#The truth is: they are both *right* and they are both *wrong*.

[cathnospam]

Ever since Deku seen you and Bakugo have sex 3 days ago that night he haven’t been able to stare at neither of you the same.

He haven’t been this jittery and defensive since he thought shoto knew about the truth of his quirk all those years ago.

Everyday during a lecture he sits a row behind you and Bakugo and all he could do is stare and noticing the small interactions you both do,

like how Bakugo lends you his pen without word, how you casually steal his water bottle to sip on, how he leans over to make an incoherent comment causing you to giggle and playfully push him,

did he whisper something sexual to you?

Deku’s mind was racing an hour a minute, he felt his freckled tan cheeks get hot when you would approach him with your doting smile to talk.

All he can see is your face when you cum from getting head.

Or when you laugh/yawn, around him his eyes target on you.

All he can hear were you moans when Bakugo slips his dick inside you. You sound so different, and cuter.

Bakugo isn’t free from Deku’s stares either, he’s a straight guy, but he is confident in his masculinity to know Bakugo is a good looking guy and he gets embarrassed seeing the vast difference between him alone with you vs in public.

Was he always like this?

The way how his eyebrows are always furrowed, even though he’s not mad.

But they’re relaxed and content when he’s laid with you, inside you.

The way how his raspy deep voice pretty much gravels when he speaks.

But it’s softer when he speaks with you.

Everything pretty much changed in his mind about you both to the point he started to add more notes about you two in his notebook.

“Y/N: Her weak spot is on her ear. She’s very clingy—-

Bakugo: Weak spot on his neck. Curses more than usual when he’s close—-“

It’s shameful, but he can’t really help himself. He swears he’ll tell you one day, but he is 95% sure Bakugo will find out and risk being the #50 ranked hero to kill him.

Especially if he found out since then he past by your door every late night to hear you both again.

Deku has been trying to avoid you since, but he’s your best friend and you have no issue figuring it out if there was something wrong with your best friend.

“Hey, Zuzu…can we talk?”

You see his eyes practically pop out of his head to your touch on his shoulder, “Y-yes! What’s up?”

You pull him to the side by the bench, “You okay? You been ignoring my text the past few days. I missed my gaming buddy.” You playfully shove his shoulder to get a chuckle out of him, but all he could do was pull out an awkward one, “You okay?”

He couldn’t tell you. Not now, he couldn’t let you know he watched you get fucked, he couldn’t tell you how turned on it made him, and he definitely could not tell you how he got off to it.

As pretty and innocent as your eyes looked right now, in the back of Deku’s mind he knew, he knew EXACTLY what you really were.

His adam’s apple bobs up and down, trying to examine your face for a moment he notices the mark on your neck, “Did you hurt yourself?”

When he points to your bruise you jump, “Dammit ‘Suki.”

“Oh, yes! I ran into a pole the other day sparring. I’m okay.”

Liar. Dirty little liar.

“Well I’m fine I just…been a little distracted.”

“Oh?” You were giggly to know the tea with your bestie, “Girl trouble?”

“What?”

“You and Ochaco. I know you both are close….having a hard time trynna ask her out?”

“N-no! Nothing like that we’re …okay . I haven’t properly asked her out even though we—-not important I was just—“

“Yo.”

For some reason Bakugo’s rugged voice made Izuku freeze in his sentence, as if the air got sucked out of his own throat.

“Here. For yesterday. Now I don’t owe you again.”

A wad of cash was placed in your hand, you jokingly fan it and smile, “well well well, looks like I’m 7,300 yen richer. Thank you.”

“Tch.” He scoffs and readjust his eyes at Deku while you put your money in your wallet, “Also, Aizawa said we have work study together, Deku. Tomorrow at 10am don’t be late and make me look bad.”

“Y-yeah. Got it.”

Bakugo noticed his cheeks blushing, it ticked him off a little seeing as he knew Deku knew about the assignment with him, and he could’ve easily zelle’d you the money back he owed you it’s just—-

He felt a little bit of jealously when he seen how close you were sitting beside Izuku.

He trusts you both completely, he knew Deku wasn’t into you and he knew you weren’t into Deku, many nights were spent between you both explaining that, and his excuse to approach you both was silly, but he couldn’t help it.

Your Blondie stared at you one last time, kind of similar to a warning glare and walked off, “He’s so silly. Anyway. What were you saying?”

“Uh….nothing actually, but maybe this weekend we can go to the arcade or something?”

“Of course, yeah totally. Just making sure you’re okay.”

After practically running off the rest of the day went by quick, he spent it in his room, pacing, writing, pacing and writing, all the way until 11pm. That’s when he heard the small patter of footsteps next door.

When Deku creaked open his door his heart began to race, there you were, in your little silk night down being pulled into Bakugo’s room. Once his door clicks his feet moved before his thoughts did and he tip toed to it, leaning his ear beside the door, he could just barely hear what you two were talking about.

“You make me jealous on purpose don’t you?”

“No, you make yourself jealous, ‘Suki, you know I only want you—-aaahh!”

Once he heard your pretty noises again he immediately ran to his room to shut the door, in a rush he quickly took down the framed posters above his bed to listen in closely against the wall, it seemed he heard you both a little more clearly now.

It wasn’t long until he began to hear your moans and whispers of Katsuki’s name, a couple comments stating he had to be up early turned into almost an hour of his headboard tapping against the wall. If he pressed his ear hard enough he was able to hear the sloshing wet paps of him fucking you.

Deku tried to imagine the position you both were in, doggy? missionary? to the side again, maybe you were on top he did hear Bakugo make a few strained noises and curses.

He felt guilty imagining it was him instead. His fist right back in his sweats like it was a few days ago, using his imagination to picture your breast bouncing inside his mouth while he suckles as you use him.

It’s wrong he knows, but everybody has their guilty pleasures though, right?

[whre4wanda]

Watch Her

*Mature content ahead*

Mentions of abuse, blood, violence Exhibitionism, Strap on sex, fingering (Reader receiving), stalking, kinda rough and possessive sex, cum-filled strap, creampie

Summary- Your boss who happens to be extremely close to you, gets tired of watching your ex boyfriend stalk you.

Your pov:

Sitting next to Natasha in some fancy club was not what you had been expecting to do at this time of day. Especially since you'd knocked off about two hours ago, but Natasha had been persistent that you'd accompany her, claiming that you deserved to let go just a little. That and Natasha didn't exactly want to let you out of her sight.

You and Natasha had grown closer over time. Yes, some might have found that to be very "unethical" but who were you to care when your hot boss took a sudden interest in you. And Natasha was very interested with you.

Now, Natasha Romanoff was a woman of power — poised, unreadable, always in control. The youngest CEO in her firm’s history, feared in boardrooms and admired in tabloids. She didn’t chase things. Not often. Not ever.

Until you walked into her company as the new marketing consultant — Bold, brilliant, and radiant like sunlight piercing through bulletproof glass. And Natasha? She was ruined the second you laughed in her office for the first time.

However there had been one thing in the way during the process of you and Natasha getting to know one another. Your boyfriend. Believe me when I say that Natasha was not a fan of your boyfriend. She couldn't even believe you had one in the first place. When the older woman first laid eyes on you, her heart fluttered. Your beauty stunned her, not just that but your confidence too. She was a fool to think you'd be available, and surprised to see that you had a boyfriend. And anyone else would have believed that too but you were happy with your current boyfriend.

Well at least you thought you were, but things started going south very quickly in your relationship. It started with one slap to the face. You were both having a heated argument and unfortunately his palm connected to your cheek. Shocked to say the least, he apologized profusely. Told you it would never happen again, bought you the hugest bouquet of roses you'd ever seen then pampered you with love that entire week after. How naive you were to believe it would just be once.

One turned to two and two turned into ten. Slaps turned into shoves against the wall which later turned into punches. By that time you were deep in it. He'd hurt you out of anger, spite or even if his food wasn't warm enough. Anything enraged him and unfortunately you were his nearest punching bag.

You thought you were good at hiding it all, thought you were more careful but it turns out you weren't. Especially not around the CEO.

It was nearly midnight, and the building was mostly empty. Only the hum of security lights and the low whir of elevators echoed through the halls. Natasha was finishing up late in her cold office, glass of whiskey untouched, staring out over the city.

She told herself she stayed late for work but the truth was: she always stayed late when she knew you were working longer hours just to finish up paper work.

You — the woman with the quiet fire, the brilliant ideas, the natural charisma that left her speechless in meetings.

You — who smiled with your whole body even when your eyes didn’t.

You — who wore long sleeves even in summer.

Natasha wanted you. Badly. But you had a boyfriend. So she stayed in her lane. Distant. Professional. Tortured. Until the night she stepped into the wrong elevator — or perhaps the right one.

She’d meant to go to the garage. Instead, she hit the wrong button. Doors slid open on the admin floor… and she heard you. Quiet sniffles. A shaky breath. She stepped out slowly, heels silent on the tile. And there you were, standing by the vending machine, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, sleeves soaked with fresh tears.

Natasha’s breath caught.

“Y/n?” You turned too fast, startled. Tried to hide your face. But she’d already seen the smudged makeup. The trembling hands. The way your phone screen lit up with his name…again.

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but your voice broke. And she was beside you in an instant.

“What did he do?” she asked, eyes dark and dangerous. You hesitated. But your silence spoke louder than anything. And when Natasha looked closer, she could see the faint bruise around your eye.

Natasha didn’t touch you — not yet. She just stood beside you like a wall, steady and still.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Her voice was low but gentle.  You shook your head. One tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you whispered.

“Especially not you.”

Her voice softened, but it cracked around the edges.

“Why not me?” You finally looked at her. “Because if I told you… I knew you’d never let it go. And honestly, I’m really scared.” She stepped closer then, slow and careful. “You’re right. I wouldn’t let it go.”

A small pause and then she spoke up.

“I’ve watched you try to shrink yourself for months. I’ve seen the light in you dim because of someone too weak to hold it. I wanted to stay away, I tried. But I can’t pretend anymore and I won't, Y/N. Not after this.” You exhaled shakily, leaning slightly into her surprisingly warm presence.

“If you want to leave,” she said quietly,

“I’ll help you. No questions. No judgment. Just say the word — and I’ll make sure you’re safe. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed someone.

That was five months ago. It took you two months to finally take her advice. And you left him. You packed your bags and left him behind and as scary as it was, it felt refreshing to finally be free from him. But he wasn't happy. Your ex was now adamant on getting you back. He'd show up at your new apartment, in attempt to apologize and somehow win you back. His pleas were always the same some variation of:

"I made a mistake."

"I never meant to hurt you, I was just angry."

"I'll get help, you deserve better. "

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

But those random visits or coincidental meetups soon became frustrating and borderline pathetic. And shortly after that, the stalking began. Everywhere you went, somewhere, somehow you'd catch a glimpse of him. You mentioned it to Natasha once, but you told her it wasn't bothering you that much. Besides, the admin work to file a restraining order would take too much time. And that's something you currently did not have.

Fortunately for you, the two of you became closer after your confession. Everything had been at ease for a couple of weeks. Work was good, Natasha was a sweetheart, and your ex was nowhere to be seen. That was until your ex drunkenly stumbled inside the club that you were at.

He'd been watching you from a far for a while now. He watched the way Natasha leaned in, whispering something in your ear that would make you blush or occasionally laugh. And when Natasha lead you up to some private room, he was enraged. The way her hand was just above your ass or when you intentionally moved her hand down to your ass, he was beyond pissed.

Natasha lead you into the VIP room that served as her office. She'd use this room to conduct business, or just to catch a breather but now she was determined to make you fall apart inside of it.

"I could've taken you home." She purred as your lips met hers but you scoffed.

"That would take long. I want you to fuck me now." You whined against her lips and she chuckled.

The private VIP room was dim and luxurious, the bass from the club below humming faintly through the walls. You and Natasha were lost in your own world—her fingers ghosting down your arms, her lips brushing yours, pulling you closer with an urgency that made your head spin.

Just when your hands tangled in her suit jacket, the door banged open with a violent thud.

You startled, pulled away from Natasha, heart hammering.

Standing in the doorway, swaying slightly, was your ex. His hair was a mess, his eyes glassy from too much alcohol, and worse — burning with bitter rage. Natasha's bodyguards were quick, already piling in, ready to escort the man out but Natasha stopped them.

"Leave." She told them and they did so, before closing the door.

