.

“Surprise!” Bucky greets you with a bright smile. He leans in to give you a kiss, before whispering, “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart.”

Bucky can see that you’re still shocked and at a loss for words, so he just laughs as he pushes past you and makes his way inside. You close the door behind him and watch as he makes his way into the kitchen and lays the flowers on the counter along with the stuffed animal.

“As much as I’m happy that you’re here, why are you here?” your eyebrows are furrowed as you lean against the counter, your arms folded across your chest. 

Bucky sends you a smirk as he quickly puts the flowers in water before making his way over to you. He places his hands on your waist as closes the distance between you two.

“You didn’t really think that I’d miss our first Valentine’s Day together, did you?”

“I didn’t even think you remembered, I mean you haven’t said anything about it all week,” you tell him.

“Yeah, Wanda told me you were a little upset,” Bucky mentions and your eyes widen.

“What a traitor, she wasn’t supposed to say anything,” you say slightly embarrassed as you look off to the side. Then a thought hits you, and you look back at him. “Wait, did you just come here because of what Wanda told you?”

“No, I was already planning on coming here tonight.”

“But what about your mission?” you ask, still confused.

Bucky smiles. “There never was a mission, doll. I made it up because I wanted to surprise you. You really thought I would spend today with Steve instead of you?”

“...Well, he is your best friend.”

“That’s true,” Bucky nods, grabbing your hands in his and placing kisses on your knuckles, “but, you’re my best girl,” he whispers as he looks into your eyes, causing butterflies in your stomach and your face to heat up.

What were you upset about again?

A chuckle leaves Bucky as he watches you shyly smile as you look away.

“You could’ve at least said something this whole week,” you tell him.

“I know, I know,” he admits, “but I was trying to get everything together.”

“Get what together?” you ask.

Bucky stays silent for a moment as if trying to find the right words to say. Then he says, “I want you to move in with me.”

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches as you stare back at him. “What?”

Maybe you inhaled too many chemicals while cleaning.

“I want you to move in with me,” Bucky repeats. “I know we’ve been dating for less than a year and I completely understand if this is too fast for you, but there’s plenty of room for you at my place and I would be much happier if I was able to have you next to me when I wake up every morning.”

Oh. 

You blink.

“You’re serious?” you ask, even though there's no indication on his face to tell you he’s lying. 

Bucky lets go of your hands to place his on either side of your face. “Completely. Like I said, you’re my best girl.” He watches a smile slowly form on your lips. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes,” you say, and Bucky’s grin grows wider, but you hold your hand up. “Don’t start smiling yet, I wasn’t finished.”

Bucky quickly fixes his face and tries to suppress his excitement. “Of course, continue.”

“I say yes, only if you agree to never pull anything like this ever again.”

“Ever?” Bucky repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Bucky!” you playfully hit his chest.

“I’m just kidding,” he laughs, leaning in to kiss you. Then he pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, “I’ll just wait until you forget.”

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[heartmix]

Big Day - MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x singlemom!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Warning: dad!max, no use of y/n but daughters name is Aria, fluff. Part 2 to my girls

A/N: shorter than i thought it would be but still happy with it

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

The weekend Max and Aria were looking forward to finally came. Aria's first time attending a grand prix. After finding out about her racing obsession Max promised to take her to a grand prix when the new season rolled around. What better grand prix to start with than the Monaco Grand Prix? At first, you were hesitant, not knowing how she would handle the crazy environment. It wasn't until Max took you to a few races and introduced you to Nico Hulkenberg and Kevin Magnussen that it calmed your nerves. Seeing their kids in the paddock gave you all the security you needed, along with Max promising to have at least two Red Bull personnel with you both at all times. 

The weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix rolled around. The streets slowly converted into the iconic track and fans flying in from all over the world. All of this made little Aria excited. Every time you were in the car Max would point out all the details to her, a smile spreading across her face every time. 

You agreed with her going all three days. There was still hesitance on whether she would like the energy of the paddock so you wanted to slowly build it up for when race day arrived. Max was happy you agreed to allow her to come to all three days. He had big plans. First, he would show her everything from the motorhome to parts of the track and then have her sit in the car for the grand finale. 

He walked in proudly with Aria in his arms and clutched your hand with his free one. He didn't even try to hide the big smile on his face. From scanning your passes to meeting the drivers passing by, Aria enjoyed every second. A big upgrade from the living room TV screen. 

"Are you ready to see the car?" Max asked Aria as they inched closer to the red bull garage. 

"YES YES YES!" She yelled out making the both of you chuckle. 

When the car came into view she recognized it instantly. Letting out a squeal capturing all the attention of everyone in the garage. The team already knew you. Max made it a point at your first grand prix that you were to feel welcomed and that everyone recognized your face so you would be comfortable when he was off working. Looking around you saw the confused faces of his team. They were probably thinking. "who was this little girl?" "why is Max carrying her around?" "did he have a secret child?-No, they would have known about that, right?" 

Max's voice broke you out of your thoughts, "Do you want to get in the car?" 

With the biggest smile on her face and wide eyes, a soft tone came out "Can I?" 

"Of course, you can baby." 

"Tanks yous!" she said wrapping her little hands around his neck tighter, bringing him into a hug which he gladly gave in, melting into her hold. At that moment you could see him planning to bring her to every race. 

"Anything for my biggest fan. Here, let's get you in." Before he placed her into the cockpit he kissed her cheek making her giggle. Once she was seated her eyes locked onto all the buttons and the different colors. She knew not to touch anything that wasn't her's so her hands were fidgeting with the Red Bull kit she wore, per Max's request. 

"Mama! Look!" Aria looked up beaming with the biggest smile you've ever seen. That alone was worth all the worrying for the past few months. Smiling at the little girl, you pulled out your phone to take as many pictures as your camera roll could hold. 

"I wanna race!" she exclaimed as her little hands were holding the steering wheel handles, the only thing that didn't have a button that she could touch. 

Looking at Max, you could see how his eyes had softened. The smile on his face never flattered. He remembered his first day karting and how much fun it was just to race. If his little girl wanted to, he was going to make it happen. 

"If you wanna race, I'll teach you. We can get you into karting if that is okay with mama?" He asked looking over to you with a pleading expression. Max never begged for anything, so for him to beg you to let your daughter race was a sight to see. 

"plwese mama!" she used her puppy dog's, similar to Max's pleading eyes. How could you say no? You trusted Max and if this was going to make both of them happy, why not give it a shot? 

With a small smile on your face, you gave in, "Okay baby, if you want to." 

"yes!" Her little voice exclaimed turning to Max to give a victory hi-five. 

After a few more minutes, Max pulled her out of the car and headed to the pit wall, the last stop on the little tour. You sat on one of the chairs while Max sat across from you with Aria still in his arms. If it were up to him, he wouldn't let her go at all. This was one of his favorite days and nothing could top it. 

"tanks you dada," Aria mumbled into Max's neck. He turned to you with a shocked expression making you giggle. 

For weeks when he wasn't around she would let it slip. Whether it was seeing him on TV or just mentioning his name. You didn't think there would be a day where she saw someone as a father figure, let alone calling them dad, but seeing how great he is with her you couldn't tell her to stop. It was her choice, after all. Silently, you told him it was okay with you. 

"Anything for you my baby girl." He hugged her tightly, making the little girl giggle. Making you both his girls was the best choice he's ever made. 

[meinii]

“be my valentine forever”

summary: it’s valentine’s day, but you haven’t even heard from Sylus. he must have forgotten… or so you thought

content: fluff

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

valentine’s day had never been a big deal to you—at least, that’s what you always told yourself. but this year, it felt different. maybe it was because everyone at work had been receiving flowers, chocolates, and gifts all day.

maybe it was because you had seen couples walking hand in hand, smiling, whispering sweet nothings to each other

or maybe it was because Sylus, your arrogant, smug, too-clever-for-his-own-good lover, hadn’t even mentioned valentine’s day once

you knew he was busy. ruling over Onychinus wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, and he had a habit of getting wrapped up in his own plans. but still… not even a text? not even a simple happy valentine’s day?

so by the time your shift ended, irritation had settled in. you walked out of the building, ready to head home and sulk—only to freeze in your tracks

because standing right outside, dressed in his usual sharp black blazer draped over his shoulders, was Sylus

and in his hands? a massive bouquet of red roses, dark petals velvety and rich. an expensive-looking box of chocolates sat on top of them, tied with a sleek ribbon

his red eyes found yours instantly, sharp as ever, but there was something playful in them, something teasing

“took you long enough” he said, his lips curving into that knowing smirk

you crossed your arms, trying to keep up the front of being mad. “oh? now you remember valentine’s day?”

Sylus let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the scent of roses and his cologne mixing in the air. “did you really think I’d forget?” he tilted his head slightly “you wound me”

“you didn’t say anything all day.”

he leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek

“because I was planning a surprise”

before you could protest, he slipped an arm around your waist and led you toward his car—a sleek, black vehicle that practically screamed power and wealth

“get in” he said, opening the door for you

“and if I say no?” you teased, still holding onto your stubbornness

his smirk deepened “then I’ll just carry you.”

you huffed but slid into the car anyway, pretending not to notice the way your heart was racing. once Sylus was behind the wheel, the drive was smooth, the city lights flashing past. you wanted to ask where you were going, but the way he kept glancing at you, amusement dancing in his eyes, told you he wouldn’t spill

when the car finally came to a stop, you blinked in surprise

“the luna park?”

but something was off. it was quiet. no lines. no crowds

Sylus got out first, walking around to open your door before holding out his hand

“rented it for the night,” he said, as if it was the most casual thing in the world “figured we deserved some privacy.”

your mouth fell open slightly “you… rented out an entire amusement park?”

he hummed “it’s valentine’s day, isn’t it? I don’t like sharing.”

your irritation melted instantly, replaced by warmth so strong it made your chest ache.

taking his hand, you let him lead you inside, the colorful lights of the park reflecting in his red eyes

the first thing he did was take you to one of the stalls, where plushies lined the shelves as prizes

“which one do you want?” he asked

you pointed at a soft-looking crow plush, its dark feathers making it stand out among the rest

Sylus arched a brow but didn’t question it

instead, he rolled up his sleeves, picked up one of the balls, and in a single throw, knocked down every target with effortless precision

the worker—who must’ve been paid well to stay late—looked half-impressed, half-terrified as he handed over the crow plush.

Sylus placed it in your arms, his fingers brushing against yours

“it suits you” he murmured

“because you gave it to me?”

his smirk softened, just slightly “because it’ll remind you of me”

you couldn’t help but laugh, hugging the plush to your chest. as the night went on, you rode the ferris wheel, played more games (where Sylus, unsurprisingly, never missed a shot), and even bought matching headbands—yours with little stars, his with tiny black horns

“I’m not wearing this” he said at first

“please?” you tilted your head, giving him your best pleading look

he sighed, muttering something under his breath, but he put it on. and even though he pretended to be unimpressed, he didn’t take it off for the rest of the night.

eventually, you both found a bench near the carousel, the distant sound of music filling the air. you pulled out the box of chocolates he had given you earlier and opened it, picking up one of the pieces

“eat with me” you said, offering him one

Sylus glanced at it, then at you “I don’t eat sweets”

“just one,” you insisted “for valentine’s day”

he sighed again, but when you placed the chocolate against his lips, he didn’t pull away

instead, he let you feed it to him, his gaze never leaving yours as he bit down

“happy now?” he asked, voice lower than before

you grinned, popping a piece into your own mouth “very”

there was a brief silence, the world around you feeling far away. Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before settling at the back of your neck, pulling you closer

“be mine,” he murmured “not just today, forever.”

your heart skipped a beat “is that your way of asking me to be your valentine?”

his lips twitched “do I even need to ask?”

you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of chocolate “yes,” you whispered “forever.”

Sylus smiled against your lips, and for once, there was no arrogance in it. just something deep, something real

[robynlilyblack]

You're the prettiest thing here you know

Remus lupin x fem! Slytherin! reader

Summary: Remus remembers his first kiss with his future wife

Warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of injury, death, self-doubt, blood supremacy and all things to do with Remus’ furry little problem, first kiss, getting together, established relationship, reader and Remus they are late 20s in present sections and 17/18 in flashback, clumsy! sunshine! reader, grump! Remus, majority of the fic is the flashback!

A/n: 4.6k words, kinda love the idea of Remus having the most accident-prone wife, thank you for the request, enjoy and happy valentines day lovelies ♡

Navigation | Remus Lupin Masterlist

“Motherfu…” you yelp, sucking a breath as you curse 

Remus looks up “You good love?” he asks casually at first but then winces at the sound of your groans, watching as you gently fall back onto the cold ground, clutching your ankle “One minute love…old wolf needs a second” he jests, shifting his weight as he pulls himself up

It takes him longer than he would like to get to you, his knees where achy at the best of times, but combine that with the early year chill and it turned him into even more of an old man than he felt already

When he finally does get there, he bends down at the hip, hand moving some of your hair back before he cups your cheek “Got yourself good this time huh?” he coos

Your eyes find his, a sad pout on your face as you feel sorry for yourself “Yeah” you nod with a slight chuckle before your head falls back down

Remus’ eyes follow yours, finding you rubbing your ankle through your socks…well they were actually his socks, and if you weren’t in pain he would tease you as he had been looking for said socks all morning

So much for not knowing where they are little minx

He kneels down then, hands falling to the site of your injury “What happened?” he inquires, holding back his smile as your lean into his touch, giving him the softest, sweetest headbutt to his shoulder

“Lost a fight with a shovel” you explain, hands wrapping around his own as you let out a prolonged breath “You can laugh now, the pains stopped” you tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own

With that Remus let’s himself break, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. You had always been this clumsy, in fact that’s how you and he first met, infirmary buddies so to speak, him with his chronic wolfy transformations and you with some random yet slightly hilarious new injury.

“Why don’t you help me with these, the grounds still a bit firm for building a new bed anyway” he tells you, but not before kissing the tips of his fingers not engulf by gloves and placing it on your ankle “Better?”

 “Like new” you grin up at him

As he stands upright, he finds you smiling at him, head tilted, the little bobble of your hat cutely hanging to one side, one of his winter jackets wrapped around you, along with two very different and not at all matching scarfs that somehow you pull off

“What are you staring at?” he eyes you

“I can’t admire?” you defend, shrugging as slowly pull yourself up

Remus turns his head a little, smiling as the cold hides his tinting cheeks. After all these years a bit of him is still in disbelief, how did someone like him get so lucky?

“You can but I don’t think we’ll finish today if you do” he tells you once you have dusted yourself off, facing him once more “Are you going to be good pretty girl?” he raises his eyebrows

You smile coyly, yet Remus sees the shyness you try oh so hard to hide under his own gaze “Never” you challenge, before stepping past him, taking his hand and leading him back towards the flower bed he was working on before

After a bit of work Remus’ movements come to a halt as he looks over to find you towelling away, you don’t notice his stare as you take a break yourself, gazing out over the field beyond the borders of yours and his cottage as the sun breaks free from the clouds. That smile he fell in love with painted on your face as your eyes flutter shut, a content sigh leaving your lips as you soak up the rays

She is so beautiful

It’s then a wave of nostalgia washes over him, maybe it’s the view, or the way the sun hits yours face just as the stars and moon did back then, but he can’t help recalling the night he would live again and again forever…

Start of flashback

“Come on Rem!” you say childishly, pulling Remus through the overgrowth, wand lighting the way

He huffs in faux annoyance, he had no idea why you felt the need to drag him through the enchanted forest at this hour, nor how you could have this much energy after a full day of classes and prefect rounds, but he really didn’t mind, not when it meant he got to spend more time with you

“So…” he leans to the side as you ascend a gentle incline, attempting to catch glimpse of your face “…why am I being gifted with a hike at 2am on a Tuesday?” he wonders, attempting to supress his smile as he can just about make out your excited one “Not that I’m not grateful for the exercise…or the cold…or the mud” he complains just a little

“Because mr grumps, you’re my friend and there is something I want to show you” you turn back flashing him an even bigger smile than you’re resting one “Besides you were awake anyway” you needlessly defend your impromptu trip further as you turn back

His heart both warms and aches at friend, since he met you, he knew a part of him wanted something more, but the other part knew it was for the best, even after you figured out his condition, you deserved someone better. Besides, as much as you and he broke the Gryffindor and Slytherin stereotype, him being in your own words ‘mr grumps’ and you in his words being little ‘miss sunshine’, the rest of the school wouldn’t be as happy…let alone his friends

He lets out a small chuckle “Then as my friend you should know that I was in the middle of my routine…I still had a good hour of self-doubt and deprecation to get in before my four hours” he jokes, though it’s not really one…in fact if he’s perfectly honest it’s more like three some nights

“Well instead of that totally heathy routine” you nip back, and he rolls his eyes with the slightest smirk on his face “You get to spend it with me and see something wonderful!”

You sounded so excited. That light in your eyes that made even Remus’ darkest days’ worth living through was shining as bright as ever, and he couldn’t help but get excited too

“Okay…” you stop just a willow tree, similar to the one he was all too familiar with but far less magical…and big…and deadly “…you ready?” you turn towards him, struggling to contain yourself

He nods, eyeing you as you put away your wand, engulfing you both in darkness “Wha…” he starts but then his eyes adjust, and he notices the unworldly glow from the other side of the hanging vines 

“I’ll go first, then you follow, okay?” you tell him, and he finds himself nodding wordlessly

Remus watches you slide through the vines, the soft embers of light worming through before they settle once more. He takes a small breath before he follows, pushing his hand through first to create a path for himself, it’s a little thicker than he thought it would be but soon he finds the other side, breath hitching as he takes in the view

Before him was a hidden garden, a small clearing within the forest filled with flowers, their petals shimmering beneath the star light. The area was surrounded by more willows, but inside the garden their hanging leaves bloomed with glowing berries emitting a warm orange hue. As he steps deeper, he finds the left side of the field stops abruptly, revealing a cliffside to the coastline of black lake

“Wow” he breathes out, a genuine smile gracing his face for the first time in months

You were right earlier, though he dares say you undersold just how wonderful your surprise was, and he almost doesn’t feel worthy of it, in fact, he knows he’s unworthy of it

“You like it?” 

His head softly turns towards your voice, finding you, hands clasped around the strap of your bag, lip pulled under your teeth as you await his answer, it’s then he realises why you went first, you wanted to see his reaction

“Like it?” he chuckles slightly “I love it” he confesses, unable to hold up his barriers at your hopeful eyes, even more at your proud little smile at his confession

“The view from the cliff is even better” you hold out hand

He takes it, but just as he is about to step into the moonlight, he stops, causing you to turn back and ask if he’s alright, but your words are lost on him as he pears up, catching glimpse of the waning moon

“I’m sorry” his eyes finally find you again and his heart breaks at your concern, cheeks flooding with embarrassment over how he’s going to ruin a perfect night with his fears “I’m good here, I’m sure it’s lovely but…” he takes a breath, unable to get out the rest

“But?” you wonder sweetly, taking a step towards him “It’s a beautiful night, I don’t want you to mess the best part…oh” you’re eyes light up and he worries you’ve figured it out “Are you scared of heights? I can shift and you can hold me to calm you down if that would help?” you offer, and it kills him

You were too sweet for your own good, not only had you chosen him to show this wonderful place, but you were willing to accommodate his fears without judgement. The mention of your animagus made his heart hurt more, you really had done everything to help him, and maybe it was that that allowed him to confess the real reason

His hand cups over yours, thumb stealing circles over your knuckles “Love…” he finds your eyes “…I’m…I’m not afraid of heights I just…it’s a clear night and well…” he looks down, swallowing hard “…the moon is out” he whispers and he’s too ashamed to look back up, instead he savours your hand in his scarred ones and the way they engulf your own

“Rem” your voice is so soft he could cry, he doesn’t want to be pitied, so much he finches as your other hand finds his cheek, encouraging him to look at you, but when he doesn’t, you continue “If you want to leave we can, or we can sit at the edge at the trees” you tell him sweetly “You aren’t going to shift here” you continue before a giggle escapes your lips as you add “besides…if you did I’d just push you off”

His head snaps up at that, staring at your cheeky grin in disbelief, processing before letting out scoff of a laugh “I can’t believe you just said that” he shakes his head, beginning to chuckle properly 

“It made you laugh though” you smile at him, and he finds himself relishing the closeness, the softness of your fingers on his rougher cheek and hands

“That you did” he agrees, hoping you don’t notice him leaning ever so slightly into your touch

He hides his disappointment however as your kind touch leaves his cheek, but his disappointment doesn’t last long as you take his other hand in your own, guiding him “I’ll be right here” you assure him, your movements gentle as you take a step back, letting him know he can leave if that’s what he truly wanted

Remus won’t lie, he’s still nervous but the safety he feels around you is stronger than his fear, and he lets you lead him towards the cliffside

Looking out over the night sky his eyes soon lock on to the moon, but as they do he feels your hand squeeze his “You’re okay” you tell him, and he actually believes it “You’re more than that big hunk of rock…come on let’s sit” you softly pull him as you lower yourself to the ground, and as you do, Remus waits until the very last second to let go of your hand

“Thank you” he finally says after you both are comfortable “What would I do without you?” he doesn’t ever want to know the answer, so he’s glad you answer when it with a joke

“Wallow in self-pity?” you jest “Maybe die of a heart attack with how much chocolate you consume?” you laugh

Despite his own chuckles he playfully nudges you “Funny bunny” he shakes his head, returning his gaze to the limitless expanse of stars, then down towards the shoreline, enjoying the simple beauty of waves washing across sand

“Can you see them?” you ask after a moment

His eyebrows furrow, looking at you then more intently at the beach “See what?” he wonders, confused

Just as he’s about to turn back towards you he feels you shuffle closer to him, pointing “Look closely at the wet sand, just before the waves come in…do you see it?” you ask, your head practically on his shoulder by this point

Remus’ confusion melts into intrigue as he watches the area you point out, eyes widening when he finally sees it, the slight indentations across the beach, not unlike the kind he and his friends make when they use James’ cloak in snow, yet these tracks much more resembled an animal

“What are they?” he turns to you, desperately holding back his blush at how close your face is to his

Merlin, he felt like a lovesick puppy, until now he had been able to keep his growing feelings at bay but now even your crossed leg gentle tapping against his own was enough to send his heart into a tizzy

You don’t seem fazed however as you just smile “Thestrals” you say simply “The magical creatures that pull the carriages” you add to jog his memory

“Really” he looks to the beach “That’s amazing” he says, smiling as he spots a smaller set following larger set before he recalls one particular fact about the invisible creatures “You can see them?” his heart drops a little…more so at your confirmation

“Yes” but your expression doesn’t change “You’re allowed to ask” you grant him a soft smile

He takes a moment after that though, despite your permission he still feels like he’s invading your privacy by asking “Who?” 