"Nat, don't-" Natasha gives you a look that has you keeping your mouth shut in defeat.

"So this is it, huh?" he barked, staggering a few steps in.

"Throw away everything we had... just to be some freak's whore?" You flinched, the words slicing through you. Natasha’s body instantly moved in front of yours, shielding you, her entire frame tense and humming with restrained violence.

"Look at you," he sneered, voice rising.

"I should’ve known. Always acting so damn proud, like you were too good for me. Turns out you’re just a filthy little dyke who can’t get enough of being someone’s side piece."

Your hands shook at your sides. You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but Natasha moved first. Slowly, she shrugged off the tailored suit jacket, before she rolled up her sleeves, exposing the tattoos winding up her arms, her movements smooth, calculated and dangerous.

"You have about five seconds to get out of this room," Natasha said, voice low and vibrating with fury.

"Before I put you through that wall."

Your ex laughed — a disgusting, hollow sound.

"Oh, please. What, you think because you’re some tough bitch, you can scare me? She’ll get tired of you. They always do. She’s just another—" Crack.

Natasha’s fist cut the insult short, snapping his head sideways so hard he slammed into the side table, knocking over expensive bottles of champagne. He groaned, clutching his face, but Natasha didn’t stop—she grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him upright again.

"You come near her again, you even look at her again," Natasha hissed, voice deadly calm,

"and they'll be pulling your teeth out of your stomach."

"Fuck you. You'll get tired of her anyway. She's just a whore. " He spit out, his words laced with pure malice and disgust. He coughed up before mumbling another insult. Natasha's fist met his face once again and you could hear the crackling sound of a bone snapping, most likely his jaw. He laid limp now staring up at the woman.

"You're better off keeping quiet for the entire night." She mumbled.

"But you know what, you gave me a brilliant idea." She stands up, stalking her way towards you before pulling a chair out and placing it just a few feet away from him. He's angry, but you could tell he was in pain and the fear in his eyes was pretty much evident. He'd be too stupid to try stand up now. So he lay helpless on the floor, looking at the two of you.

The woman sat down before calling out your name.

"Why don't you come sit here for me sweet thing." Stunned, frightened and really turned on, you approached the older woman. You placed yourself on her lap like she'd requested and she hummed.

"Now I want you to look at him."

"Nat what are you-"

"Look at him detka. Don't ask questions, just look." And so you did. Your ex stared at the both of you in disgust and Natasha's arm slid around your waist.

"Now I'm certain he called you boring and dry, didn't he? But I think he's wrong. Oh so wrong." Her hands were now settled on both your thighs, and you were certain that your panties were probably drenched with your slick.

"I just think the bastard just can't please a pretty girl. And it's unfortunate too, y’know? He had such a beautiful little thing to cherish, touch… all of it. Couldn’t even manage to do that, could he detka?” She coos, fingers sliding across your smooth skin.

"What do you think about us giving him a show?"

"A S-show?"

"Well he did interrupt us, didn't he? Besides I'd like to show him all the things he can't have now. What do you say detka? It's all in your hands." You think about it for a moment. Hell you're too turned on to say no. So you nod your head.

"Yeah baby? Want me to fuck you in front of him?"

"Yes."

"Such a good girl. So obedient. Isn't she?" The question was directed to your ex and she only smirked at the defeated figure. Natasha's hand slid up to your button up shirt, where she proceeded to unbutton the silk shirt before her hands cupped your breasts.

A small moan of encouragement pushed her forward, Natasha's hands slid down to your thighs before bunching up your skirt. Her fingers felt cold compared to your warm skin. She slid her fingers across your covered pussy and you jerked forward from the mere touch.

"Responsive too." She cooed, her lips centimeters away from your neck.

"What do you want me to do?" She whispered and you could only grind your hips in response.

"Oh honey, we're here to give a show, you're gonna have to tell me what you want."

"I want you to..." A labored breath and Natasha bites your ear.

"Want me to what?"

"Fuck me."

"Oh detka." She hums before her lips press against yours. It's soft, gentle until it's rough, her hands roaming across every access of skin she'd come across.

You're grinding down on her thigh and her fingers are pressing into your covered pussy, before they're suddenly inside of you. You gasp from the unexpected stimulation before a moan escapes your lips.

"There you go, making such pretty sounds for me." You're slowly riding her fingers, panties getting in the way of her movements but she doesn't care. Anything to make you feel good.

Your attention is caught by your ex-boyfriend, who lays helplessly on the floor still battered and bruised. He growls and spits out a disgusted protest as he watches the debauchery play out.

"Oh baby, did he make you feel so good?" She asked, purposefully thrusting her fingers upwards as you ride those same fingers. Your breath catches in your throat and Natasha tuts disapprovingly.

"Answer me."

"N-no, never."

"Never? Well I'll be damned." Natasha stops her movements before those slick coated digits are placed inside her mouth.

"Tastes so divine too." Natasha says with a cocky smile before she easily maneuvers you to the glass table that wasn't far away from the chair. Pressing you down onto the cool surface, her fingers pull at the fabric of your panties.

"I really hope you don't like these." Before you can even respond, she's ripping the fabric apart before her fingers slide inside of your pussy, this time reaching spots you didn't even know of.

"Well don't you have the prettiest pussy ever." Your eyes roll back, it felt so good, the way she had her fingers buried inside of you made you melt into the table.

Your moans turned her on, and the way your hips began moving along with her fingers, well she was now obsessed.

“Oh, fuck, Nat!,” you whimper, clawing at the edge of the table.

“This all for me detka?” She asks smugly, rubbing her fingers against your sensitive bud again. You simply nod and she hums.

She slides another thick finger into you, grinning triumphantly as you release a wanton moan. She curls her fingers inside of you, slowly pushing them in and out of you. Her fingertips brush against the overly-sensitive and velvety walls inside of you. You nearly choke on your own voice as it feels like a live-wire is coursing through your veins.

“You had all of this ass and a sweet pussy to play with at any given time. But you wanted to act like a selfish bastard and lose it all, didn’t you?” She mocks him, narrowing her eyes at the man while her fingers work inside of you. 

It's true. Your ex knew that. You were practically the epitome of perfection and now here you were, being fucked by a woman, moaning louder than ever, compared to all the times where he had been fucking you. He thought he was good but he was clearly mistaken. Never had he seen such a dazed out expression on your face and this made his stomach twist in disgust and sadly, embarrassment.

"Shes so beautiful isn't she?" She asked while her fingers gently scrape through your hair.

"Tell her that she's beautiful. Now."

"S-she is beautiful." He stuttered before averting his gaze downwards and Natasha hums.

"You hear that baby, you're very beautiful. Now I want you to go ahead and cum for me yeah? Make a mess on my fingers." she mumbles, sliding a third finger into you and fuck you could practically see stars. Her other hand presses into your lower back as she presses her fingers into you faster– harder.

The wet sounds coming from your thighs are obscene, borderline filthy yet uncommon to hear since he never managed to get you to this level. Ever.

"So beautiful" Natasha's wide eyes were fixed on the way your pussy swallowed her fingers.

"So good, come on cum for me." Your body stilled as you finally came on her fingers. Five minutes. That's all she needed to have you tumbling over the edge.

"And I bet you never made her cum so quickly did you?" She mused before pulling her fingers out of your now dripping cunt.

"Now, I'm gonna show you how to really treat a girl right, I think you need the lesson on how to fuck hm." Too dazed out to really care about what she said, Natasha unzipped her slacks before taking out the strap that had been in the confinement of her slacks. Large and girthy, she slid the silicone toy across your pussy and you whined, hands gripping the glass table beneath you.

She eased the toy inside of you, before pulling out and thrusting back in . It had you breathless.

"Oh baby, does that feel good?" You mumbled something incoherent and Natasha smirked.

"I've got you dumbed down so quickly huh?" She snapped her hips until the toy was buried to the hilt. You moaned and it was so fucking loud yet so intoxicating.

"Fuck, you're just so tight. So snug. What a fool you were for not appreciating such a beautiful pussy. " her thrusts has you gripping the glass table for your dear life, your lips falling apart as you let out a silent moan.

"I didn't tell you to look down did I? Watch her. Watch how I fuck her or I'll blow your fucking brains out." You knew it was possible, Natasha was very impulsive and it was honetsly questionable how the thought seemed to arouse you even more. Your ex begrudgingly watched as Natasha fucked you.

Pupils dilated, mouth hung open, hands holding onto the table, Natasha brought you up so you could look at him as she fucked you.

"So pretty right? I bet you never got to see this face much. Does it feel good detka?" You nodded but she was having none of that.

"Tell me."

"Feels so good."

"Can you feel me?"

"Y-yes fuck yes, I feel you everywhere." you exclaimed, hips jerking forward as she snapped her hips even faster.

"Better than his dick?"

"S-so much better." The squelching sounds should be embarrassing, but yoh can't find it in you to care when she was fucking you this good.

"You hear that? That's how good I fuck her." The woman grinned before her eyes trailed down to where her strap repeatedly rammed into you. Mesmerized is what she is as she watches your ass recoil, the sight is one she never wants to forget. In fact, if she had it her way, she'd make sure that she got to see it every single day.

"god, a fake dick has you running away from me huh? Has your pussy gushing out like that but he couldn't do that hm? Pathetic." She said with a chuckle. You're babbling, you're drooling and soon you're very much falling apart on the faux toy. Natasha continues to rut inside of you until you feel a warm liquid inside of your pussy from Natasha's strap. She watches in amazement as the sticky substance spills out of your pussy, it's a beautiful sight to see.

"A real dick could never make you feel like that, only mine can yeah?" it's possessive and it has you clenching around nothing.

Your body is limp as you feel her massage your thighs.

"Get out." She commands and within a second, your ex stumbles out of the room before the woman has her attention back on you.

"You okay detka?" A small nod before you're pushing your ass back against the toy.

"More."

"More?" She asks with a chuckle and you nod your head vigorously.

"Oh detka, I have all the time in the world to make you fall apart."

_________________________________________

Yeah I had a lot of fun with this one!

Ann~

[arc-misadventures]

Are You Writing This Down?

Blake: Hey, Jaune, I have a question for you.

Jaune: Shoot.

Blake: Would you... if given the opportunity... in a hypothetical scenario! Would you... sleep with my mom...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Whaaa?

Blake: It's just... since I brought everyone to my home, and they've met my mother... Well, they've been acting... horny...

Jaune: Huh?

Blake: Well, when, Weiss met my mom, she sorta latched on to her as a positive mother figure.

Jaune: Makes sense, despite her reasoning, Willow wasn't able to be that good of a mother.

Blake: Nora latched on to, Mom in an attempt to fill in the gap in her from missing a motherly figure in her life.

Jaune: Oh, that may be good for her. Might calm her down. By a thousandth...

Blake: Ruby is also doing something similar. She misses her mom too...

Jaune: That's... understandable... What about, Yang?

Blake: Ughh! She keeps making jokes at me about becoming my stepmom!

Jaune: That's a shocker... Bar, Nora, the rest of my teammates aren't giving you trouble?

Blake: No. Ren has been absolutely respectful, and kind to my mother. And, Pyrrha is such a sweet when talking with her.

Jaune: Good on them.

Jaune: But, why are you asking if I would sleep with, Kali?

Blake: I know, Yang is only joking around. And, I know what, Ren's semblance does to his... libido. But you!

Jaune: Me?

Blake: You're a fit, muscular, a strong, viral young man... a human! I mean... if anyone is going to seduce my mom... It's going to be you!

Jaune: Thank you?

Blake: So, please, Jaune... Tell me the truth... in a hypothetical scenario! Would you sleep with my mom?

Jaune: Yes.

Blake: You would.

Jaune: Because, I already did.

Blake: You WHAT?!

~~~

Jaune: Haa... Man I need a bath... I really worked up a sweat helping out everyone in town... Now then... They use, Mistalian baths here in, Menagerie. That means I have to wash myself, then I can go into the bath... okay.

Jaune: Hmm hmm hmm~!

(Splash!)

Jaune: Okay... I hit the bath now, right?

: Ara ara~!

: You missed a spot. Please allow to wash your back, Jaune~!

Jaune: OH? Why thank you, Miss Bell... Ghack?!

Kali: Is something wrong~?

Jaune: Kali?! Y-Y-Your wearing nothing, but a towel?!

Kali: Well how else am I supposed to take a bath?

Jaune: Well... how about with me not in the same room?!

Kali: Oh, Jaune~!

(Thump~!)

Jaune: Eep?!

Kali: We both know that's not where this story is going~!

Jaune: I-It isn't?

Kali: Well? Are you going to touch them, and make this kitty purr, or what~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: N-No one hears of this!

Kali: That's not going to happen, Jaune~!

Jaune: W-Why not?!

Kali: Because, Jaune... I'm a screamer~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Oh...

~~~

Jaune: So honestly, I'm surprised you didn't already know we did it, based on, Nora, and Yang's shit eating grins they knew...

Blake: No, not at all... But, what happened after my, Mom told you she was a screamer.

Jaune: Why do you want...? Wait...? Are you writing this down?!

Blake: Yeah. A young stud human seducing a milf cat faunas? Why wouldn't I write this doen?

Jaune: What the fuck?!

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER II

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (25,6k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting for the new chapter. Can't wait to read your feedback on it ♡

[EXCLUSIVE] Rumors Swirl Around Bang Theory Reunion—But It’s All About Love This Time June 20, 2025 — by Sky Kim.

The internet went into a frenzy this weekend when whispers of a Bang Theory reunion tour sent fans of the iconic '90s rock band into nostalgic chaos. The spark? A grainy video clip of frontman Chris Bang passionately performing on stage surfaced online late Saturday night—complete with pyrotechnics, a mic drop, and… a somersault gone wrong? But before fans could start petitioning for world tour dates, a little digging uncovered the truth: Chris Bang wasn’t reigniting Bang Theory for a tour. Instead, he was rocking out for a far more personal gig—his daughter Tigerlily’s wedding. Yes, you read that right. Sources close to the family confirmed that Chris reunited with his old bandmates for a surprise set during the wedding reception of his daughter. The performance was said to be “equal parts chaotic, emotional, and iconic,” with one insider joking, “It felt like the '90s again… until Chris faceplanted off the stage.” (He’s reportedly recovering well, and in true Chris fashion, already making jokes about it.) Despite the reunion rumors being nothing more than a wedding gift in the form of nostalgia and guitar solos, fans are still buzzing. Could this heartfelt one-night-only performance lead to something bigger? For now, it seems Chris is more focused on family than fame. But if this weekend taught us anything, it’s that you can take the man out of Bang Theory, but you can’t take Bang Theory out of the man. Stay tuned. And congratulations to the bride and groom.

-

The garden glows in soft amber light, wrapped in a golden haze as the sun begins to dip behind the trees. Strings of fairy lights flicker gently overhead, casting everything in a romantic shimmer. Laughter drifts through the warm air, mingling with the gentle clinking of glasses and the rustle of leaves dancing in the breeze. Guests settle into their seats at the long tables adorned with white linen, scattered florals, and glowing candles. It's the kind of evening that feels suspended in time—dreamlike, sacred.

Chris stands slowly from his seat, a champagne flute in one hand, the other smoothing down the front of his black suit. He clears his throat as someone passes him a mic, the subtle shift in attention moving toward him. He looks out at everyone, but mostly at her—his daughter, his Tigerlily—radiant in her wedding dress and laughing softly at something Julian just whispered to her. His throat tightens, but he starts with a familiar glint in his eyes.

“Well,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I just want to take a moment to call out a traitor.”

The laughter begins immediately, warm and curious. Chris turns toward Tigerlily, mock betrayal written all over his face. “You. Yeah, you. You promised me, when you were five and wearing light-up princess shoes and eating peanut butter straight from the jar, that you were going to marry me.”

The laughter swells. Tigerlily covers her face with both hands as her shoulders shake with amusement.

“I was your first love. You said no one else could compete. And now look at you.” He gestures dramatically toward Julian. “Running off with this guy.”

Julian gives a sheepish grin, and the guests eat it up. Chris shakes his head dramatically before he continues, voice growing softer even as the laughter fades. “But the truth is, I’ve been preparing for this day in my own way, probably since the day you were born. Even if I didn’t want to admit it.”

He looks at Tigerlily, and the air seems to still around him. “You were always magic, little cub. Even when you were tiny—especially when you were tiny—you had this energy about you. You lit up every room. I remember holding you on my shoulders during rehearsals, watching you bop around to the noise like it was music. I didn’t know it then, but those were the moments I’d keep in my back pocket forever.”

He turns toward Julian now, eyes still soft, but steady. “Julian, I know we joke—and I will keep joking—but I also want you to know… I trust her with you. And I trust you with her. Please, love her right. Because she’s my whole world.”

He pauses, emotion catching in his chest, but he swallows it down with a smile.

“To Tigerlily and Julian,” he says, raising his glass, voice bright with both pride and bittersweet joy. “May your life together be louder than a Bang Theory concert, but just as unforgettable.”

Cheers erupt across the garden, glasses clink, and Chris slowly sits down, heart thudding in his chest. He exhales quietly as he watches his daughter beam at the man she chose, her smile bright enough to carry him through the ache of letting her go. He then settles back into his seat, still feeling the ghost of the mic in his hand, the warmth of everyone's attention slowly ebbing away. The laughter, the applause—it all lingers around him like a soft echo. He catches you looking at him with that expression, the one he remembers from years ago, back when you’d watch him after shows, proud but trying not to let it show too much.

“That was a good speech,” you say, nudging his elbow gently. “You did good.”

Chris lets out a breath, almost a laugh. “You think so?”

You nod, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I know so.”

He grins and turns to the teenager next to him, nudging her with the same hopeful energy. “Hey, Riley bear. What did you think? Pretty solid, right? A little funny, a little touching?”

Riley doesn’t even look up from her phone. She just lifts a thumb in the air in response, eyes glued to her screen.

Chris stares at her in mock betrayal. “A thumbs-up? That’s it? My finest performance in years and I get a thumb?”

Still nothing so he slides his arm around her shoulder and leans in dramatically. “You know what? That’s it. As of this moment, you are officially not allowed to date. Ever.”

Riley lets out a loud groan without breaking eye contact with her phone. “Oh my god, Dad.”

You chuckle, reaching across the table to tug on his sleeve. “Come here,” you whisper, leaning close. He shifts toward you, and you murmur conspiratorially, “You know nothing about teenagers. The more you tell them no, the more they gonna want to do it.”

Chris leans back, eyes narrowed like he’s just been told a trade secret. “So you're saying… I should encourage her to date?”

“No,” you say through a laugh, “I’m saying be less obvious.”

He huffs. “Fine. I’ll just plant a tracker in her shoes.”

That earns him a full-bodied laugh from you, rich and unguarded, the kind he used to chase when you were still his. It hits him in the chest more than he expects. He missed that laugh. He missed you, in all the quiet, unspoken ways that sneak up on him like this.

You bump your shoulder against his, teasing. “Didn't you know, Chris? Love finds a way.”

He glances back at Riley, still firmly ignoring him, and sighs with an exaggerated shake of his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

But there’s no bitterness in his voice—just a tired kind of joy. A surrender to the passage of time and the impossibility of holding onto anything forever. Except maybe memories like this. Family, laughter, the sound of your voice next to his. That, he can hold onto a little longer.

-

The stage is small, a modest wooden platform strung with warm, golden lights and flowers, but as Chris strums the first few chords, it feels like home. It always does. His fingers remember every note like muscle memory, even though it’s been years since The Bang Theory played anything beyond a casual jam in someone’s garage.

The crowd at the wedding is electric with warmth—family, friends, strangers, all laughing, clinking glasses, swaying to the music. But Chris doesn’t see them. Not really. Not yet. He sings the words, not thinking too hard about them—just letting them carry through the air. His voice still holds. Maybe a little more gravel, a little more soul. Maybe that’s age, or maybe that’s just what happens when life keeps turning the pages faster than you can read.

He scans the crowd while his bandmates pick up the next chorus. Familiar faces drift past—Julian with his arm around Tigerlily’s waist, Maude and Riley taking a video on her phone, a few old friends from the label. But he’s still searching. His heart doesn’t settle until it finds you. Then, a moment later, he spots you. You’re making your way toward Tigerlily and once you're by her side, you’re both dancing, singing and laughing—his girls. Tigerlily, radiant in her dress, twirling with ease, her face bright with joy. And you, swaying with her, singing the chorus back at him. Not for the crowd. For him. It guts him in the best and worst way.

The memory hits like a wave. Another wedding. Another stage. Tigerlily in his arms, small enough to rest on one hip, clapping her little hands to the beat while you laughed beside him. She didn’t know the words back then, but she still sang them. Gurgled them, really. And now she’s here—grown, glowing, a bride.

Chris blinks through the swell in his chest. For a second, his voice almost catches. His bandmates keep going, none the wiser, but Chris has to turn his head and refocus on the strings under his fingers.

This is joy. This is what it looks like. Not stadiums. Not gold records. This. His daughter dancing in a white dress. You laughing beside her. This music, this moment, this life that somehow kept going even after everything cracked and fell apart. He takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes for the last chorus.

This one’s not just for Tigerlily. It’s for you, too. Because you’re still here. You’ve always been and that’s enough to carry him through the song. And this— This energy is addictive. Chris can feel it pulsing through his veins like a second heartbeat—music, laughter, the stomping of feet, the kind of wild joy that used to live in his bones back when stages were his second home. He didn’t realize how much he missed this—needed this—until the spotlight found him again, until the cheers roared like an old familiar friend.

People are shouting his name. Singing along. Phones are up. His bandmates are grinning like teenagers, feeding off the crowd. But none of it compares to the way Tigerlily beams at him from the dance floor, her hands up in the air, veil clipped to the side now, her cheeks flushed with happiness.

He points at her, chest swelling. “This one’s for you,” he calls into the mic. “My little cub, my Tigerlily.”

The crowd hollers. Tigerlily covers her face with both hands in mock embarrassment, but she’s grinning from ear to ear. It hits him all at once—how alive he feels, how proud, how the moment stretches so wide it could hold a lifetime. He’s never been good at sitting still, not when there’s rhythm in the air and the world’s spinning like a record. So he does what instinct tells him to do. What used to make fans scream in stadiums and what his knees warned him not to even think about anymore. He goes for the somersault.

The adrenaline makes it feel like flying for a second. The cheers spike. But the landing—oh, hell—the landing doesn’t come easy. His foot catches on a loose cable near the speaker. It jerks mid-air. His balance shifts. He hits the edge of the stage with a crack of bone and sound equipment.

The crowd gasps as his body lurches forward, his arms flailing to catch anything—but there’s nothing. Chris faceplants into the grass with a dull thud, mic still in hand, and the music cuts off with a horrible screech of feedback.

There’s a beat of pure silence. Then, all at once—shouts. Gasping. Someone screams his name. Tigerlily’s voice pierces through it like a blade. Feet scramble. Chairs screech. Phones drop. The stage, the celebration, the euphoria—gone in a heartbeat and then, everything blurs to white noise.

-

The fluorescent light above him hums low and constant. The antiseptic scent clings to everything, even the blanket draped over his lower half. His leg—he can’t even see it—rests stiffly elevated in a cast, bulky and awkward.

Chris exhales heavily, tilting his head toward the voices murmuring near the doorway. You and Tigerlily stand together, still in your dresses from the wedding, now a little crinkled from the chaos. The doctor finishes his long, clinical summary with a gentle smile.

“He’s fractured his ankle,” she says. “A clean break, but he’ll need to rest for 6 to 10 weeks. We’ll reevaluate for physical therapy later on. For now, minimal movement.”

The doctor excuses himself and leaves you two alone with Chris. He looks at you both, the guilt already gnawing at him. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”

Tigerlily gives him a look, arms crossed. “Well… yeah. You did a somersault at my wedding and faceplanted.”

“I was going to stick the landing,” Chris mutters.

You lean against the edge of the bed, lifting a brow. “And I was going to marry the Danish prince. Things change.”

He huffs. “I’m sorry. Both of you. I really—”

“As much as I enjoy seeing you in pain,” you cut in dryly, a glint of playfulness in your eyes, “you’re not allowed to die yet. You still have to live long enough to see your future grandkids.”

Tigerlily lets out a laugh, bumping your shoulder affectionately. “And spoil them rotten.”

Chris gives a sheepish smile, his eyes softening as he looks at his daughter. “Speaking of… where’s Riley?”

“She’s with Julian at home,” you reassure him. “Eating the wedding cake and probably laughing at your fall in 4K.”

He winces. “Great. Viral before I even leave the hospital.”

“Only because someone decided to stage dive without warning,” Tigerlily teases.