You look away then, off towards the shore “A few years ago, my father was sick. He’s alright now, but there was a time my mother and I practically lived in the hospital” you start and while you speak your eyes track something on the shore, he assumes a thestral but doesn’t tear his eyes away to check “There was a kind lady in the room next door, Dorothy. She used to share the sweet treats her sons would bring her with me…she was a muggleborn you see, I lied to my mother about that part though” you chuckle softly “She taught me how to knit properly, with needles and not magic…if I’m being honest I think she’s one of the main reasons I stopped believing in all that crap” you confess, your voice wavering a little as you look down at the ground

Remus’ eyes widen, sure, he hadn’t really spoken to you until the end of fifth year, but given your soft nature he never would have thought for a minute you could have ever believed in such things…you were too good for that

“Do you think less of me?” you reply to his silence, shame in your tone as you chew on your lip, pulling at blades of grass

As your eyes flick up meet his he shakes his head “No…if anything I think more of you” he gifts you a soft smile before reaching out to save the poor meadow from your anxiety riddled trimming, hand lingering on yours for a moment before he pulls back “It takes a strong person to admit something like that”

“I don’t know about strong…couldn’t save that bookcase last week” you giggle breathlessly, but behind it there’s a flash of something that shows your appreciation to his sentiment, much like Remus you also struggled to accept compliments or credit where it’s due…you were just maybe a little less grumpy about it

“You tried your best” he tells you with a chuckle…recalling how utterly bewildered you looked amidst the chaos of the chain reaction you had created while attempting to get one book before his expression drops once more “Do you want to continue? I’d like to hear more” he steers the conversation back gently and you seem thankful for it

“While my father was getting better, she wasn’t” you resume, voice dipping “Eventually she got so weak I had to finish the blanket she was making for the grandchild she never got the honour of meeting…” you sigh while you play with your fingerless gloves “…she made me these you know?” you look back up, lifting you hand slightly to show off them off

“I’m jealous” Remus holds up his own, showcasing his more than beaten gloves, hells they were practically falling apart

You giggle softly “I’ll make you some” it’s not an offer but a statement, one Remus has no intention of fighting, who was he to deny a gift from yourself “Any particular colour you would like?” you add

He thinks about it before his eyes fall on your gloves, their colour similar to the evergreen of the willows around you “Would you be mad if they matched yours” he asks cautiously, afraid of over stepping 

But your smile confirms he isn’t, if anything, he swears you shy away just a little at it, almost as if you’re flustered at the thought

“Not at all” you reply, voice softer than it’s ever been “I think she would have liked you. She certainly would have knitted you a matching jumper” 

“Maybe you could knit me one instead” he says before his brain can even process the words

That was way too…

“Sure!” you reply right away, elated at the idea “Your birthdays in March, right? The 10th?” you confirm, and Remus can only nod in return “I’ll surprise you with the colour for that one” you tell him

Remus’ lips quirk up, excitement bubbling in his stomach for next month before it softly subsides as he realises, he needs to know the end of Dorthey’s story, even if that means the loss of your happy smile for a short while

“How did it happen?” he doesn’t need to give you context, you know what he’s asking

“She seemed better one morning, she even got out of bed. In fact…it was the day she made me these” you gesture to the gloves once more and you smile at the memory, though it’s more of a bittersweet kind of smile “But…that evening she took a turn, nothing dramatic, she was just tired, cold…the medication had her talking to the air” you explain, waving “I like to think she was talking to her husband, like he was he one to grant her passage when she moved on, that they were together again…she was a bit of a romantic you see…so am I” you confess, and Remus takes note of it “Eventually she seemed aware of my presence and took my hand, then she smiled and fell asleep…she passed moments later…and that’s how I can see them” you nod to the beach

Remus remains silent for a moment, before reaching out and giving your shoulder a small squeeze “She sounds like a remarkable woman” 

“She was” you nod, smile playing on your lips before you turn your body towards him “I’m glad I got to tell you about her, but there was one other reason I brought you here”

“Yeah?” Remus’ eyes light up a little

“Mhm…the day after the last full moon…” you start and Remus’ eyebrows knit, unsure of where you’re going with this “…you confessed that when you seen me in there it made you worry that you had hurt me that night”

“I’m…ugh”

Remus lets out a shaky breath, he had been a bit harsh at first that morning, he told you that his friends put themselves in harms way enough and he didn’t need a klutz joining them. As soon as it left his lips, he regretted it, he had called you it before, but this time he had negative intent and he could tell it hurt you

“Love…I never…”

“Rem…I forgive you” you gently cut him off and it surprises him “Remus that morning you also told me that you worry one day that something much worse than a fractured wrist might happen, that you would do something magic couldn’t fix” you recount before gesturing to the shoreline “I thought maybe you could use this place whenever you felt that way… I found this place shortly after I was able to see them. Followed them here one night when I couldn’t sleep. It helps you know, to get away” you say forlornly

Later Remus would realise the thing you ran from was expectation, but tonight he nods slowly

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, voice mixed with hope and scepticism “That it could help?”

“I do” you confirm “I thought maybe it can help you shoo away those clouds that neither your friends nor…I…can’t” you say, but the last part is said slower, followed with a shy laugh, like you’re worried you’re implying you play a bigger part in his life than you actually do, and to that his hands reach out squeezing your own, hoping it’s enough to communicate that you are just as important as his friends, in fact you may be even more so one day…or perhaps tonight

Tears prick Remus’ eyes, threatening to spill as speaks again “I…I don’t know what else to say other than…thank you…for this…for everything” he nods his head around, trying his best to convey the deeps of his appreciation 

“You don’t have to say anything more than that” you assure him, letting him know you understand before flashing that smile of yours “Just enjoy the evening” you softly command

And he did, allowing silence to fall between you. For the first time in, well ever, Remus felt what most people must know as peace, allowing his mind to finally stop turning if just for a moment, letting him focus on other things rather that his own voice. The gentle rustle of leaves, soft hum of fireflies, the rocking waves upon the shore…your soft breaths, your steady heartbeat

He never wanted this moment to end

He lets himself look at you then, finding you smiling to yourself, eyes closed as you take in the moment

She is beautiful

He never takes his eyes off of you, a part of him hopes you catch him, hopes that this night is something more to you as it is to him, but the other knows when you look back, he’ll cower away like he always did. Remus knew he was selfish with you, his eyes lingered that little bit longer that they should, as did his touch, he always waited for either the last moment or for you to pull back…secretly hoping one day you wouldn’t

Your eyes open then, turning towards him “What?” you smile softly, head tilted

Remus shakes his head quickly “Nothing, thought there was a fly” he plays it off, returning to the view while quietly chastising himself in his head for the terrible lie

Coward

“Remus…” he flinches a little as your hand finds his “…look at me again”

He hesitates at first, but then you whisper the softest ‘please’ and he’s at your mercy, returning your gaze, eyes curious with a dash of hope or fear mixed in, he didn’t quite know which yet. 

You move to your knees and he finds himself doing the same to face you properly as your touch flows upwards, backs of your fingers grazing his cheek as you push some hair out of the way, your eyes darting between his own like you’re checking he’s comfortable with the new form of intimacy

“You’re the prettiest thing here you know” you say before your eyes flick down to his…lips? 

Your hands are soft, sure as they cup his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw ever so slightly as you test the waters further, sending shivers down his spine, heart pounding before…

“Remus can I kiss you?”

…it damn near stops

He genuinely didn’t know if this was reality anymore 

“You…” he lets out a shaky breath “…want to kiss me?” he swallows

His fingers itch with the urge to pull you closer, to feel certainty in your presence, your warmth, but he restrains himself, afraid of shattering the illusion

You nod, eyes never leaving his “Very much” you confirm “I have for a while” you confess and for the first time he notices the slight shake in your fingers, the glistening in your eyes, that not so tiny fear that you were hiding so well seeps through…the one where he rejects you 

But he would never

“Can I?” you ask one last time, voice barely a whisper

He doesn’t speak just gives you a hum that you hope can recognise as a yes, which you do, eyes widening a little in surprise before you lick your lips, slowly leaning in. As happy as Remus was, he doesn’t move, still scared this might not be real, that any movement will have him wake up in his dorm and that all this was just a cruel trick of his psyche. That is until your nose softly taps his own, before the plush of your lips find his. It’s tender, sweet, only lasting for a few fleeting moments before you pull away

As you do, he finally breaks free of his paralysis, chasing your lips a little before he watches your eyes flutter open, finding your smile is shy all of a sudden, like you used every ounce of your confidence to work up the courage to not only ask but kiss him and now it was all gone

Kiss her back you idiot!

Remus’(...or maybe Moony’s) thoughts drive him into action, leaning forward to cup your cheek before you can fully withdraw, admiring the way you head falls into it with such ease as he brings his lips close to yours, checking it’s something you want before he finally returns the kiss

It’s more passionate this time, lips moving in sync as his arms wrap around you, gently lifting and bringing you flush against him, while your hands snake around his neck and up into his hair. The warmth of your body seeps into his, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, it’s just you, him, and this garden. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re the one chasing him this time, sneaking one last kiss before your forehead rests on his “Did that actually just happen” he whispers panting gently 

“Afraid so” you giggle 

He lets his smile break free then, no more holding back “How terrible” he nudges his nose against yours

“Horrible really” you continue the joke before softly pecking his lips “Are you glad I interrupted your routine now?”

“Very” he whispers before capturing your lips again

End of Flashback

“What?” 

He’s snapped out of his daze, smiling wide as he leans forward and places a sweet yet firm kiss to your lips

“What was that for?” you wonder, taken aback by the sudden intimacy but not upset in the slightest

“Because you’re the prettiest thing here” 

Thank you for reading ♡

[himasgod]

Sharing Valentine's Day with NRC

IGNYHIDE VER.

HEARSTLABYUL VER SAVANACLAW VER OCTAVINELLE VER POMEFIORE VER SCARABIA VER DIASOMNIA VER

SCENARIO: The morning sun shone down on Night Raven College as students prepared for Valentine’s Day. Classes had ended earlier than usual, and the hallways were filled with rumors of chocolates, a few confessions, and secret dates. Despite the general excitement for that day of remembering and sharing, you hadn’t planned anything special for that day. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But he had been acting oddly suspicious since the night before. You’d noticed his furtive glances and failed attempts at hiding smiles whenever you came near. You knew he was up to something.

With Idia Shroud

Idia Shroud

Valentine's Day at Night Raven College had never been Idia Shroud's cup of tea. The thought of confessing feelings in person or dealing with public displays of affection was simply terrifying. This year, however, was different. He'd spent months building up the courage to do something special for you.

That morning, you received an unexpected message on your magic device. It was from Idia:

"Can you come to my room? I have something for you. If you're not busy, that is."