Chris reaches for her hand and holds it gently. “I’m really sorry, cub.”

Tigerlily leans over and wraps her arms around him, careful not to bump his leg. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters. We’ll laugh about it—just… not tonight.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the tenderness in the room, your presence steady beside him, and his daughter’s embrace warm and forgiving.

-

Chris is sleeping, finally. You sit quietly beside his hospital bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His leg is elevated, stiff in the fresh cast, and his face is slack with exhaustion—lines of pain and embarrassment still etched faintly into his features. Your mind drifts back to Tigerlily’s words earlier, just after the doctor broke the news.

“Mom, can he stay with you for a while? Just until he’s okay enough to fly home?”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation in your answer. Of course. Because Chris is her dad. Because back home, no one’s really there to take care of him, not the way he needs. And Riley—sweet, spirited Riley—is far too young for the responsibility.

You reach out and gently adjust the blanket covering him, letting your fingers linger at the edge before slowly pulling back. Then, quietly, you rise and slip out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind you, and when you lift your eyes, you see Hyunjin. He’s waiting by the wall, casual and calm, but the worry in his eyes gives him away. When he spots you, he straightens, and the moment you’re close enough, he wraps you up in a warm, wordless hug. “You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, the scent of him—faint cologne and something undeniably his—settling your nerves. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He pulls back, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. He hands you a duffel bag and you peek inside to see clothes and a toiletry bag which you guess is packed by Tigerlily.

“Thank you,” you mutter with a soft smile. “How’s Riley?”

“Riley’s fine. Tigerlily and Julian are staying with her at your place.”

You nod again, and squeeze his hand in gratitude.

“Come on,” Hyunjin says gently, threading his fingers through yours. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

The café is empty except for some nurses and hospital staff fueling up for the night shift with loads of caffeine. You see Hyunjin returns from ordering coffee carrying a tray in his hands.

“Here,” he says, setting a cup of coffee in front of you and sliding over a small plate with a slice of cake and a few cookies. Then, without a word, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. It’s still warm from him, and you sink into it instinctively, the weight of it grounding you.

He sits down next to you, close enough that your knees bump under the table. “How’s Chris doing?” he asks, his voice low, concerned.

You wrap your hands around the coffee cup, exhaling. “The doctor said minimal movement. A lot of rest. Probably physical therapy later.” You pause before adding, “He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Hyunjin nods, sipping his drink slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

“And… it seems like he'll be staying at my place,” you say after a beat. “At least until he’s well enough to fly home.”

Hyunjin arches an eyebrow, but his expression is unreadable. “How do you feel about that?”

You look at him. “It’s fine, honestly. I want him to be taken care of. It’s just—” you exhale with a small smile, “—it means we’ll have to postpone the trip.”

A soft smile curves his lips. “That’s okay,” he says, reaching up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. “We’ll take that trip next time.”

You give him a grateful look, warmed by how easily he understands you. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Then you lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When you pull away, Hyunjin doesn’t miss a beat—he steals another kiss, a longer one, before finally letting you go with a grin.

You laugh under your breath and pick up your fork, digging into the cake, but just as you take the first bite, Hyunjin tilts his head and says with a playful smirk, “But are you sure that it's not some Chris's devious plans that he’s just trying to get back together with you by breaking his leg?”

You nearly choke on the cake as laughter bursts out of you. “Oh my god,” you say, dabbing your mouth with a napkin. “If that’s the case, you need a better plan than him.”

Hyunjin gasps, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Excuse me. My plan involves far fewer hospitals and much better wardrobe choices.”

You both dissolve into laughter, and for the first time in what feels like hours, everything feels light again.

-

The car ride is mostly quiet but every bump in the road sends a dull ache through his leg, wrapped tight in a stiff cast and resting on the backseat. Julian’s driving carefully, like he knows every pothole could ruin what little comfort Chris has left.

Tigerlily turns from the passenger seat every so often to check on him, her brows furrowed in that particular way she used to do as a kid when she was worried—when she didn’t know how to fix something but desperately wanted to. “We’re almost home, dad,” she says gently.

Chris gives her a half-smile. “You act like we’re going to war.”

When they finally pull up to the house, he sees you and Riley waiting on the front porch. You’re in comfy clothes, hair tied up, and Riley’s already halfway down the steps before the car fully stops. There’s something so warm and familiar about the sight, and despite the throb in his leg, Chris feels a little less miserable. As soon as the car is parked, Tigerlily and Julian jump out.

“Okay, slow and steady,” Julian says, opening the door and helping Chris swing his casted leg out. Tigerlily grabs the crutches from the trunk, adjusting them before handing them over.

“I feel like an ancient rock star,” Chris mutters, gripping the crutches and bracing himself for the awkward maneuvering.

Riley runs toward him, arms wide, throwing herself into a gentle hug. Chris chuckles and hugs her back. “I should break my leg more often if this is what it takes to get you to hug me.”

Riley pulls back just far enough to punch him lightly on the chest. “Don’t even joke about it!”

He yelps anyway, rubbing his chest like she really did damage. “Ow! Abuse to the disabled! Unbelievable.”

And then his eyes meet yours, and there it is—that look. You’re grinning, arms crossed, that same sparkle in your eyes that’s always both comforting and dangerous.

“You’ve never looked this good before, Chris,” you say, eyes trailing down to the crutches. “Remind me again why we got divorced?”

Chris arches a brow, smirking. “Well, it only took a traumatic injury, mild public humiliation, and a hospital bill to get your attention again. Worth it.”

Everyone laughs, and for a moment, the pain fades behind the easy rhythm of being home. With Tigerlily and Julian flanking him, Chris hobbles his way toward the door, Riley skipping ahead to hold it open. Together, you all step into the house—something about it feels like slipping into an old song. Familiar, comforting, and maybe… just a little unfinished.

Lunch is simple but comforting—crispy sandwiches, soup in mismatched bowls, and a pitcher of lemonade sweating on the table. Everyone digs in like they haven’t eaten in days, the laughter already bubbling before the first bite is finished.

Tigerlily is the first to strike. She pulls her phone out, turns it toward the group, and presses play. Chris hears it before he sees it—the familiar chords of The Bang Theory mid-performance, the cheers from the crowd, and then, in glorious high-definition: himself soaring off the stage like a man possessed before planting face-first into the floor.

“Okay, okay—” he tries, holding up his hand, but it’s too late.

Julian’s laughing so hard he nearly chokes on a piece of grilled cheese. “You looked like a rockstar… for three seconds.”

Riley is cackling, phone in hand. “Dad, it’s everywhere. You're all over the fyp page. There’s already a remix version of it.”

Chris buries his face in his hands. “I was on adrenaline! The music took over!”

You’re laughing behind your hand, trying and failing to keep it together. “Honestly, if you hadn’t broken your leg, I would’ve sworn you were doing a bit.”

He glares at his soup like it betrayed him. “This is how you all repay me? A lifetime of music, memories—and you sell me out for a meme?”

Tigerlily leans over and kisses the top of his head. “We love you, dad.”

Chris lets out a huff, but he’s smiling. He can’t help it. This—this table, this meal, this stupid video on loop—is everything. Maybe he didn’t need a reunion tour. Maybe everything he ever needed was already right here. He reaches for his spoon, winces at the pull in his side, and mumbles, “Next time I want attention, I’m just faking a fever.”

You snort. “Next time, try doing it without turning into a trending hashtag.”

The laughter gradually softens into easy chatter, plates half-cleared and soup bowls nearly empty. Chris leans back, shifting his leg on the stool propped beneath the table, and glances at Tigerlily and Julian seated side by side—her fingers laced through his, their shoulders bumping gently every now and then like they’ve always belonged to each other.

“So,” he begins, swirling what’s left of his lemonade. “Aren’t you two should be on your way to your honeymoon? Or are you two just going to live here and keep mocking your injured old man for the rest of the month?”

Tigerlily chuckles, squeezing Julian’s hand. “We’re actually heading to the airport in a couple hours.”

“Somewhere warm?” he asks.

Julian grins. “Somewhere sunny. No signal. Just naps and fruity drinks.”

Chris smiles. “Sounds perfect.”

Tigerlily rests her chin on her palm, eyes softening. “You don’t need to worry about anything, okay? Just focus on getting better. You’re the only person I know who manages to break a leg mid-performance.”

“Gotta keep it interesting.” He turns toward you now, gaze warm. “Thank you, seriously. For letting me crash at your place.”

You shrug, reaching for your drink with a teasing glint in your eyes. “Don’t thank me just yet. I’m planning to ditch you the second your daughter’s on that plane.”

Chris laughs, the sound light and genuine. “Ruthless.”

You lean in a little, mock-whispering, “You better hope you’re still viral by tomorrow. Sympathy’s on a timer.”

Everyone chuckles again, but the moment softens between the cracks of laughter. Chris looks at his daughter—his newlywed daughter—and then at you, still wearing the faint shimmer of the wedding makeup, still hosting him like it’s no burden at all, and he feels the quiet weight of gratitude anchor somewhere deep in his chest.

Tigerlily glances at her phone, sighs gently, then looks over at Julian. He gives her a small nod, already reaching for their bags near the door. “That’s our cue,” she says, standing up and smoothing her dress. “We should head out before traffic gets crazy.”

Chris feels his chest tighten, even if he hides it with a casual shrug. “You sure you don’t want to delay it a day or two? Maybe wait until my other leg’s broken too?”

Tigerlily grins and walks over, bending slightly to give him a gentle hug around the shoulders. “No more falling, please.”

Julian comes around to shake Chris’s hand, firm and respectful. “We’ll call once we land.”

“Or don’t,” Chris says. “Go have your fun. You’ve earned it.”

Tigerlily turns to you next, wrapping her arms around you in a long, lingering hug. “Thanks again—for everything. And for letting Dad stay.”

You smile and squeeze her tightly. “Just enjoy your honeymoon. Your dad’s already threatening to take over the guest room forever.”

“Then you can start charging him rent,” Tigerlily jokes, pulling back. She turns to Riley next, who gives her a hug that’s more of a shoulder bump, the kind that says she’s too cool for sentiment but still means it. “Take care of them for me, okay?”

Riley nods solemnly. “I’ll keep him from trying to somersault in the living room.”

“Hey!” Chris hisses in protest and followed by more laughter. The good kind.

Then, after one more round of hugs and kisses, Tigerlily and Julian are out the door, dragging their suitcases down the porch steps. You and Chris watch from the entryway, standing side by side in silence as they wave one last time before disappearing into the car.

Chris lets out a quiet breath, his voice softer than before. “She is someone’s wife now.”

You glance at him, lips curling gently. “Yeah. She is.”

He leans a little on his crutch. “God, I���m old.”

You chuckle. “You’re not old. Just broken.”

He grins at that, and the two of you step back inside, closing the door behind you.

-

Later after dinner, the house is quiet in that peaceful, lived-in way. The clatter of dishes has faded, replaced by the soft hum of conversation and the occasional laugh echoing from the kitchen. Riley’s been helping dry the plates while you rinse them, the two of you slipping into an easy rhythm that makes Chris feel like something out of a memory.

Once the last dish is tucked away, Riley leans against the counter, drying her hands on a towel. “Hey, Dad,” she says casually—too casually. “Can I go hang out with Maude for a bit?”

Chris immediately frowns. “Aren't you flying home tomorrow?”

“C’mon,” she groans. “It’s not like I’m leaving tonight.”

“She has a point,” you say, stepping in beside her, your elbow brushing his. “She’s packed and everything. Let her enjoy the town with her friend.”

Chris looks between the two of you, instantly outnumbered. Riley with her pleading eyes. You with that soft, knowing look that says you already know he’s going to cave. He exhales. “Fine. But—”

“Since she’s staying at my house,” you cut in with a smirk, “she has to follow my rules.”

Riley straightens, hopeful as you turn to face her. “Home by ten,” you say.

Riley immediately groans, “Ten? Come on.”

Chris crosses his arms, backing you up. “Ten’s fair.”

Riley’s already scheming. “Eleven?”

You tilt your head. “Ten-thirty.”

And she grins, victorious. “Deal.”

She steps forward to give Chris a quick hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

Then she leans in and gives you one, just as quick, before darting out of the kitchen and up the stairs to get changed. Chris turns slowly toward you, brow raised. “You’re spoiling her.”

You only smile at him, utterly unapologetic. “Don’t act like you haven’t done the same with Tigerlily.”