Curious, you headed to Ignihyde's dorm. The door opened automatically upon detecting you, and you were met by a visibly nervous Idia. His hair glowed with pink hues, something uncommon even for him.

"This is weird, isn't it? Ugh, sorry, I'm so clumsy with these things…"

Idia led you to his gaming console, where a huge screen displayed a game you'd never seen before.

“I spent weeks designing it,” he confessed, looking down at his feet. “It’s a two-player game… well, only you and I can play it.”

You took the controller he offered you, and soon found yourself in a picturesque virtual world filled with warm colors and adorable details. There were flower-filled bridges, shimmering lakes, and starry skies. As you progressed through the game together, you discovered little messages hidden in the landscapes:

“Thank you for always being with me.”

“Having you around makes even the darkest days a little brighter.”

“You’re my happy place.”

Your heart filled with tenderness with each message.

Finally, you reached the final level, a night scene under a giant tree lit by golden lights. In the center of the clearing, an avatar representing Idia awaited you.

On the screen, the avatar began typing a message:

“You are my first thought in the morning and the last before I sleep. Thank you for accepting me as I am. Would you like to spend this Valentine's Day and all future ones with me?”

You turned to Idia, who was now red to the tips of his hair.

“Was it too much? Sorry, I can reset the game if you didn't like it!”

You took his hand gently, smiling.

“It was perfect, Idia. I would love to spend Valentine's Day with you.”

Idia's eyes widened, and his hair sparkled with flashes of happiness.

You spent the rest of the day exploring the virtual world together, laughing and sharing moments that only you would understand. Idia felt, for the first time in a long time, completely at peace.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he said later, when night came.

“Thank you for creating a world just for us.”

[petermorwood]

Once there was a bookshop.

Its name was "Dark They Were And Golden Eyed", the title of a Ray Bradbury short story.

I'd seen it advertised in the back of my "Conan The Barbarian" comics, black-and-white UK reprints of the US originals which came out on the same day - Thursday, I think - as a two-hour first period history lesson (9AM-11AM).

So I bought my weekly Conan on the way to school as a pleasant back-of-the-class distraction from such A-Level delights as "Metternich and the Congress of Vienna" or "Bismarck and the origins of the Franco-Prussian War" or "Causes and Consequences of the French Revolution".

I was getting into fantasy at that time because British publishers were bringing it out like there was no tomorrow - Robert E. Howard "Conan" stories from Sphere, Clark Ashton Smith "Zothique" stories from Panther, and the Michael Moorcock book-of-the-month club from Mayflower.

Dark They Were was a sort of holy grail, because London wasn’t exactly round the corner or even a mere long train ride away as Dublin might have been, and my parents weren't willing to let me make a trip like that all alone. (I also suspect Dad had checked a map and found that Dark They Were was in the heart of Soho, a place with Other Kinds Of Bookshop.)

*****

I finally went to London after getting A-levels good enough for Uni, despite my History result not being what it might have been (no idea how that happened). :-P

Dad was right about the Other Kinds Of Bookshop, a couple of which I duly investigated and found to be educational, although not in the way intended. Even though the places I ate and drank and the books and records I bought on that same trip are long forgotten, I can still remember it.

Despite having at least my usual allowance of critical-faculty-blunting late teen hormones, the shops outweighed it with their air of furtive sleaze, like the carpet in a seedy bar that sticks to your shoes - except this was an all-body experience. They certainly filled me with desire, but that desire was for a long, hot shower.

So much for the main attraction of late-'70s Soho...

*****

Far more attractive was my discovery, just a short walk round the corner from DTW, of 58 Dean Street Records, which specialised in soundtrack albums.

I'd been buying soundtrack LPs for years, so what with DTW and 58, I was well laden on my way home, and none of those purchases needed hidden from the parents, either... :->

Despite that, Forever People in Bristol was an even more important SF bookshop, at least to me. For one thing it was easier to reach, less than an hour away when visiting an old school friend who at that time lived in Cardiff.

For another thing, I'd become a keen fan of fantasy anthologies, which were like samplers or tasting menus for different writers - you could call them selection boxes,and Irish / UK readers will know what I mean by that.

FP was where I found imports like Offutt's "Swords Against Darkness" series and DAW's "Year's Best Fantasy" series. I'd already got the first two in Carter's "Flashing Swords" series as UK imprints...

...so the instant I saw the US-import Number 5 I nabbed it.

A bit later, back in Belfast, I found a novel by one of those writers in Queen’s University Bookshop.

It was set in the same world as the short story and though the cover was, er, a less than accurate summation of the contents, those contents made for a fascinating read.

I met that writer twice, at SF conventions in 1985.

Then at a couple more in 1986.

After that came Boskone in 1987...

And the rest is history.

(Pedantic writer note: this has two typos. There's no apostrophe on Authors' - unless it's short for Authors Have A Wedding and I doubt that - and there's an extra O where I don't need it, a first but far from last instance of having my name misspelled in print...)

Happy soon-to-be-38th Anniversary, loved!

[sillyuin]

Valentine's day with svt (Vocal Unit)

Genre: fluff fluff fluff.

Pairing: svt vocal unit x reader.

Warnings: none.

- Yuin's note: This is the part 1/3 of my valentine's day with svt special. I'll be posting the next parts during the day or next, so wait for it ♥ also, happy birthday my fellow Carat, take it as a gift for you ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

Jeonghan. Playing board games.

He likes games and loves to cheat on them, that’s nothing new for you. When he told you to have a game night for valentine’s you were expecting for him to be the mischievous angel-faced he is. But he had an ace up his sleeve that you weren't prepared for.

“The loser gotta give the winner a kiss,” he said in a serious tone.

You raised an eyebrow, “if you want me to kiss you just ask me.”

He laughed softly, like he was expecting for you to say such a statement. “But, the winner has the right to ask the way they want it to be.”

“What… Does that mean?”

“I don’t know” Jeonghan bit his lower lip, locking his eyes on yours. “Just try not to lose the game”.

It was probably the hardest game you ever played in your life, not because you haven’t played Monopoly before, but because his gaze was on you all the time, as if Jeonghan was able to read even the deepest thought in your mind.

Whatever he was thinking, you made a double effort to not fail into his love games. But let’s be honest, it’s a sweet temptation you’d like to try without hesitation.

Joshua. Baking cookies for each other.

Something so simple and so endearing at the same time, there’s nothing like an afternoon filled with laughs and the delicious smell of cookies, as the promise of a sweet and romantic night.

“Josh, can you give me the choco chips?” you asked, while checking the recipe on your phone. However, he said nothing, “Josh… Joshua!”

 “Hey, don’t scream at me” he complained in a sassy manner, “I’m just beside you, and I’m busy”.

You turned to see what he was doing, and raised an eyebrow, confused. “Aren’t we supposed to make cookies with choco chips?”

“Yeah”.

“Then, what is that?”

“Oh, this” Joshua’s smile was so big that the corners of his eyes narrowed slightly, and he proudly show you his creation, “it’s for you. Do you like it?”

He was holding a tray full of those calico-shaped cookies you wanted to try. The kitty shaped cookies were actually very cute, so much that you even forgot why you raised your voice at him.

“When did you baked them?”

“Before you came home. I wanted to try something different.” Joshua stared at you tilting his head, “I bake for you and you bake for me, then we watch one of those romcon you love as much as me”.

“Sounds good for me.” you laughed low as you continued with your cookies, “but you have to wait for me, I need to finish these.”

“Okay” He approached you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he hugged you from behind, “I'll be here just checking in your work. Please do as if I’m not here”.

Woozi. Spa night.

He’s always about work, but also needs a break from time to time. Now, your time has come: No phones, no responsibilities, just the two of you taking care of each other in the warmth of your shared apartment.

The pleasant aroma of scented candles filled the whole room, and Jihoon let out a deep sigh. When was the last time he felt that relieved? He can’t remember, but now he feels like touching heaven and the best part, it was in the comfort of his own home.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet” you protest with a playful tone, “I just started with your shoulders”.

“I’m sorry” he apologized in a lazy tone, “but I’m serious, you're so good at it, you'd become a millionaire with this job.”

“I’m not that good, this is just a hobby,” you laughed in a low tone. “Do you want some more tea?”

“Yes, please!” Jihoon agreed cheerfully, “Is amazing, what did you make this tea with?"

“Oh, you know; chamomile, other natural stuff” leaning towards him, you let a kiss in the top of his head, snuggling your face on his hair, “and all my love for you”.

Dokyeom. Homemade pizzas.

He loves pizza and he loves you even more, that’s all he needs. In the warmth of your cozy apartment, a messy yet funny meal takes place that you both are going to remember for a long time.

“What in the world is this?” you said trying not to laugh, “looks like my heart after I watched that sad movie”.

“But it was fine!” he stammered, laughing in embarrassment, “the oven tricked us!”

Seokmin has been planning this night with the highest expectation, but the heart-shaped pizzas didn’t turn as he visualized. They smell good for sure, however something went wrong and now you have something that looks more like an attempt that a pizza itself.

“Ah, we put in so much effort” he made a small pout, “I’m so sorry, babe.”

“Oh, it’s okay! It’s our first time” you patted his back trying to comfort him, “I bet they’re delicious, let’s just eat”.

And it was indeed the best pizza you ever tried before; your praise words encouraged him as you both sat on the sofa and started eating your homemade dinner.

It didn’t turned out as expected, but your heart was so filled with joy and happiness that it didn't really matter, it is priceless and you’d never change this day for nothing in the world.

Seungkwan. Trying a new café.

Making changes is always good and Valentine’s Day is the perfect excuse to do something different. Unfortunately, you’re not the only couple who had the same idea.

“This place is full too” Seungkwan signed, running his hand through his hair in annoyance. “It’s the third one”.

“It’s okay Boo, we can do something else”.

You were sitting in the car and the atmosphere started to feel a little heavy. Maybe going for a café date on Valentine’s Day wasn’t the best idea, every place was crowded as if everyone just had the same braincel and decided to occupy every single café in town. And Seungkwan was part of that unplanned collective.

“I’m so sorry, love” he placed his hand on your shoulder, his voice was low and a little sad, “I should’ve planned this better and made a reservation.”

You remained thoughtful, an idea came to your mind and you said it with a big smile. “Hey, what about if we buy something and make our own café at home?”

“That… Actually doesn’t sound bad” he raised both eyebrows tilting his head, “What’s on your mind?”

And so, a few purchases later, you ended up drinking delicious coffee at home, accompanied with a sweet strawberry cake and a tender playlist you both made at that moment. It has the potential to become a tradition, after all, it doesn’t matter the place or the activity; every moment with Seungkwan is special for you.

[honeyed-blossom]

Happy Valentines 🌸

I hope everyone has a lovely valentines!! 💌 sending you all my love and a million smooches 😘 please enjoy these two being all gushy and icky hehe

instead of packing for my trip like a sane person, I wrote a little something to go with the drawing if you’d like to read it 🫣

his valentine

Word count: 775

Golden rays danced through the lush foliage carelessly, illuminating the forest with an otherworldly glow. Sunbeams frolicked down the gently beaten path, inviting the boy further in. Even the shadows glided by absentmindedly, as if the world existed without a single care. How she found this place he didn’t know.

Sebastian remembered her calling it a vivarium, describing it as a sanctuary for the beasts she and Poppy rescued over the last year. There were different types of vivariums - one was a languid stretch along a coast, another was a quiet swamp, and she had four of these in total. This one was a vast meadow, scattered with caves and forests, where nifflers, puffeskins, and jabberknolls frocklicked peacefully. It was the embodiment of summer in the highlands, always sunny and temperate. It was her favorite hideaway.

He walked further into the grove, keeping his eyes out for the girl who was somehow able to send his heart into a fit of flutters and drive him insane at the same time. She would be the death of him one day, not that he’d mind.

A soft humming caught his attention, a tune he didn’t recognize. The tune was playful, whimsical even. She was in a good mood it seemed. Sebastian smiled to himself and drifted towards the sounds, careful to hide the large bouquet behind him. He travelled all over the Scottish Highlands to find an assortment of different flowers, the ones he knew she loved. Some, he had to beg Professor Garlick for, though she was more than happy to help once she found out who it was for. Roses, sunflowers, lavender, and jasmine peeked out from layers of jute and ribbons.

Sebastian stopped where the trees ended and the meadow began, hiding in the shadows as he looked for his counterpart. It took less than thirty seconds to spot her - she stood across the way in a creamy cotton dress, letting her mind wander while she watched a pair of jabberknolls glide jovially. She swayed gracefully as she hummed, with her hands clasped behind her back. Basked in sunlight, she looked ethereal. Her usual blush-toned hair now looked like honey, dripping in hues of caramel and gold. He desperately wanted to comb through her locks and leave a trail of kisses, watching as a blush crept up her cheeks.

What are you waiting for, you idiot?

This wasn’t last year, when all he could do was stare longingly at his friend and keep his feelings tightly locked up for fear of rejection. They had now been together for a few months already and Sebastian felt foolish for still being so flustered around her. It was as if any time he was around her, or even thought about her, his brain cells threatened mutiny, combusting into nothingness and leaving him utterly defenseless.

“Valeria!” Sebastian finally called out, stepping out of the shadows and into the blinding light. “There you are.”

Almost immediately, she turned around to face him, her cheeks a soft peachy blush. Her eyes practically sparkled when she saw him and he felt as though he was staring at a nebula of greens, golds, and browns. His breath hitched as a radiant smile spread across her lips.

“Sebastian! There you are,” she chirped and glided towards him. As she got close, she threw her arms around his neck into a hug. Sebastian’s right arm snaked around her waist, squeezing her into him. He watched as her nose crinkled slightly, delighted when she picked up the scents of the flowers.

He grinned and pecked her cheek. “Here, I have a present for you.” He gingerly pulled a flower from the bouquet he was hiding and gently tucked it behind her ear, along with some loose strands of pink tresses. His hand lingered, hesitating to break contact with her. Just as Sebastian started to draw back, Valeria wrapped her long fingers around his hand, pulling it back to rest against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned against his hand, sighing happily.

Sebastian could wait no longer. He gently cupped her cheek and leaned in, tilting his face slightly as he captured her lips with his. He’d kissed her plenty of times before but this one was different and sent his heart soaring. It was sweet like honeycrisp and warm like sunshine. Before he even knew it, he had melted into her, his arms wrapped around her frame with bouquet still in hand. He shivered as she deepened the kiss, pressing her fingers against his curly locks. Sebastian pulled her right against him, clutching her waist desperately as they kissed. And kissed.

And kissed.

[spiderb00]

In the spirit of Valentines which might be over by the time you read this but what type of dates do you think the kats prefer. Like who’s more to want a chill staying in type of date, who’s more of a fancy dinner or who’s more of a like fun activity like go karting or stuff like that. As always love your stuff and as a college student I totally understand your stress. Hope you’re taking care of yourself and wishing you the best for this semester🫶🏽

- 🇩🇴

Thank you anon, I feel less alone knowing that more people understand my tiredness. <3 (I'm a little late, sorry)

Sophia would love an intimate date, you'd be cooking together, romantic songs playing over the speaker and the two of you in the kitchen almost burning the meal you made when you were distracted making out.

You'd have dinner by candlelight and exchange gifts you'd made a point of buying. After dinner, you would watch a movie. Actually, it wouldn't be watched all the way through, because you and Sophia simply couldn't keep your hands off each other, especially after the wine you'd had.

Manon would love to go out anywhere with you, and that's really what you do. First you're going for dinner, leaving the restaurant you'd walk around the city, looking for something interesting to do, you'd buy anything she saw in the store windows, and you'd end up at a random concert by an even more random band.

The important thing would be that you would be having A LOT of fun, you both like to feel as free as possible, and exploring the world together was just wonderful. The next morning, you'd be waking up hungover trying to remember where you went, but you'd certainly remember that love was there.

Daniela was more than happy when you took her on a picnic on the beach. You planned everything, a small candlelit dinner in a tent away from people, all to see your girl happy.

You spent a wonderful evening talking, laughing and listening to the sound of the waves. The sparkle in Daniela's eyes made you remember exactly how you fell in love with her, and you were sure to do it again and again.

Lara would be treated like the queen she was born to be, you would take her shopping, buying anything she had her eye on. But soon after, things would start to get more romantic and well-planned.

You'd take her to a music gallery, and she'd be very excited. In the gallery you could play instruments, make your own cool-sounding productions and listen to different versions of songs by your favorite artists. At the end of the day, Lara would be even more excited than at the beginning, talking about all kinds of musical styles and cool things she'd seen.

Megan and you would be jumping for joy in an arcade, but not those simple arcades, but a really cool one that you found while exploring the city in depth. The girl would be like a happy child, and so would you.

Competing in games until you found a game you could play as a pair, then she'd be jumping on you and kissing your lips every time you won. In the end, you'd have lots of tickets, which you'd convert into a big teddy bear that you'd give to Megan.

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ CALEB | surprise at the lake (valentine's day)

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

"Caleb…" she sighed, feeling him gently tug on her hand to make her walk.

She was sad and miserable, not even bothering to hide it. She had lost track of what year it was exactly, but she was pretty sure this was about the 300th year she had spent Valentine's Day alone. Alone and miserable. Not that she cared about being in a relationship—it had never been a priority—but after seeing her friends and hearing about their plans, she couldn't help feeling down.

She had told Caleb about it, and he had found a thousand different ways to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t need anyone to enjoy the day. And it worked… for a few minutes. That morning, when he called, she had told him she wasn’t going to do anything at all and refused to get out of bed. But her plan was interrupted when Caleb showed up at her house unannounced.

Now, she wasn’t sure where they were heading, but the place seemed vaguely familiar. Caleb had said he had a surprise, and, well, she wasn't about to turn down surprises.

"We’re almost there." She sighed, giving up, and stayed silent until they arrived.

That’s when she felt her chest tighten. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in their surroundings. There was a small memory lingering in her mind, but it felt like it slipped away every time she tried to grasp it.

"How did you…" She tore her gaze away from the lake in front of her and looked at him, a mix of surprise in her expression.

"We used to come here when we were kids, remember?" She nodded. She had a faint memory. She had tried to hold onto it, but it was frustrating not being able to recall it fully. There were actually a lot of things about her childhood she didn't remember, and she hated that.

"I think so… I didn’t remember this place. I think there is a faint memory," she admitted. It wasn’t until they were standing there that the memory finally clicked.

"Come here." She felt Caleb’s hands slide into hers, placing something in them. She wanted to look down and see what it was, but for a moment, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his… His eyes had always been one of her favorite things about him.

When she finally snapped back to reality, she lowered her gaze. Caleb had handed her food for… ducks? "There aren’t any—" He cut her off by pointing behind her.

She turned around to see a small group of ducks swimming calmly near the shore a few meters away. A huge smile spread across her face, and she didn’t hesitate to walk toward them. She knelt by the edge of the water, extending her hand in hopes that one of them would take the food.

"You’re going to fall," Caleb’s voice startled her slightly. His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her gently to keep her from toppling forward. She had to try her best not to close her eyes and focus solely on the way his hands pressed her waist.

She felt like she had spent the best minutes feeding the animals, watching them swimming towards them, asking for more food, and making their little noises.

"Can you see those two?" She pointed at a pair of ducks a little farther from the rest. One of them dipped its head into the water, leaving only its tiny feet sticking out. "That’s us."

Caleb frowned in confusion and turned his gaze toward her. She looked so calm, her expression filled with happiness as she watched the ducks and absentmindedly popped a chocolate into her mouth from the box he had brought. "I assume the one with its head in the water is you."

"What? No! That’s you." She turned back to him, confused, then let out a laugh and returned her gaze to the ducks. He hadn’t denied they were like them. She remembered dating a guy once who hated when she did that—he’d say they weren’t objects or animals. Caleb would never do that if it was something that made her smile.

They both fell silent for a few seconds. She glanced down at the box of chocolates—her favorites. Caleb was the only person in the world who knew what her favorite chocolates were.

"Thank you," she finally murmured, breaking the silence. She lifted her gaze to him. Caleb met her eyes but said nothing, unsure of what she meant. "For making this day less sad and miserable. I… I really didn’t expect this."

She sighed, looking away. It had meant so much to her, and she wasn’t sure if Caleb realized just how much.

"Come here." He motioned for her to move closer, and she obeyed. He set the box of chocolates on his lap and waited for her to close the distance between them. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. "I would never leave you alone on a day that’s special to you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She felt something stir in her chest and did her best not to show it. When they were younger, she had told Caleb that Valentine’s Day was her favorite day—maybe that’s why being alone on this day affected her so much.

There were a lot of things about her childhood she didn't remember. But Caleb seemed to remember everything about her.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

You Make Me Wanna Make You Fall in Love

Request: NEED A ONE SMUTTY ONE SHOT ABOUT CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF!!!! bonus points if she’s a bimbo chic kinda girl 😫

Roy Kent x YoungGF!Reader

2.4k words (I warned y'all)

Warnings: Roy's much younger girlfriend (mentioned as twenty), the Greyhounds looking at the reader disrespectfully, mentions of a very skimpy outfit (and its lack of underwear), unprotected sex, two uses of daddy, semi-public sex, Roy's young GF is a horny menace

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! A little different from my usual, but, not gonna lie, had a lot of fun with it (and would definitely revisit these two again)! Hope you like it too ✨

“Oh hell, would you look at that one?”

“Could you imagine-?”

“Not leaving much to the imagination, is she?”

Roy cocked an eyebrow at his players, who could only offer sheepish grins in response. While they were never crude, they were still men. Young men who could never help but notice attractive women. Young men who were famous, fit, and rich, and liked using those things to their advantage. Young men who were exactly who Roy was twenty years ago.

Curious about what- or rather who- had them so worked up, Roy glanced in the direction they’d been gesturing in a moment ago. His entire went body went warm at the scandalous sight: your Greyhounds kit rolled up to show off plenty of skin, the tiny, flippy little skirt that stopped high on the thighs he’d been kissing the night before, the high socks and clunky heels that completed the outfit, and those pretty pink lips that wrapped around a straw sinfully.

If he didn’t have a match to coach, Roy’d be dragging you out of the stadium and straight to his bed.

Instead, he turned his attention to the pitch, doing his best to ignore the sight of you jumping up and down excitedly and the sound of your girlish cheering that rang in his ears over the roaring of Nelson Road. Even more, he tried to ignore the way his players kept glancing over at you, trying to catch your eyes that seemed to only be interested gazing at their grumpy manager.