Done with tidying up the kitchen, you help ease Chris down onto the sofa, one hand supporting his arm while the other steadies his casted leg as he shifts with a wince. The cushions swallow him up in familiar softness, and he exhales a long breath through his nose.

“I feel bad,” he mutters, adjusting the blanket you toss over his lap. “Making you take care of me like this.”

You shake your head, brushing him off with a wave of your hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d do the same for me.”

Chris watches you for a moment, quietly grateful, quietly thinking. Then, with a little more caution, he says, “Is your boyfriend okay with me staying here?”

You glance at him, one brow lifting. “You mean Hyunjin?”

Chris nods, and his expression twists in confusion. “Remind me again—what does he do?”

You chuckle softly as you reach for the mug on the coffee table and hand it to him. “He’s a pottery artist. And yes, he’s fine with it. He gets it. He’s busy prepping for his next exhibition anyway.”

Chris sips from the mug and hums thoughtfully, then side-eyes you. “So… how far are you two?”

You shoot him a dry look. “We’re taking it slow.”

He nods, accepting that. “Good. I like seeing you happy.”

That makes you shyly smile. “And I like seeing you in pain.”

Chris groans, dropping his head back against the cushion. “When will people stop teasing me about this?”

You laugh, rising from your seat. “When it stops being funny.”

He watches you walk toward the hallway. “Where are you going now?”

“To get your meds,” you call over your shoulder. “So you’ll heal faster and be out of my hair sooner.”

Chris chuckles, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Brutal,” he murmurs to himself, but there’s no mistaking the warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It takes a little while, but with your help, Chris eventually makes it to the guest bedroom—the one with the soft blue sheets and the window that catches the morning light just right. You move slowly with him, patient as ever, guiding him as he hobbles in on crutches, then helping him sit, then lie back, careful not to jostle his cast.

You fuss with the blanket, tucking it around him like he's not a grown man but someone still worthy of being taken care of. It makes something ache in his chest—something soft and unfamiliar.

Chris watches you adjust the pillow beneath his head. “Hey, can you check on Riley for me?” he asks quietly.

You smile as you sit at the edge of the bed. “I called Maude. She and Riley are already on their way home. She’s fine, Chris. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m her dad,” he says, voice dry. “Worrying’s kind of the gig.”

You reach out and briefly brush his hair from his forehead in the same way you used to when he’d stay over during tours and couldn’t sleep. “I’ll worry enough for the both of us. You just sleep.”

He nods, the heaviness of the day settling into his bones now that the adrenaline is gone. You rise from the bed and head for the door.

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say gently, your silhouette framed in the soft glow from the hallway.

“Night,” he murmurs.

The door clicks softly shut, and the room falls into a comforting dimness. Outside, he can faintly hear the wind brushing past the window, and somewhere further off, maybe Tigerlily’s laugh as the front door creaks open.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Chris exhales and feels the tension ease from his chest. He’s not on tour, he’s not chasing time—he’s home, or something close to it. And for the first time in a long time, he feels at ease.

-

The morning light is soft, filtering through the pale curtains of Tigerlily’s old room. You gently push the door open and find Riley sitting cross-legged on the bed, her open suitcase in front of her, carefully folding clothes with a quiet focus. Her hair is a little messy from sleep, and the room still smells faintly of the floral shampoo she used the night before.

From the doorway, you clear your throat. “Hey, Riley bear. I think you're forgetting something,” you say, holding up the pastel slip dress she wore to the rehearsal dinner, draped gently over your arm.

Riley looks up, her eyes wide. “Wait—is that...?” She scrambles to her feet and gasps. “Are you giving me the dress?”

You nod, smiling. “It’s yours now.”

She beams as she takes it from you with reverent hands, smoothing out the fabric like it’s something sacred. “Thank you so much,” she says softly, folding it carefully and placing it into her suitcase.

You cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed. “Your dad called your mom and she’ll pick you up at the airport.”

Riley nods without looking up, adjusting something in her bag. “Is Dad going to be okay?”

You glance toward the window, your thoughts momentarily drifting to Chris snoring softly on the couch with his leg propped up on a mountain of pillows. “Of course. Don’t worry about him—just focus on your school, okay?”

She pauses and then glances at you with a knowing smile. “I’m not worried,” she says. “You’re taking care of him.”

You grin and slightly roll your eyes. “Obviously. I’m a world-class babysitter.”

She laughs at that, a bright, clear sound, and you pat the space next to you on the bed. Riley plops down beside you, and you drape an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.

“You can come here whenever you want, you know,” you tell her. “You can borrow more dresses—or hang out. If you don’t mind hanging out with an old lady like me.”

Riley leans her head against your shoulder. “You’re not that old,” she says. “And you’re cool.”

You gasp dramatically. “Coming from you? That’s a high honor.”

The two of you burst into laughter, and the sound fills the room—warm, bright, and easy.

Later that afternoon, you sit behind the wheel, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel as the engine hums softly. From the driver’s seat, you watch through the windshield as Chris leans against his crutches on the front porch. Riley stands in front of him, her bag already tucked in the trunk, her hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands. They’re saying goodbye.

Chris wraps one arm around her in a hug, pulling her in with a gentleness that always catches you off guard. He leans his head down, murmurs something into her ear that makes her laugh through a tearful smile, and then he presses a kiss to her temple—tender, lingering.

And just like that, you’re back in time. A younger Chris, crouched down by the sidewalk with little Tigerlily in his arms. Her pigtails bouncing, her cheeks sticky from popsicle syrup, her tiny arms thrown around his neck. He’d done the same thing then—held her close, kissed her on the temple, whispered a promise into her ear before sending her off with you.

Now here he is, older, slower, but still her father. And Riley—well, she knows she's not his only daughter, but there’s something in the way she leans into him like she knows she can rely her life on him and that's special. Precious.

You glance away, giving them a private moment. A beat later, Riley climbs into the passenger seat beside you, her eyes a little glassy but her smile firm.

“All good?” you ask softly.

She nods. “Yeah.”

In the rearview mirror, you catch a final glimpse of Chris waving, his expression unreadable, before you pull away from the curb. As you drive toward the airport, Riley leans her head against the window, and you feel something settle quietly in your chest—warm and bittersweet. Some goodbyes never get easier.

-

From his spot on the living room sofa, Chris watches the way you move in the kitchen—fluid, relaxed, a wooden spoon in one hand, a faint hum in your throat as the scent of garlic and something rich fills the air. There's something quietly mesmerizing about the scene, the domesticity of it, the warmth.

“Need help with anything?” he asks, shifting his casted leg slightly on the ottoman.

You glance over your shoulder and smile, that soft kind of smile that’s always caught him off guard. “Yeah, you can sit there and look pretty. Maybe put on something good for me to cook to?”

Chris snorts. “So I’m the house DJ now?”

“That, and the broken mascot,” you tease.

He laughs, grabbing his phone and flipping through a playlist. “Alright. Your soundtrack is ready.”

A mellow tune begins to play—something old, probably something from the Bang Theory days because you’ve always had a thing for nostalgia—and you give a little sway of your hips as you stir the pot. Chris chuckles under his breath. “You always dance when you cook?”

“Only when I have a pretty audience,” you toss back, not even looking at him.

“Flatterer.”

You smirk, but before you can reply, the doorbell rings, cutting through the moment. You set the spoon down and wipe your hands on a towel before heading toward the door.

Chris stays put, listening. He hears the quiet murmur of exchanged greetings, too muffled to catch the words. Then footsteps—two sets—approaching.

You return a few moments later, and this time, you’re not alone. Behind you is Hyunjin, tall and graceful as ever, a fruit basket cradled in one arm and a polite smile on his face. Chris sits up straighter instinctively, caught a little off-guard by the sudden shift in the energy.

“Hey,” Hyunjin says with easy warmth. “Thought I’d drop by. Brought this for you.”

Hyunjin holds out the basket toward Chris and he manages a smile, nodding at the gesture. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Hyunjin replies, settling into the space like he belongs there.

And maybe, Chris thinks, watching the way you smile at Hyunjin as you gently nudge the door closed, maybe he does.

Dinner is simple but delicious—roasted chicken, potatoes, something green that Chris can’t name but eats anyway because it tastes good and you cooked it. The three of you sit around the dining table, the evening soft and mellow, the lighting warm enough to make the moment feel like it’s been pulled from a memory he hasn’t made yet.

“So there was this one time,” Chris says, leaning back in his chair, “we were playing a festival in Brazil—middle of a thunderstorm, the power cuts out mid-song, and our drummer thinks, ‘This is the perfect time for a solo.’” He grins. “Dude went wild. People thought it was part of the act.”

You chuckle, eyes crinkling. “That actually sounds kind of iconic.”

“Oh, it was. We got soaked, the whole stage nearly collapsed, and we ended the night with someone handing us a baby monkey like it was a trophy.”

Hyunjin laughs—open and genuine, the kind of laugh Chris respects. “That’s a hell of a story. I feel like I’m not living enough.”

Chris raises his glass. “You’re dating her. That’s living dangerously.”

You roll your eyes as you reach over to steal a bite of Hyunjin’s salad like it’s the most natural thing, and Hyunjin just slides the bowl closer to you without a word, like he already expected you to do that.

Chris watches it all unfold—your subtle smiles, the way Hyunjin’s hand rests lightly on the back of your chair, your legs brushing beneath the table. It's not dramatic or flashy. It's quiet affection, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word.

You’ve always been soft with the people you love, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen you like this—content, calm, at ease. And even though there’s a dull ache in his leg and maybe a sharper one in his chest he doesn’t want to name, Chris finds himself smiling too.

-

Chris is in rare form tonight—witty, nosy, and clearly trying to establish dominance from the corner of the living room where he's lounging like some kind of injured rockstar king. You knew the moment Hyunjin walked through the door with that fruit basket that Chris was going to put him through something resembling a war trial masked as small talk and he doesn’t disappoint. You’re curled up next to Hyunjin on the couch, sipping tea when Chris starts his ambush.

“So, Hyunjin,” Chris says, swirling his water like it’s wine. “What are your intentions with our dear girl here?”

You groan. “Chris…”

But Hyunjin just smiles, unfazed. “Good ones,” he replies easily.

Chris narrows his eyes. “Define good.”

“Chris!” you scold, half-laughing, half-mortified.

Hyunjin glances at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “I mean that I care about her. I think she's incredible. I respect her. I’m not here to mess around.”

Chris pretends to be unimpressed, asking question after ridiculous question—about changing tires, knowing your coffee order, and even how he handles power tools. It’s ridiculous. But what surprises you the most is how calm Hyunjin stays. Charming, even. He doesn’t squirm. He doesn't falter. And he answers everything with a kind of quiet grace that makes your heart clench.

“You pay attention,” you murmur, impressed.

Hyunjin offers you a small smile. “Always.”

Chris blinks. You swear, for a second, even he’s impressed. Though of course, he hides it behind a grumble. “Barely passed.”

“Chris, you're scaring him away,” you say, nudging Chris’s foot with yours.

Chris shrugs. “Good. If he scares easy, he’s not worth it.”

Hyunjin laughs. “I’m not scared.”

Chris studies him again, then leans back with a groan, giving his approval in the most Chris-like way—by pretending to be annoyed. “Alright. Interrogation’s over. You can breathe again.”

You roll your eyes and grin, settling back against Hyunjin as the conversation shifts into easy territory—stories from Chris’s band days, the kind that are so ridiculous they don’t even sound real, and you’re not sure how much is fact and how much is filtered through nostalgia.

Still, the atmosphere is soft. Comfortable. Hyunjin’s arm is warm around you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. And Chris—even with his broken leg and sarcasm—is clearly enjoying the company.

It feels like something real. Something warm and human and a little chaotic in the best way. And when Hyunjin calls it that he's overstaying his visit, you let out a sigh of relief. Relieved because you can finally get Hyunjin away from Chris and the side effects of the painkillers he's taking.

Hyunjin slips his shoes on slowly, like he’s stalling—like he’s not quite ready to go yet. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, looking at you with that sweet, sleepy glint in his eyes. His voice is low, a little rough, like the night settled into his throat.

You smile at him, soft and warm. “You can thank me for it in another way.”

His brows lift, but the smirk that follows is immediate. He knows exactly what you mean. Without another word, Hyunjin steps closer, arms circling around your waist, drawing you to him until your bodies are pressed together. He leans in and kisses you—hard, deep, like he’s been holding it in all night. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

When he pulls away, his voice is a murmur against your lips. “I missed you.”

You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb along his skin before kissing him back—this time slower, but just as full of everything you haven’t said out loud. “I missed you too.”

He doesn’t let go. His hands stay firm on your back, and you don’t try to move either. You just lean into the warmth of him for a second longer, until he breaks the silence again.

“Can I take you out this Friday night?” he pauses for a second, his eyes glint mischievously. “Or do I have to ask Chris’s permission first?”

You snort, lightly swatting his chest. “No, but I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into. I need to know what to wear.”

He only leans in, brushing a kiss against your lips. “Can’t tell you that. It’s a surprise.”

You roll your eyes at him, but it’s fond. “Fine,” you say, already knowing you’d say yes anyway. “I’ll go.”

And then he kisses you again—deeper, harder, with more heat and just enough tongue that when he finally pulls away, you’re gasping softly, blinking up at him.

“Goodnight,” Hyunjin says innocently, but his smirk gives him away as he slowly backs toward his car.

“Goodnight,” you manage, a little dazed as you wave, watching him drive off into the night.

Your lips still tingle from the kiss, and there’s a flutter in your chest that doesn’t quite settle even after the taillights disappear. Friday can’t come soon enough.

-

The water is warm, and for a little while, Chris almost forgets about the ridiculous cast on his leg, sticking out over the edge of the tub like some awkward decoration. He leans back, arms stretched along the sides, eyes closed, letting the steam ease the tension in his shoulders. Getting into the bath wasn’t easy, but he managed. Getting out, though… that’s a different story.

He stares at the edge of the tub, doing the math in his head. No grip, no proper leverage, one working leg. He shifts, trying to maneuver his body upright, and winces. Nope. Not happening.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters under his breath.

A minute passes. Two. His pride holds the line for as long as it can before it finally caves. “Hey!” he calls out, voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. “Can I get a little help in here?”

Footsteps approach. The door creaks open and you peek your head in. “Everything okay?”

Chris sighs, shoulders slumping. “I, uh… didn’t really think through the getting out part.”

You suppress a laugh as you walk in, crossing your arms. “Are you seriously embarrassed I might see you naked?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You used to scold me for walking around the house shirtless. ‘Put a top on, Christopher, there’s a child in this house!’ Sound familiar?”

You smirk and hold out your hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out before you prune.”

He takes your hand, the other gripping the edge of the tub. With a grunt, he lifts himself—but pushes too hard. His wet body stumbles forward, crashing into yours. Water drips onto your dress as he presses against you for balance. “Shit—sorry,” he says quickly.

You snort at the way he holds you so tightly as he steadies himself. “Just stay hold on to me as I grab a towel for you, okay?”

He obeys, clinging to you as you reach for the shelf and grab a clean towel from the top of the stack. Once you get it, Chris slowly pulls back while grabbing the towel you shove at him.

You step away, but not before he sees it: your dress, soaked and clinging to you, almost transparent. His eyes widen and he quickly looks anywhere else. “I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, grabbing another towel for yourself. “Not the first time I’ve ended up wet because of you.”

Chris lets out a surprised laugh, choking on it halfway through. “Wow. Okay.”

You glance at him as you towel off. “Need help with anything else?”

He grins. “Well, if you’re offering… can you dress me too?”

Your towel lands on his chest with a thud. “Don’t get too comfortable, rockstar.”

You’re already walking out as he starts laughing, water still dripping from his hair. And even though he’s half-naked and slightly humiliated, he’s smiling.

Freshly dressed, Chris walks out of the bedroom, the soft thump of his crutch echoing down the hallway. He makes his way to the kitchen, and when he gets there, he pauses. On the dining table is a single plate, carefully prepared and still warm. Just one. He furrows his brows, glancing around. “Hey, why’s there only dinner for one?”

He fills a glass of water from the sink, and just as he takes a sip, he hears the sound of your footsteps descending the stairs. He turns toward the sound—and stops. You appear at the base of the stairs, dressed in a black dress, your hair swept up to show the curve of your neck. There's a light touch of makeup on your face, your lips painted a vivid shade of red. You look… radiant.

“Forgot to tell you I’m going out with Hyunjin tonight,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder.

Chris stares for a second too long before blinking and offering a small, stunned smile. “Whoa. You look… incredible.”

A soft blush colors your cheeks as you give him a flustered laugh. “Thanks. And I’ll probably be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Chris nods, pushing down the little twist in his chest. “Have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

You’re already halfway to the door when you turn and smirk at him. “I’m not worrying. Not after you tried to stage dive at your age.”

Chris groans with a laugh. “I’ll never live that down, huh?”

You shake your head, heading for the door when he calls out, “Hey—wait.”

You pause, turning on your heel to face him.

“You should wear your hair down,” he says, his voice softer now, sincere.

You blink, confused for a moment, but slowly reach up, pulling out the pins and ties holding your hair up. It falls over your shoulders in gentle waves.

Chris smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers for a beat too long. “You’re more beautiful with your hair down.”

Your gaze lingers on his for a second, touched. “Thanks, Chris.”

He nods, and you quietly slip out the door. Just before it clicks shut, your voice drifts back in. “Goodnight.”

Chris stands in the kitchen, the soft echoes of your heels fading away down the path.

“Goodnight,” he says, but you’re already gone and suddenly, the room feels a lot quieter without you.

-

The restaurant is quiet, tucked away behind ivy-covered walls and glowing lanterns, the kind of place you’d only know about if someone had whispered it to you like a secret. The lighting is soft and golden, and your heels click softly against the floor as you settle into your seat across from Hyunjin. He looks good tonight—black button-down rolled at the sleeves, a silver chain catching the low light. His buzzed hair has grown longer and you like the way his eyes soften when they land on you.

You’re halfway unfolding your napkin when he leans forward, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Did Chris say anything about you going out tonight?”

You snort, reaching for your water. “What, do you think he’d ground me or something?”

Hyunjin shrugs, casual, but you catch the glint of something teasing in his eyes. “He lives with you. I just don’t want to get between the retired rockstar and his… babysitter.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “Chris is fine. He’s got a warm meal, his pain meds, and his laptop. He’ll live.”

“Which means,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice dipping a little lower, “you’re all mine tonight?”

You arch a brow, leaning forward so your elbows rest against the table. “Aren’t I always yours?”

That makes his gaze darken just enough, his posture shifting ever so slightly before he mirrors your movement, leaning in until your faces are only inches apart. His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s warm and slow at first—but deepens fast. The kind of kiss that curls heat low in your belly, that makes you forget, for a moment, that you're in public.

When you finally pull away, slightly breathless, you catch the smudge of your lipstick staining the corner of his mouth and laugh under your breath as you reach for a napkin. “Hold still, potter boy,” you murmur while dabbing at his lips. “Can’t have you looking like you just made out with this old lady.”

Hyunjin grins, tilting his face toward your touch. “Which in my defense only makes it hotter.”

The taste of rosemary and lemon still lingering on your tongue from the appetizer as you swirl your glass of red wine, catching the way Hyunjin’s eyes fixed on you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. “You’re being very mysterious tonight.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Am I?”

You nod, leaning forward just a little. “You said this wasn’t the only stop tonight. Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or do I have to keep guessing?”

He chuckles softly, setting his glass down. “Depends. What’s your guess?”

You tap a finger against your lips thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in mock concentration. “It’s either something very artsy, like a pop-up gallery you’re secretly featured in… or something romantic, like a rooftop somewhere with fairy lights and dessert.”

“Both interesting guesses,” he says, his smile growing. “But no.”

You squint. “Okay, now I’m even more curious.”

Hyunjin leans in across the table, his voice low, playful. “I’ll tell you this much—it’s something I’ve been wanting to do with you for a while.”

Your heart flutters a little at that. “That’s vague. And mildly dangerous.”

He laughs again, then reaches for your hand, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

You glance down at your joined hands, then back up at him, letting a soft smile tug at your lips. “I already like this.”

And you mean it. Whatever he’s planned, wherever the night goes, it’s already perfect—because he’s here, looking at you like that.

-

Hyunjin parks the car behind a nondescript building, the kind of place that looks more like a storage warehouse than a destination for a Friday night. You glance around as he cuts the engine, confusion twisting your brows. There’s no sign, no line of people, nothing to give it away. Just a dim back alley and the sound of distant city life.

Before you can ask, Hyunjin shrugs off his jacket and gets out, circling around to your side. He opens the passenger door for you with that easy charm, his hand already extended for yours.

You take it, stepping out in your heels, eyeing him with growing curiosity. “Okay,” you start, suspicious, “are you finally going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

But Hyunjin just grins, lips twitching as he leans in close. “Trust me,” he says, voice warm, “just come with me.”

So you do as he leads you through a side door tucked into the wall of the building. The hallway inside is narrow and dimly lit, almost like a service entrance. Every step you take makes the mystery grow thicker. “You know this is the kind of hallway where people get murdered in thrillers, right?” you mutter.

Hyunjin only chuckles and squeezes your hand. The further you walk, the louder the music becomes—low, thumping, vibrating faintly through the floors and walls. You exchange a glance with him, eyebrows raised, but he still gives nothing away. Just that quiet smile. Then you push through a final door, and suddenly you’re hit with the dim light and pulsing energy of a crowded venue. You blink, your eyes adjusting to the haze and strobes overhead, taking in the press of bodies all facing one direction. A stage sits under soft red lights, still empty—but the crowd’s buzzing. Waiting.

Hyunjin wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you through the crowd until you find a decent spot near the side of the room. You’re about to ask what this place is—what kind of event this even is—when the cheers erupt. You snap your head toward the stage. One by one, people step into view: guitarists, a drummer, a keyboardist. And then—her.

It takes you a second to believe your eyes. She’s changed, older now, but unmistakable—her. Your favorite singer. The former lead vocalist of the band you practically worshipped as a teenager. The one whose songs you screamed into your pillow and played on repeat during every heartbreak. She steps up to the mic with a knowing smile and starts singing, her voice carrying years of history and grit and something raw that punches you right in the chest. You whip your head around, mouth parting as you stare at Hyunjin in disbelief. He’s already watching you, smiling like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Are you serious right now?” you shout over the music, eyes wide.

He leans in, his mouth close to your ear. “You said you never got to see her live,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Thought it was about time you did.”

You don’t even realize you’ve grabbed his face until your hands are on his cheeks, kissing him hard in the middle of the crowd, your heart pounding like it’s synced to the bass.

He laughs into the kiss, then wraps his arms around you and sways with you to the music as your favorite song from years ago floods the room.

It doesn't take long to make you lose yourself in the music. The moment your favorite song spills from the speakers, something in you lights up. You’re dancing before you even realize it—arms swaying, hips moving, mouth shouting every lyric like it’s still 1994 and you’ve got posters on your wall and heartbreak in your chest.

And Hyunjin—God, Hyunjin—isn’t even pretending to watch the stage. He’s watching you. You can feel his gaze like a touch. Even in the shifting lights and the chaos of the crowd, you know he’s locked in on you, drinking you in like the music was just the opening act and you are the real show.

You spin around to face him mid-chorus, laughing breathlessly, and before he can say a word, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him—fast, messy, a little off-center from all the movement, but so full of joy it makes your chest ache.

He laughs into the kiss, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other already sliding around your waist as the next song kicks in. It’s another one you love, and you turn in his arms, still moving with the beat, still singing at the top of your lungs as he pulls you close from behind.

Hyunjin sways with you, slow and lazy, despite the fast tempo of the music. He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth of his smile against your skin as he holds you tighter and lets you scream every lyric like you’re sixteen again and nothing in the world hurts.

You’re not thinking about anything else—not Chris, not real life, not what tomorrow might bring. Just this moment. Just this music. Just Hyunjin, dancing with you under the haze of stage lights, letting you steal the spotlight without even trying.

-

The night air is cool against your flushed skin as you walk barefoot in Hyunjin’s shoes—your heels dangling from his hand while he strolls beside you in his black socks, not caring about it as long as you're walking comfortably next to him. You glance at him every now and then, both of you worn out but glowing, your fingers linked as you quietly head back toward the car. Your feet ache, your voice is raw from screaming lyrics, your cheeks hurt from smiling too much—and still, you feel like you’re floating.

Hyunjin breaks the silence first, voice low and soft, “Are you happy?”

You nod right away, not even needing to think. “I’m really happy,” you say, exhaling the words like a warm breath in winter. “Like… stupidly happy.”