Once victory was secured and meeting with the press was finished, Roy made his way through the changing room and to his office, offering his men words of praise. Now he was in his chair, exchanging some chuckles with Beard and Nate, when you strolled in, a scandalous vision with a fucking lollipop in your mouth. You smirked at the sight of Roy, in those track pants you liked so much, hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair and chatted with his assistant coaches. His eyes lit up when he saw you, not bothering to hide the way they raked down your barely concealed figure.

“Hi, Roy,” you purred, giving your candy a kitten lick. All Roy could do was shake his head at you and smirk, fighting to keep his pants under control.

“We should get going,” Beard said slowly, eyes darting between you and Roy. “See you tomorrow, Coach.” He grabbed a blushing Nate by the shoulder and steered him through the changing room, unintentionally garnering the attention of the last few Greyhounds who still loitered in front of their cubbies.

You approached Roy, hips swaying in that way he liked to watch. Still grinning, he stood and leaned on the edge of his desk, letting his hands find your hips, thumbs brushing over your bare skin. Not caring about the ogling stares from the changing room, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to Roy’s; he let out the quietest groan when he got a taste of watermelon on your mouth, undoubtedly from that fucking lollipop.

The last of the players in the changing room lingered, jaws slacked as they took in the sight in the office: Roy, their ever-grumpy, always-scowling manager, with his hands and mouth on this young woman no older than themselves, all giggles and bubbliness in that tiny skirt. Even with his reputation and romantic history, none of them ever expected to see this.

Honestly, they kind of respected it.

Remembering that he was, after all, still at work, Roy pulled back from you with more of a smile now, shaking his head at you. You glanced over your shoulder, meeting the gazes in the changing room. Still in Roy’s embrace, you lifted a manicured hand and offered a little wave, giggling when your acknowledgement caused some blushing and wide eyes among the Greyhounds.

Roy, on the other hand, let out a gruff sigh. “You lot can fucking go home,” he growled at his team. “Now.”

Sure enough, there was a scramble, some hushed murmurings about who the fuck was in Roy’s office, and then silence. With another one of those little giggles, you returned your attention to Roy, who was looking at you with a frown. It was all so nonchalant, the way you released yourself from his grip and sat in his chair, swiveling back and forth a few times.

“What’s the matter?” you pouted. “Don’t like my outfit or something?”

Roy crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow at you. “I like it very much in fact,” he assured you, his wandering gaze confirming his words. “Unfortunately, so did my team.” He smirked and shook his head. “You fucking menace.”

Pleased by his inability to keep his eyes trained on your face, you twirled a strand of hair around your finger. “Was I a distraction?”

“You,” Roy huffed, taking a step closer, “are always a distraction, darling. Just not sure how I feel about you distracting my players.” He nodded towards your thighs. “You and that little fucking skirt of yours.”

Your eyes brightened, alerting Roy that you were up to something. “Guess it’s a good thing they didn’t know about what’s under my skirt.” With that, your legs parted, revealing something that had Roy groaning.

“Fuck,” was all he could say, falling to his knees in front of you. He took in the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening with your arousal. He shamelessly licked his lips, shaking his head in awe, before finding your face again. “She’s already so wet,” he breathed. “What the fuck were you doing before you came in here?”

Spreading your legs wider, you shrugged, swirling that lollipop in your mouth. “Popped into the loo to watch your press conference on my phone,” you explained slowly, your smile turning wicked. “And I might’ve touched myself while I watched you.”

The sound that came from Roy’s throat could only be described as tortured. Normally, he’d have the good sense to get you out of that chair and take you straight home so he could have his way with you. Or at least take the time to lock every door and close all the blinds to secure some privacy. But no. The sight of you, legs spread in his office chair, admitting that you’d just been touching yourself was more than enough to make him forget every ounce of dignity and reasonableness.

Roy had hardly a thought in his head when he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to your already soaking cunt. The breathy sigh you released spurred him on, encouraging him to dip his tongue inside your wetness and taste your arousal. Some little voice in the back of his head scolded him, desperately trying to remind himself where he was, but he could barely hear it over the sounds of his tongue lapping at your folds.

It took the sound of distant footsteps to finally bring Roy back to reality. He pulled back from between your legs, eyes wild and darting between the two wide open doors. When he looked back at you, you were smirking at him, face flushed and eyes full of sin.

There was no way his resolve could last long enough to get you home. He’d have to make do right here, in his office.

He scrambled to lock doors and close blinds while you watched, your eyes trailing down his figure to where his pants were growing tighter by the moment. You liked Roy like this, all frazzled and, honestly, horny. While letting him get back on his knees and planting his face firmly between your thighs sounded perfect, you knew there was something you wanted even more.

By the time Roy shut off the lights turned back to you, you were already perched on his desk, legs spread. You crooked your finger at him, beckoning him to join you. Not that you needed to signal him to approach; Roy was almost immediately at the edge of the desk. Even in the dim light that came in through the closed blinds, you could see the way his eyes darkened as they made their way down your body and to your bare cunt.

“Need something?” he cooed, finally reminding himself that he was more than welcome to have the upper hand here. He reached down and took that lollipop out of your mouth with a pop! and dropped it into the rubbish bin.

Before you could pout or tease, he hovered over you and attached his mouth to yours, all tongue and teeth and moans as his hands began to roam over your bare skin, pushing you onto your back. This was the Roy you liked best, rough and possessive and maybe even a little mean. When his hands slid up your teeny-tiny kit, he let out a groan into your mouth; of course you weren’t wearing a bra. He took your breast in his large hand, squeezing and pinching until you were grinding up against that rock-hard bulge in his trackpants.

“Roy,” you mewled, knowing you were leaving a glistening mess on his pants. “Need you.”

How could he ever say no to your little pouts and huffs and whines?

He shimmied down his pants, freeing what you had to admit was the best cock you’d ever had. He rubbed the tip against your soaked cunt, teasing you with it, watching your face scrunch up in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He tilted his head at you mockingly. “This what you want?” When you nodded desperately, he brought his tip to your clit, rubbing little circles over your bud. “You sure? You had a whole fucking football team looking at you today, wouldn’t you rather have one of them?”

Warmth spread over your skin as you whimpered. While Roy seemed to be content in his knowledge that you were his, he did like to play possessive and jealous sometimes. He liked hearing you begging, promising that you belonged to him. It brought out something primal, something that made him fuck you just a little harder every time. And, after watching his team ogle you, knowing you’d been touching yourself in the loo, having you spread your legs in his chair as you teased him, Roy knew he wanted to make you beg a little.

Sure enough, you desperately shook your head, spreading your legs as wide as that tight little skirt would let you. “Only want you,” you breathed. Then, feeling like riling the retired footballer up a little more, you added, “Daddy.”

His cock twitched against your clit. While you weren’t the first girl to ever call him that, there was something about the way you said it that drove him mad. Maybe it was that delicious mixture of innocence and lust that danced in your eyes. Maybe it was the way you always paired it with a little pout. Or, maybe, Roy was a just perverted man who liked having a twenty-year-old call him daddy.

Either way, that simple little word always got you what you wanted. And it was definitely going to work this time.

Suddenly his cock was back against your entrance, his precum mixing with your wetness. While normally he’d go achingly slow, teasing and torturing you, he’d already lost that self-control you’d been chipping away at since you’d first strolled into the office. With a soft grunt, he buried himself inside you, splitting you open with that delicious burn. Your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out, filling you much better than your fingers had earlier.

And he fucking knew it.

“How’s that?” he growled as he gave a little thrust that had your breath hitching. “My girl like that?”

You nodded, hooking your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. “Yes, daddy,” you gasped. When his thumb found your clit, you let out a soft sob, not caring if there was anyone still in the building to hear your filthy sounds. The only thing you really cared about was the feeling of Roy’s cock twitching inside you and your walls clenching in response.

He fucked you the way you both liked best: rough, a little careless, full of loud moans and sloppy kisses. When you felt his rocking movements begin to stutter, you rolled your hips, offering your best fuck me eyes and gripping his biceps.

Roy’s mouth found your neck, biting and licking recklessly, stretching you perfectly. Your walls tightened around him, begging to be stuffed. With one harsh stroke to your clit, you felt shockwaves all over your body as you fluttered around his cock, soaking it with your pleasure. Hell, you were sure some of your wetness ended up on his desk; Good, you thought wickedly.

The feeling of your climax was enough for Roy. With a twitch that ran through his entire body, he emptied himself inside you, your name a strangled moan on that filthy mouth you loved so much. The two of you rode out your pleasure, filling the dark office with your moans and the smell of sex.

After what felt like hours, Roy slumped on top of you, breathing raggedly. Your fingers found his curly hair, stroking those thick locks as pure bliss overcame your entire body. As much as you enjoyed teasing and cooing at Roy, this was really your favorite part: both of you spent, Roy emptied, you completely full, holding each other as your heartrates returned to normal.

“You,” Roy murmured in your ear, “are fucking amazing. Can’t fucking believe you sometimes, babe.”

Oh yeah. The sweet and dirty little whispers were pretty great too.

You giggled and squeezed him closer, relishing of his cock and cum still inside you. “Would you believe me if I said I’d be interested in going again?” you teased, rolling your hips gently.

The exhausted chuckle that slipped past Roy’s mouth told you he was more than willing. “Insatiable,” he mumbled to himself. He tksed at your little whine when he pulled out of you. “Come on, then. I’d like to fuck you in my own damn house this time, if you don’t mind.”  He helped you off the desk, planting a little kiss to your temple. “And babe?”

“Yeah?” you breathed, a little dizzy in your heels.

He held you close and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Remind me to show you the showers next time you visit.”

[kkoga]

Masterlist ! next !

WC — 1.72k

Creds to @cafekitsune for the divider!!

Chapter 4 — Do I wanna know?

After successfully walking around for the past 27 minutes, you knew it was almost time.

''It's almost time.'' Sophia softly said, gently caressing your pinky with hers. You bit your lip.

Saying you wanted this to end was for some reason, a lie. You missed Sophia. Greatly. You had no idea why the two of you had drifted away all of a sudden, and now that you had seemingly filled the gap that separated the both of you, you had no intent to ever let go.

''Yeah, we should head back to the booth now. My friends are probably there.'' Sophia nodded, an unreadable expression on her face.

As the two of you walked back to the booth, a loud sound came from the speakers.

''Okay, okay, mic test mic test!'' Karina, a member of the school's band, was currently in the middle of the stage, along with the rest of her members.

''Alright, so today, we'll be closing the event off with a highly suggested song, Lover is a day by cuco!'' You noticed Sophia's eyes shine.

''Time's changed, we're different, but my mind still says redundant things, Can I not think?'' As Giselle sang into the mic, Sophia now had a somewhat bittersweet smile displayed on her pretty face.

'Will you love this part of me? My lover is, a day I can't forget'' It was weird. The both of you had just stopped. Neither of you moved from your position. The timer for your love lock had ring a long time ago.

''Furthering my distance from you. Realistically I can't leave now, But I'm okay as long as you, keep me from going crazy, keep me from going crazy'' You found Sophia's eyes. You've never really thought about how pretty her hazel brown eyes looked. Or how nice and glossy her lips were. You didn't think about how kissable her nose looked either.

As the lyrics kept going on, eventually, Sophia had faced you. She sent you a somewhat sad smile. Why was she sad? You didn't know. A tear welled up, her eyes now as glossy as her lips. You panicked. Why was she crying?

''Sophia?'' You pulled her in with a side hug, ''Are you okay? What's wrong?''

''No, no it's fine.'' Sophia pulled away, away from your comfort. Your eyes fell.

''I just— I have something to tell you, Y/n.'' Her tone was serious, but her voice cracked.

''Okay… I'm listening, Sophia.''

''You remember when you told me you had started dating Jay?'' You nodded as Sophia broke your eye contact.

''You were so happy. So excited. But you know how I felt?''

''Sophia…'' You thought she liked Jay. Did you unknowingly drive her away because you hadn't know she liked your ex?

''I felt angry. I felt sad, even though I had no right to. I can't control who you can and can't date. But a part of me just always wished it was me.'' Guilt clouded your mind as you clutched onto your shirt.

''You liked Jay? Sophia I'm so—'' She met your eyes once more, a tear falling down her cheek.

''No, Y/n.''

''Then why?''

''I liked you, you dumbass.''

You froze. Did Sophia just confess to you? Sophia let out a small giggle, not out of happiness, but out of sadness.

''I— I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold it in anymore.''

''Since when?''

It had been your idea, as most reckless things usually were.

"Come on, just this once," you had whispered, fingers wrapped around Sophia’s wrist, eyes alight with mischief. The classroom had felt like a cage, the teacher droning on about equations you didn’t care for, and Sophia—well, Sophia had been staring at the clock, her mind somewhere else.

"I don’t know, Y/n…" she had hesitated, chewing on her lip.

You had grinned. "Live a little, Laforteza."

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was why, after a long moment, she had let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and let you pull her out the side door.

At first, it had felt freeing.

Skipping across the empty courtyard, giggling as if you’d just committed the world’s greatest heist, brushing shoulders as you whispered about nothing and everything.

Then, of course, the sky had decided to ruin it all.

Thunder rumbled above, and in the next instant, rain was coming down hard.

Sophia shrieked, instinctively grabbing your arm. "Are you kidding me?"

You, on the other hand, had just thrown your head back and laughed.

"You have the worst luck," she had groaned, trying and failing to shield herself with her hands.

"Our luck," you corrected, shaking your head like a wet dog and making her yelp as droplets flew her way.

Sophia had tried to glare at you, but it was difficult when she was completely drenched. Her white sneakers—once pristine—were now soaked through, darkened by the water.

"My shoes!" she gasped, lifting one foot in horror. "Y/n, my shoes—"

"Oh my God, they’re just shoes, Soph—"

"They were a birthday gift from my mom!" she huffed, stomping her foot—only for water to splash up onto both of you.

You had winced. "Okay, okay, I get it. My bad."

She was still pouting, hugging herself to keep warm, her hair dripping into her eyes. And then—just as a peace offering—you had sighed dramatically.

"Alright," you said, shaking your head with a lopsided grin. "One day, I’ll buy you new ones. Happy?"

Sophia had blinked, surprised by your sudden sincerity. "Promise?"

Without hesitation, you reached out, pinky extended. "Promise."

She had stared at your hand for a second before linking her pinky with yours, locking the deal in place.

And in that moment, something shifted.

The rain blurred everything around you—students peeking from classroom windows, teachers too distracted to notice you two standing in the middle of the storm. It felt like there was no one else, just you and her, drenched and shivering but laughing.

And for the first time, Sophia noticed you.

Not just as the reckless girl who pulled her into trouble. Not just as a friend who made skipping class feel like an adventure.

No—she noticed the way your eyes softened when you looked at her. The way you had made that promise without hesitation. The way your grin—so easy, so effortless—made her stomach flutter in a way that felt dangerous.

It was ridiculous, really. Falling for someone in the rain? That only happened in movies.

But standing there, with your pinkies still hooked and your laughter still ringing in her ears—

Sophia thought maybe, just maybe, she was in trouble.

And then—she smiled.

Not her usual polite, composed smile. Not the amused smirk she sometimes threw your way when you were being ridiculous. No, this was something softer, something quieter. Something that made your chest feel too small for your heart.

It was then that you realized: she looked beautiful in the rain.

And it was also then that you realized—

You could never have her.

Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you sometimes imagined when your mind wandered a little too far, a little too deep.

Sophia was… well, she was Sophia. Good. Smart. Put-together. The kind of girl people dreamed about.

And you? You were just you.

The thought settled like a weight in your stomach, and as she shivered beside you, laughing through the downpour, you forced yourself to laugh with her— like nothing had changed.

''…really?''

''Really.''

''I'm sorry for confessing so suddenly Y/n but, it's been months since we've genuinely hung out. Months since I've started missing your touch, missing your voice, missing you.'' Sophia held your hands, clutching onto them like there was no tomorrow.

''I don't need an answer now, L/n. But I'll need one eventually.'' Sophia sent you a smile filled with pain, longing, and love.

By now, your school's band, Aespa, had started singing a different song.

''Do I wanna know? If this feelin' flows both ways?

Sad to see you go, Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

Baby, we both know, That the nights were mainly made

For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day'' Karina effortlessly sang, the melody of her voice carried around the campus, thanks to all the speakers scattered about.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer. You desperately wanted to say yes— after all, you had only accepted Jay's confession on a whim, thinking it would maybe, somehow, in some way. help you move on from Sophia.

Sophia took your silence as a need for space. So she turned away, letting go of your hands in the process.

No, you were not about to lose the chance that perfectly presented itself to you— one you've unknowingly been waiting for a long time.

In a split second, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her closer to you.

''Do I wanna know? Too busy bein' yours to fall?'' Ninging clutched onto her mic, pouring her feelings into the song.

You held Sophia's cheek, staring at her with a gentle and hoping smile. As if asking for her permission. She sent you a smile, her way of saying yes.

''Sad to see you go, Ever thought of callin', darlin'?'' Winter sang, as she strung on her guitar cords with great precision.

You pulled Sophia in, with a gentle but needy kiss. Your lips moving against each other, trying to find a rhythm. Screams from your schoolmates could be heard all over, but neither of you noticed. You were in your own little bubble, as if it was only you and her in the world.

''Do I wanna know? Do you want me crawlin' back to you?'' Giselle finished, breathing heavy.

You both pulled away, in need of air. You stared at each other, speechless. You caressed her cheek, and looked at Sophia lovingly. She held your hand, and sent you back a stare as loving— if not more.

''I love you.'' You whispered— loud enough for her to hear, but not enough for others to hear. For they were words you wanted only Sophia to hear.

Tears once again, for the last time today, welled up. The gloss in her eyes enhancing her beauty. It was a sight to see.

''I love you too.'' She whispered back, as she leaned into your chest.

[hypnonerd1095]

Contract

"Wake up Amanda"

Amanda blinked, confusion and drowsiness washing over her as she stumbled a bit, thankfully the man who had spoken to her was quick to catch her and steady her back on her feet.

"Easy there Amanda, I know it's disorienting, just take it slow. Good girl" the man said reassuringly

She shook her head a bit, trying to regain her bearings. She hadn't responded to the name Amanda for over a month now, it took a moment to even recognize the man was speaking to her, but being called a good girl sent a wave of calm and contentment through her that helped slow her thoughts enough to focus. That was right, she was Amanda, and this man had been her employer for the past month... what was his name again? The memory of that was fuzzy, the only name she could come up with was Master...

"Ngh... is it always this bothersome when we wake up?" Amanda grumbled, letting Master guide her to a chair as she rubbed her temples "no offense Master, but you should really work on this... also why can't I remember your name?"

Master chuckled "it gets easier the more used to it you become. This was your first time so it makes sense your thoughts are jumbled. As for my name, that's a bit of a safety precaution. Can't have you spreading word about this position around after your employment ends, everything is technically above board, but you never know what kind of protesters might show up on principle" he explained

"Right... the position... " Amanda mumbled "so I've seriously been your slave for a month? I can only remember bits and pieces. Guess that's part of it huh?"

"Yes, we can negotiate how much you do or don't want to remember. Some of my girls enjoy knowing exactly what is being done to them in their waking lives, some wish to leave their work lives separate. For trial runs like this we default to partial remembrance, in case you decide not to renew" Master said with a nod, providing her a laptop "feel free to confirm your payment was received and anything else you like. I'll have a servant bring you something to drink that should help. We can talk more when your head is fully clear"

Amanda nodded, logging into her bank account, wow, that was a lot more zeroes at the end of her balance than she was used to. Checking the transaction history, it was legit. Exactly the amount he'd promised, and a little more to boot for "extraordinary performance." She didn't know what that referred to but she blushed at the words, she had a decent idea.

A woman "dressed" in what one might classify as "underwear" if they were feeling generous came in with a plate of food and a fizzy drink. Amanda couldn't help but steal glances at the woman as she stood at attention, smiling down at Amanda blissfully.

"T-thanks" Amanda murmured, focusing on her meal. Is that what she'd looked like? The woman seemed so happy and content, didn't even seem cold from the lack of clothing.

It was hard to believe this job was real. Voluntarily be turned into a hypnotized slave for a predetermined length of time, all living expenses covered, and get paid a generous wage to use as she saw fit during her time off. She could even set limits on what tasks she'd be used for... though the less restrictions she placed on her service the more she was paid.

When Master had approached her with his offer she'd almost called the cops on him to have him carted away to an asylum. Only a sizable up front deposit had convinced her to humor him... but there was no denying it was real now.

When Master returned, he carried with him several different contracts. "Now that you've had time to clear your head, I've brought you options to review going forward. You can, of course, decide this job isn't for you. But you did quite well here, I'm prepared to offer you quite a generous starting wage." he said, putting the various contracts down in front of her.

Amanda looked over the contracts, various lengths, with varying amounts of time on and off duty. With what she'd made already she could easily walk away, this nest egg would carry her a long time. She could go back to her old boring job, serving customers with a fake smile, following inane orders from bosses who either didn't know or didn't care how impossible their expectations were. All for a pitiful wage that wasn't remotely worth it. It'd be better now, with these savings she had... but...

Amanda glanced at the slave next to her, that blissful expression mixed with arousal now that Master was here. Was being a hypnotized slave really worse than being a wage slave? She could feel like THAT all day, and live in luxury on her weeks off. Work this job for a few years and she could even retire!

She barely needed to think about it as she took the longest-term contract on offer, filled out her choice of restrictions, and signed her name. Probably the last time she'd be using her name for quite a while. Her Master smiled.

"Glad to have you with us, my Good Girl. Now then, slave A-42 activate"

Amanda smiled as the trigger took hold, she was going to enjoy this new job.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Valentine's Surprise

Part of the Charlie May Universe

Pairing: dad!Peter x mom!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: here's a cutie little v-day fic with our favorite family <3 I love writing in this AU so let me know if you have any requests for them!!

Managing to surprise Peter always seems impossible. He knows you so well, he’s able to tell when you’re hiding something almost immediately, even if that something is just that you picked up his favorite ice cream without him asking. Factoring Charlie into that equation makes it doubly impossible to pull off a surprise, as she loves being let in on surprises but she hasn’t quite mastered how to keep them. For Valentine’s Day, though, you’re determined to surprise Peter, even though you have your doubts about Charlie’s ability to not spoil that surprise.