His mouth curls into that sweet smile of his, the one that always melts you. “Then I’m happy too.”

You clutch his arm tighter and lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth, quick and playful, and he chuckles, the sound rich and fond, watching you like you’re his whole world wrapped in a black dress and someone else’s shoes.

When you reach the car, Hyunjin opens the door for you like he always does—gentle, thoughtful—but just as you’re about to get in, he asks, “Ready to go home?”

You stop and look up at him, something new sparking in your eyes. “I don’t want to go home,” you murmur.

Hyunjin blinks, brows lifting slightly. You pause, then add, with a soft, shy smile tugging at your lips, “I want to spend the night at my boyfriend’s place.”

His face warms instantly, that surprised grin spreading across it like sunlight. And before he can say a word, you lean in and kiss him again—slow, sure, a little deeper this time—like you’ve made your decision and now all that’s left is to feel the way he kisses you back, like he’s been waiting for you to say those exact words all night.

-

The two of you pushing through the door to Hyunjin’s apartment, tangled up in each other—lips crashing, breaths quick and heated. You're both laughing in between kisses, fumbling with shoes and jackets and anything that dares to be in the way. His keys clatter somewhere to the floor, forgotten.

Hyunjin backs you into the wall, his hands firm on your waist as his mouth finds yours again—this time slower, deeper, like he’s been holding this in all night and he’s finally letting go. His body presses into yours, solid and warm, and your hands slip under the hem of his shirt just to feel more of him, to anchor yourself to the heat of his skin. You gasp against his mouth when his fingers trail up your sides, drawing your body flush with his. Your leg hooks around his hip instinctively, keeping him close, needing him close.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, eyes dark and heavy with want, his lips swollen and parted like he’s struggling to catch his breath. “I don’t think I'd be able to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough.

You smile, playful and breathless. “Then don’t fight it.”

And he doesn’t. He kisses you again, this time deeper, more desperate. The world fades—just skin and sighs and the electric buzz between you. It's not rushed, but there's urgency, like you're both afraid the night might slip away if you don't hold it tight enough.

Hyunjin lifts you, carrying you through the low-lit apartment with ease, like he already knows exactly where he wants you, and your fingers find the back of his neck, holding on as your laughter melts into another kiss, dizzy and all-consuming. Next thing you know, you feel the cool press of the dining table beneath you as he sets you down on the edge, his lips never far from yours. The kiss deepens—hotter, heavier—and his hands grip your hips like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

“The way you looked tonight oh...” he murmurs against your mouth, each word laced with heat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”

You let out a soft, teasing laugh, lips brushing his. “What things?” you ask, already knowing, already craving.

“Sinful things,” he whispers, and his smirk sends a shiver down your spine.

That makes you giggle, and you kiss him again—hard, greedy—playfully tugging his bottom lip between your teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. He groans at that, low and throaty, before grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss turns messier, hungrier. Your fingers tangle in his hair, his hands roaming your sides, your back—like he can’t get enough. You’re both breathless, laughing in between the gasps, and yet neither of you want to stop. The tension between you crackles like fire.

Hyunjin rocks against you slowly, his hips pressing into your heating core with just enough friction to make your breath catch. Your foreheads pressed together, looking into each other’s eyes—and it’s there, clear as day. Want. Need. The palpable desire.

“I want it,” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes search yours, heat smoldering in the way he asks, “Here?”

You nod, lips brushing his. “I feel like doing something reckless tonight.”

That’s all it takes for his mouth to crash into yours again, urgent and wild, as the world narrows to just the two of you. Your hands fumble impatiently at Hyunjin’s waistband, tugging at his slacks like you can’t bear to wait another second. He lets out a breathy laugh, helping you get them down just enough before his hands find the hem of your dress. With practiced ease, his fingers slip beneath the fabric, hooking onto the elastic band of your underwear. In one smooth motion, he pulls them down your legs, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. The hem of your dress bunches up around your waist as he parts your legs, spreading you open before him—and the way his eyes darken, the way his lips part like he’s forgetting how to breathe, tells you everything. He's practically salivating at the sight of your throbbing cunt but something holds him back.

“What are you waiting for, mmh?” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

Hyunjin hesitates, brushing his thumb gently against your thigh. “Is it okay… to do it without protection?”

You smile at that, your hand sliding down to wrap gently around his cock, hot and pulsating in your palm. He twitches in your grasp, his breath hitching as you slowly stroke him.

“I want to feel all of you tonight,” you say, kissing the hollow of his throat, your lips lingering there. Then, in a sultry whisper, “Don’t you want to feel all of me too?”

The look in his eyes is molten—his restraint slipping fast. You guide him to you, the heat between your bodies coiling tighter with every breath, every second. As you align him at your entrance and put just the tip inside you, letting him to do the rest. It takes a second until he finally caves, groaning softly as he pushes the remaining length into you, slow and deep, until he’s buried to the hilt. Your head falls back, his name a whisper on your lips and from there, there’s no stopping either of you—only the rhythm you fall into, lost in the feeling of being completely, recklessly consumed.

Hyunjin moves with desperate need, his hips driving into you with a hard, steady rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Your lips stay tangled in a messy, open-mouthed kiss—teeth grazing, tongues colliding, moans swallowed into each other as you cling to him like you’ll unravel without the anchor of his body against yours. You shift against him, angling just right so he hits that perfect spot deep inside you, again and again. Your moans rise with each thrust, echoing through the apartment, shameless and sweet and full of heat.

He grips you tighter, one arm around your waist, the other braced on the table to keep you steady as he drives into you with everything he has. The world feels far away—there’s only him, only you, only this fire burning between your bodies.

It's raw, it's messy. It's this pure, primal need for each other that brings the two of you to your highs, crashing over both of you fast and hard. You fall apart together, your back arching as you cry out his name, and Hyunjin’s grip turns bruising for a moment as he gasps against your neck. He barely manages to pull out just in time, and you both glance down at the mess he leaves on your thighs—warm, pearly white sheen of his seed painted your skin, undeniable evidence of how far gone the two of you were. You look back up at him, breathless and flushed, and the grin on your face matches the one tugging at his lips—satisfied, dazed, and completely smitten.

Hyunjin leans in, still breathless, and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “That was so hot,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and a little dazed.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s still not ready to let go of the moment. Then, with a teasing grin, he pulls back just enough to whisper, “I’m never going to be able to eat at this table without thinking about this.”

You laugh, nudging your nose against his. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all,” he says, his hands tightening around your waist before crashing his lips onto yours again, a little more desperate, a little more possessive.

When you finally pull back, your lips still tingling, you glance over his shoulder and eye the living room sofa. You arch a brow and say with a playful gleam in your eyes, “I just had a new idea where we can do it next.”

Hyunjin follows your gaze, then looks back at you with a slow, wicked smile that tells you he’s more than on board. You slide off the edge of the dining table, your legs still a little shaky, and pull Hyunjin in for another heated kiss. As your lips move against his, you begin walking him backward—slow, careful steps until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the sofa. With a playful smirk, you give him a gentle push and he drops onto the cushions with a surprised laugh, eyes wide and dark with anticipation. He barely has time to react before you're kneeling between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs as you part them. Your smile turns sly, eyes twinkling with something mischievous as you reach for the front of his slacks.

“You're really not going to catch a break tonight,” you murmur, fingers already undoing his fly.

Hyunjin lets out a breathy laugh, his gaze locked on yours, heavy and full of want. You pull his cock free, your hand wrapping around him with a slow, teasing stroke that makes his breath hitch. You lean in close, your lips ghosting over the crest of his cock, not touching—just letting your warm breath tease him as your hand continues its lazy rhythm. His fingers tighten on the sofa cushions, and the way he looks at you—like he’s completely undone—only makes your grin widen. You glance up at him, lips brushing against the length of his shaft just enough to drive him mad.

“I want you to think of this whenever you sit on this sofa,” you whisper, voice low and sultry.

Your smile deepens as you lower your gaze, your fingers tightening just slightly around him. Hyunjin’s breath catches—his chest rising and falling a little faster now, his hands twitching like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or just watch. You lean in, placing a slow, teasing kiss on his abdomen first—just to tease—and then another, lower and closer to where he wants you this time. The tension in his body winds tighter with every second, and when you finally press your lips against his tip, his head tips back against the sofa with a soft, shaky groan.

You take your time, putting his length into you little by little, savoring every inch of him and at the same time, drawing a shudder out of him. Hyunjin’s hand finds the back of your head, not guiding—just resting, like he needs the anchor. You hum softly, letting him feel it, the feel of your mouth and how it's vibrating around him, and he mutters your name like it’s the only word he knows.

Every now and then, you glance up at him, locking eyes just long enough to watch him fall apart—his lips parted, his brows furrowed in disbelief at how good it feels. You know exactly what you're doing, and the satisfied curl of your mouth says it all.

Your lips curve around him with practiced ease, the slow rhythm you keep making Hyunjin melt deeper into the cushions beneath him. He’s breathing heavy now—chest rising and falling fast, hands gripping the sofa like he’s trying to ground himself, but it’s your name he whispers like a prayer. Then his fingers tangle in your hair—firm, maybe a little too much, but it tells you just how close he is. “Baby,” he gasps, voice ragged. “Wait—stop, please…”

You pull back, slow and teasing, your lips still curled in that wicked little smile. You look up at him, chest heaving, eyes dark and dazed, and swipe your tongue across your lower lip just to mess with him. “Too much?” you ask sweetly.

Hyunjin groans, swiping his thumb gently over your mouth, wiping away the last trace of your affection. “You’re too good at that,” he breathes, eyes flickering over your face. “I almost—God, I was so close.”

You tilt your head, playful. “So? What’s stopping you?”

He laughs, low and breathless, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek. “Because,” he says, his voice rough with want, “I want you on my bed next.”

Your smile turns softer, more dangerous somehow, and you slowly rise to your feet, eyes locked on his. “Then what are we waiting for?” you murmur.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word—he just sweeps you off your feet, literally, arms tucked beneath your back and knees as he carries you bridal style through the soft glow of the apartment. You giggle against his chest, your arms looped around his neck, heart fluttering with anticipation.

When he sets you down on the bed, it’s with a gentleness that contrasts the fire in his eyes. You sink into the plush bedding, propped up on your elbows as he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly peels off his clothes—first his shirt, then his slacks—revealing skin and toned muscle, each movement deliberate, unrushed. You drink him in, quietly, your gaze tracing the lines of his arms, the dip of his waist, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s just as breathless as you are. Every inch of him, familiar yet thrilling, makes the knot in your stomach tighten with each passing second.

Hyunjin smirks when he catches the way your lips part slightly, your eyes trailing shamelessly. “You’re staring,” he teases softly, voice low and warm.

You bite back a smile. “Can you blame me?” you whisper. “You’re kind of… irresistible.”

His eyes darken just a little more at that, and as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, he murmurs, “Good. Because I only undress like this for you.”

Hyunjin hovers above you, his bare skin brushing against yours as his hands move with reverence, peeling away the last of what you’re wearing until you’re bare beneath him. The air shifts between you, warm and charged, and he pulls back just enough to take you in—his gaze drinking you in with quiet awe. His fingers trail gently over your curves, slow and deliberate, as if committing you to memory. “I want all of this,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, like the weight of what he feels is almost too much to say aloud.

You meet his eyes, your hand reaching to rest against his cheek. “It’s yours,” you whisper softly.

His breath catches. “All of this? Really mine?”

You nod, pulling him down to you. “Wholly. Completely. Yours.”

He doesn’t respond right away—not with words, at least. Instead, he lowers himself until your lips meet, and in that kiss, there’s nothing held back. Just the certainty of belonging, of devotion, of everything unspoken that now lingers between you.

The mattress dips under his weight as he turns you over until you lay on your stomach and then settles himself behind you, he's pulling you close until your bodies align perfectly. He uses his fingers to tease your already soaked cunt, running them between the folds and pushing two digits to milk more arousal out of you, getting you ready for what's coming next. You're unable to look but you know that he's using the tip of his cock now to tease your entrance, wetting it with your arousal before finally pushing it in, entering you and not holding back from whimpering at the overwhelming sensation of being wrapped in your warm, tight walls.

Hyunjin slowly lowers himself, his chest meeting your back, his breath is warm against the back of your neck, his fingers firm at your waist, and when he moves—slowly at first—it draws a quiet, desperate sound from deep in your throat.