It had taken weeks and weeks of planning, everytime Peter left the apartment for even just a few minutes, you flew to your laptop to do research and make shopping lists. You know he’d be just as happy with a cheesy card and carry-out for dinner, but you’re so desperately in love with him, you couldn’t fathom not doing something as over the top as possible. Recruiting Charlie for help had been risky, but as the days tick closer to the fourteenth, your risk seems to be paying off and her lips seem to be sealed.

You can’t remember the last time you’d been so secretive, so dedicated to pulling off a surprise, but it had to have been years ago. Most likely, it was when you were in college, and trying to stop Peter from buying something he wanted because you’d already gotten it for him. Every time he brought it up, you shot him down, going on and on about all the reasons why he shouldn’t buy it, never letting it slip that the main reason was because it was already sitting in your closet in a gift bag. The sight of his face when he opened his gift was more than payment enough for all the furrowed eyebrows and confused frowns the weeks before.

This time, though, time is of the essence. With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, and with the chaos of work and Charlie and all your other commitments, every stolen moment counts.

“Mama,” Charlie sneaks up next to where you’re perched on the couch, all her stealth ruined by her dramatic stage whisper.

“What’s up, Charles?” you reply at the same volume, eyes glued to your screen until you hear her giggles, and you can never resist watching your daughter laugh or smile.

“Don’t we have to go grocery shopping?” She adds emphasis by opening her eyes as wide as possible and raising her eyebrows, looking so much like Peter when he’s trying to get you to understand the hidden meaning of his words you’re a little taken aback.

“Hmm,” you hum, eyes flitting over to the clock to see how long you have until Peter comes home, “you’re right.”

“I’ll get my coat,” and she’s gone before you can ever respond, the sound of her socked feet hitting the floor the only witness to your laughter.

At the store, it’s difficult to get Charlie to stick to your list. On a good day, you can bribe her with cookies or ice cream, but between all the excitement and the various Valentine’s Day themed displays, it’s practically impossible to keep her on task.

“Which one do you think Daddy wants?” You ask while holding up two different packages, trying to get Charlie to refocus.

“We should probably just get both,” she responds after staring intently at the boxes, dangling off the end of the shopping cart. You think it over, and nod, a little amazed at your five-year-old being the voice of reason. Or maybe you’re too easily swayed by her adorable thinking face and the way she carries herself like an adult when she tries to be serious, but either way, you throw both boxes into the cart and move on down your list.

Miraculously, you make it back from the store before Peter returns home, and you only had to agree to buy three different boxes of Valentine’s for Charlie’s classroom party to keep her focused. When Peter does get home, you’re helping Charlie write out all her classmate’s names on the variety of cards, the surprise groceries safely hidden throughout your kitchen.

“Why three boxes?” Peter asks as he inspects the mess that’s consumed your kitchen table, and you’re hoping Charlie is too intently focused on writing her own name to answer before you have time to think of a plausible reason.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” is what you settle on, and you know it sounds suspicious, but luckily Peter doesn’t seem to think too hard about it, instead shucking off his coat and making his way around the table to place a kiss on Charlie’s head before coming over to do the same to you.

“May said she’ll babysit Saturday,” he says as he folds himself to sit on your chair with you, half sitting and half squatting in a way that couldn’t be remotely comfortable. You don’t say anything, just scoot yourself closer to the edge so Peter can sit fully on the chair.

“Ugh, are you doing fun things without me?” Charlie places her pink colored pencil on the table to stare you down, a frown already forming on her little face.

“Just cleaning and taxes and boring adult stuff,” Peter reassures her, and even though she squints at you in suspicion, she returns to her Valentine’s.

In truth, you and Peter probably won’t be getting up to anything fancy or exciting. You’ll get slightly more dressed up than normal, go out to dinner and a movie, and then probably be in your pajamas on the couch by ten. Everyone always says your twenties are the best time of your life, the time to go crazy and stay out all night and gather up the stories you’ll be telling for years to come, but that hasn’t been the case for you. You don’t mind it at all, and you wouldn’t trade Charlie for the world, but it’s nice to be able to have a night with just you and Peter, even if all you did was cleaning and taxes and boring adult stuff.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, even though you’re so stressed at pulling off your surprise you felt like a water balloon about to burst. The only slip up came around bedtime, after you and Peter had tucked Charlie in and kissed her goodnight.

“See you in the morning,” you said before kissing her once on the forehead and once on the nose. As you stood back up, you saw her attempt to wink at you, even though she really just scrunched up her face and closed her eyes before opening them again.

“Did she just try to wink at you?” Peter whispers once the door to her bedroom is shut, and you just shrug.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s kinda a weird kid.” Luckily for you, Peter just laughs as you make your way to your own bedroom, avoiding the creaky floorboards as you go.

You feel like a kid again, trying over and over to fall asleep but the excitement coursing through your body is making it impossible. As you stare up at the ceiling, trying not to disturb Peter with all your tossing and turning, you wonder how lame you’ve become, that the thought of surprising Peter makes you so jittery and excited you can’t even sleep. Really, you’ve always been lame when it comes to Peter, over the moon to do even the smallest of tasks with him by your side. When you finally manage to drift off, it’s by watching the steady rise and fall of Peter’s chest as he sleeps.

It seems like you’d just managed to fall asleep when your alarm goes off, much earlier than it typically does. Miraculously, you manage to shut it off before Peter wakes up, leaving you with the task of trying to crawl out of bed and out of your room without waking him. You’re moving so slowly, so carefully, it feels a little cartoonish, but you don’t have time to feel silly when you’re racing against the clock. Peter stirs as you turn the doorknob, but he settles again as you ease the door open and close it behind you, as gently as possible.

Avoiding all the floorboards you know will send creaks reverberating throughout the apartment, you practically tiptoe to Charlie’s room, and are shocked to find her already awake when you ease the door open.

“How long have you been up?” You speak quietly, closing the door behind you.

“Dunno,” Charlie shrugs before swinging her legs over the edge of her bed and hopping down, “I was too excited to sleep really.” It’s precious, really, the fact that she was so excited at the idea of surprising her dad with breakfast that she couldn’t sleep, but her wild hair and rumpled pajamas tell a different story. Either way, you hoist her onto your hip and make your way into the kitchen, flicking on the lights and taking a second to blink against the brightness before making your way to the counter to set Charlie down.

“We’ll put the sausage and bacon in the oven first, and then we’ll do the pancakes, ok?”

“And I get to mix?” Charlie asks, her little legs swinging back and forth.

“Of course you do.”

For the most part, Charlie just sits on the counter while you lay out the bacon and sausage on a tray, babbling about her Valentine’s Day party in her class and how she hopes she gets lots and lots of candy, barely stopping to breathe. Once the tray is in the oven, you add all the pancake ingredients to a bowl and hold Charlie around the waist while she mixes, making sure everything is thoroughly combined to avoid any clumps of flour in the batter, a mistake you don’t want to make twice.

When the time comes to actually make the pancakes, you set Charlie up at the kitchen table with crayons and construction paper to make Peter a card, keeping her occupied and safely away from the burners. Miraculously, the timing for everything works out perfectly, and Charlie scribbles her name on the inside of the card just as you take the last pancake from the stove, placing it onto a plate as you hear your bedroom door creak open and Peter pads down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“What’s all this?” He asks, voice still scratchy from sleep, as he takes in the view of the kitchen from the doorway.

“Your surprise!” Charlie tells him, sitting up onto her knees and extending the card above her head. In a split second Peter is by her side, a gentle hand on her waist to keep her from tipping over, even as he plucks the card from her little hands. While he’s distracted with whatever masterpiece Charlie created, you work on making everyone’s plates, cutting up Charlie’s food into bite-sized pieces.

“Eat before it gets cold,” you instruct, anxious for Peter to try the food and see if all your research paid off. Sitting around your little kitchen table, you cut up your own food while trying not to make it obvious that you’re waiting for Peter’s reaction.

“How did you do that?” He asks after the first few bites, setting his fork down to the side and shifting in his chair to face you fully.

All of your research had been dedicated to finding the exact recipes from the diner you and Peter had gone to during college, right when you’d started going out. Many late night meals were shared under their fluorescent lighting, but they’d closed down shortly after you’d graduated. It was a little silly, but you missed that food, even though it came from a greasy kitchen and was eaten in a fading vinyl booth, it always made you feel at home, although that feeling could be attributed to your company instead. Still, you were dedicated to recreating the recipes for Peter, the perfect surprise for Valentine’s Day.

“Research,” you shrug even as you grin, laughter escaping from your chest when Peter leans across the table to kiss you, much to Charlie’s disgust.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, with the remainder of the morning spent bundling Charlie and her variety of Valentine’s Day cards off to school and the afternoon spent with you and Peter trying and failing to surprise each other with flowers and candy. After Charlie got back from school and spent an hour excitedly showing you and Peter all of the Valentine’s she received from her classmates, you leave to run some errands, desperately trying to avoid any late fees on overdue library books.

When you return home, it’s to a variety of whispering and shushing coming from the kitchen.

“Hello?” You call out, a smile growing when you hear Charlie’s failed attempts to stifle her giggles. As you set down your bag full of new library books and slip off your coat, your daughter runs around the corner, sliding into your legs as she slips on her socks.

“You can’t go in there,” she says as she looks up at you, the picture of complete seriousness.

“Why not?” You ask, playing into her game and matching her tone.

“It’s really bad,” she tries not to laugh, but then Peter yells from the kitchen.

“Charles, that’s not what I said!” He sticks his head around the corner as you try and regain your composure, “You just have to wait a second.”

Peter shakes his head as he disappears around the corner again, you and Charlie struggling to stay upright as you laugh. After a few minutes, Peter yells out again, signaling for Charlie to bring you into the kitchen.

“Mama, you have to close your eyes,” Charlie tells you, her seriousness coming back in full force as she grabs your hands. You do as you're told, squeezing your eyes shut and trusting Charlie to transport you safely to the kitchen, trying your best not to be led into any furniture.

“Ok, open!” She yells out after you come to stop, and you open your eyes slowly, taking in the transformed kitchen.

The harsh overhead lights are off, replaced with candles and Christmas lights strung across the windows. There are flowers in the center of the table, different from the ones Peter had given you earlier, and the rest of the table is covered in serving dishes and plates. It’s breathtaking, the sheer amount of time and effort that went into planning this meal for you, let alone the aspect of surprise.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to eat all this,” is all you can manage, trying to keep the tears at bay. Peter has always made you feel special, made you feel seen, in ways you’ve never experienced before.

“That cooking took a lot of energy, I think we can manage,” Peter teases, just to get you to smile and shake your head at him like you’re exasperated and not bursting at the seams with love and affection.

“How long have you been in on this?” You ask your daughter after Peter passed the food around, half of her dinner already spread across her face and hands.

“Dunno,” she shrugs, making a face like she’s trying not to laugh. Out of the three of you, Charlie is clearly the mastermind, managing to surprise both of her parents without giving even a hint of what she knows.

Most of the evening is spent gathered around the table, the three of you going back for seconds and thirds as the candles burn lower and lower and the city skyline sinks into darkness. As excited as you are for a child-free date night tomorrow, you’d happily relive this moment over and over again, safe and happy and full, surrounded by your two favorite people and endless amounts of love and laughter.