The bed creaks beneath the rhythm he sets, steady and hard, just the way you asked for it. You grip the sheets and whisper his name between gasps, urging him on, asking for more. “Harder, Hyunjin, please, harder!”

And every time you do, Hyunjin answers—thrusting deeper, faster, his hand slipping under you to stroke at your clit with knowing fingers.

It doesn’t take long before you're unraveling again, your body trembling as the pleasure crashes over you. But even through your haze, you manage to breathe out, “Don’t stop.”

He holds you tighter, chest pressed to your back as he chases his own release. You feel the tension in him, the way his body coils tighter with every movement, and when you sense he's close, you hurriedly grab his arm and pull it across your front. Turning your head just enough to meet his eyes, you whisper, “Don’t pull out.”

His response is a kiss—deep, messy, filled with heat—and you both tumble over the edge together, your bodies stay tangled close as he spills into you, filling you with his seed with one hand gently rubbing at your abdomen. His plush lips brushes your ear as he mutters, “Yeah, take all of me, baby, it's all yours.”

In the next moment, the room turns quiet, the only sounds are the slow, steady breaths the two of you share in the afterglow. Hyunjin doesn’t let you go—not even for a second. He’s wrapped around you, arms firm yet gentle, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he loosens his hold. His lips press against your shoulder, your jaw, the crown of your head, in soft, lingering kisses.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your skin, voice hushed. “For tonight. For letting me meet the you from back then. The one who sang her heart out to her favorite band and danced like nothing else mattered.”

You smile lazily at that, eyes already growing heavy. “I think she’s back in her current version cause she feels so sleepy… It’s way past her bedtime,” you mumble with a teasing pout, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

Hyunjin lets out a soft chuckle, brushing your hair away from your face before kissing your temple. “Then I’ll make sure that she sleeps well and have the sweetest dream tonight.”

He presses one last sweet kiss to your lips. “Goodnight, angel.”

Your sleepy smile lingers as you whisper back, “Goodnight…”

As your breathing slows and your thoughts begin to blur, a soft wave of happiness washes over you—warm and weightless. You fall asleep feeling safe in his arms, your heart full, and a quiet joy humming in your chest… because tonight, you got to relive your teenage years. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

-

Slivers of sunlight spills gently through the curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the bed. You stir slightly, feeling the warmth of a body beside you before you even open your eyes. When you do, it’s to the sight of Hyunjin lying on his side, watching you with that quiet, tender gaze that makes your heart flutter. His fingers are gently brushing strands of hair away from your face, careful not to wake you—though you’re already awake, and the way his lips curve into a sleepy smile lets you know he’s noticed.

“Good morning, angel,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, the heat of it lingering on your skin.

You groan a little, half your face disappearing under the duvet. “Morning…” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep, self-conscious about your messy hair and morning breath.

Hyunjin chuckles softly and keeps stroking your hair, his fingers moving with a kind of reverence. “How’d you sleep?”

You peek at him through the edge of the duvet and smile. “Excellent. Like a teenage girl who just lived her dream.”

That earns you a grin. “I’m glad.” He pauses, eyes dancing. “So, what do you want for breakfast?”

You blink. “You’re cooking?”

He nods, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “Of course. Why so surprised?”

Your smile grows wistful. “It’s been a long time since someone cooked me breakfast. A really long time…”

“Well,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle your nose, “that’s about to change.”

Your face lights up. “So I get to choose anything?”

“Anything,” he says, firm but playful. “After what you did last night? You deserve a five-star menu.”

At the mention of that, memories from last night flash in your mind—wild and sweet, messy and intimate—and your cheeks instantly heat. You cover your face again with the duvet, laughing quietly. “Don’t say it like that.”

He gently tugs the duvet back down so he can see your face. “Then tell me. What are you craving?”

You hum thoughtfully, then start listing things. “Pancakes. And eggs. A little fruit. Maybe hash browns? And coffee. Definitely coffee.”

“Coming right up,” he grins, cupping your jaw and brushing his thumb across your cheek. Then, with a lingering kiss to your lips—warm, unhurried—he slides out of bed. “Stay right here. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

You watch him head out, shirtless and tousled, your heart full and your soul wrapped in a kind of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. As he ordered, you stay lying on the bed, the sheets still warm from where Hyunjin had just been. The faint sound of him moving around in the kitchen drifts in from the other side of the apartment.

There’s a strange but comforting intimacy in it all, the kind you’ve only read about or seen in movies—the feeling of waking up in someone else’s bed not out of recklessness or mistake, but because you wanted to be there. Last night was wild, beautiful, tender, and real. And this morning feels just as special. The kind of morning where you could let the sun warm your skin, feel the softness of a stranger's sheets beneath you, and believe—just for a little while—that things are falling into place.

The weather outside looks gorgeous. Golden sunlight peeks through the curtain slits, dancing along the floor in quiet invitation. And you feel… good. Light. Like the day is already off to a perfect start. That is, until your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You reach over lazily and grab it, blinking a few times as your eyes adjust to the screen. Several missed calls from Chris stare back at you, along with a stream of increasingly chaotic texts. You can almost see him in your head—shirtless in sweatpants, hair a mess, glaring at the kitchen as if it’s personally offended him, a wooden spoon in one hand and a phone in the other. He’s probably fine. Probably. Unless he somehow manages to set a pot of water on fire. Again.

Chris isn’t exactly known for his domestic abilities, and the fact that he didn’t pick up when you called back immediately makes your stomach twist. You try calling him again. It rings. And rings. And rings. Then goes to voicemail.

“Crap.” Your smile fades and you sit up quickly, suddenly wide awake. Another call—no answer. You swing your legs off the bed, grabbing your phone and starting to pace. The texts didn’t sound urgent, but they were spaced apart, and the last one was ten minutes ago.

That’s long enough to set something on fire, your brain unhelpfully supplies.

"Okay, okay," you mutter to yourself, heart starting to race.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing last night’s dress and tugging it on in a rush. Your heels are somewhere near the couch—you’ll find them later. You barely run a hand through your hair before slipping your phone into your bag and heading for the door, fingers trembling slightly as you try calling him again and still no answer.

“Please don’t burn the house down, Chris,” you murmur under your breath as you tug the bedroom door open. “I swear, if I walk in and the smoke detector's going off…”

-

The house is quiet. Too quiet. Chris hobbles out of his bedroom, his cast thumping against the floor with every step. “Hello?” he calls, voice echoing through the empty space.

No answer. He checks the living room, then the kitchen, peering down the hallway just to be sure. Still no sign of you. He sighs, reaching for his phone. A couple of missed calls, a few texts sent your way already. All still unread. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You didn’t come home last night.

His thumb hovers over your name again, but he doesn’t call. Instead, he grabs the crutch and limps over to the kitchen. He’ll just make breakfast and deal with the radio silence later. Except—he doesn’t know where anything is.

He opens cabinet after cabinet, drawers clicking and clattering as he searches for the frying pan, the oil, the damn spatula. Nothing’s where he remembers it, or maybe it never was. The ache in his leg flares up the longer he stands, and when he finally locates everything he needs, he’s already drenched in frustration and sweat. One more step and a jolt of pain shoots through his knee.

“Forget it,” he mutters, grabbing the cereal box and slamming it on the counter. Milk. Bowl. Spoon. Fine.

He eats standing by the sink, crunching angrily through mouthfuls of cereal that taste like defeat. His leg throbs. His pride stings worse. All this because he couldn’t make himself a proper breakfast.

Chris pushes the bowl away and rubs a hand over his face, jaw tight. He feels useless. Pathetic even. Like he’s become a burden to himself. And with the house empty, your absence pressing on every wall like a bruise, that feeling only digs deeper. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he misses you and it’s barely 9 AM.

An hour later, Chris hears the front door open, followed by the distinct click of your heels on the floor and the rustling of something heavy in your arms. Then a dull thud as you drop a package on the kitchen island. You’re still in the same dress from last night, your hair tousled and windblown, cheeks flushed like you ran up the driveway.

“It’s for you,” you say, slightly breathless, nodding at the box. “Some music thing—I don’t know but it's from your label. The delivery guy left it on the porch.”

Chris doesn’t respond right away. His eyes scan you, lingering on the smudged makeup under your eyes, the wrinkled dress, the shoes dangling from your fingers. He doesn't mean to, but his frustration speaks first. “You didn’t come home,” he mutters, voice low but sharp.

“I know,” you say, taking a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to stay over—”

“You should’ve planned better,” Chris cuts in, his voice rising. “You could’ve said something.”

Your jaw clenches as you glance away, blinking hard. “I tried calling you—”

“And where were you, anyway? With that potter boy?” He leans against the counter, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. “You do know your boyfriend is like, what, ten years younger than you? You think he’s going to stick around when the novelty wears off?”

Your head jerks toward him, eyes narrowing. A cold, sarcastic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head in disbelief. “Why did I even apologize?” you mutter, more to yourself than him. “Why am I explaining anything when I came back to my own house?”

Chris opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already past the point of listening.

“You know what?” you snap, your voice cold now, sharp. “I’m not responsible for your reckless decision to try and play acrobatic at your daughter’s wedding. It's not my job to take care of you. But I still rushed back. Still tried to make things easier for you. And this—this is what I get?”

You clutch your heels and purse in your arms like a shield, fury radiating off of you in waves. “I try so hard to be good to you,” you continue, voice shaking with emotion, “but clearly, that’s not enough.”

And with that, you storm past him, heels thudding against the floor. “Such a nuisance,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

Your footsteps growing louder as you stomp your way up the stairs and disappear into your room, slamming the door behind you.

Chris stays rooted in place, staring at the box on the counter and for once, he doesn’t feel triumphant for speaking his mind. He just feels... empty.

-

The silence that hangs in the house is deafening. Chris lies back against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight of silence pressing down on him like a second blanket. No faint music playing from your phone, no clinking of dishes from the kitchen, not even your light footsteps moving from one room to another. Nothing. Just stillness. And he knows it’s because of him.

After this morning’s blow-up, you’ve been avoiding him—steering clear like he’s radioactive. He can hear you downstairs sometimes, your movements careful like you're making sure you won’t cross paths with him. You’ve barely said a word to him. Not a glance. Not even a sigh in his direction.

Chris hates it. He hates how cold the house feels without your presence filling it. And more than anything, he hates himself for making it that way. He runs a hand over his face, jaw clenched tight.

“God, I was such an asshole,” he mutters into the silence. His voice is small, as if even he’s afraid of hearing himself admit it.

You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t owe him an explanation. You were kind. Thoughtful. Rushed back home when he didn’t answer his phone. And how did he repay that? By lashing out like a bitter, insecure idiot. He squeezes his eyes shut, every word he’d spat at you replaying on a loop in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. You’re too old for him. He’s just using you. What if he gets bored?

None of that was true. It was just fear. And jealousy. Ugly things that came out of his mouth because for one second, he felt helpless—because of a damn broken leg and a bowl of cereal. You were just trying to take care of him.

Chris lets out a long sigh and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. If he could punch himself, he would. Hard. So instead, he stays in his room. Keeps his distance. He doesn’t want to upset you more than he already has. You need space, and he owes you that much—no, more. He owes you a real apology. But for now, he lets the house stay quiet, even though it kills him.

But then, Chris’s stomach growls—loud and insistent, reminding him he hasn’t eaten anything since that sad bowl of cereal this morning. He sits on the edge of the bed for a long moment, listening. No sound from downstairs so he figures it’s safe to come out of his bedroom.

Chris pads quietly out of his room, careful not to make any noise. He knows you're still home—he heard the water running in the upstairs bathroom earlier. But the silence between you has stretched long and heavy, and he doesn't want to intrude on your space unless he has to. He makes his way to the kitchen, limping slightly, his crutches tucked under his arms. The plan is simple: grab something from the fridge—leftovers, maybe an apple—and head back to the safety of his room, but then he stops.

There, on the dining table, is a plate of dinner. His dinner. A warm meal served neatly, steam still rising from it, and next to the plate, a folded napkin, his pain meds, and a glass of water. No note. No fanfare. Just quiet care. The kind that breaks his heart more than any fight ever could.

Chris stares at it for a long second, his throat tight. He doesn’t hear you—he doesn’t need to. He knows you left this out after he locked himself away all day. He knows you did it without saying a word, not for thanks or acknowledgment, but because despite everything, you still care. A quiet curse slips from his lips, full of regret. “Damn it.”

He sits down heavily at the table, setting his crutches aside and running a hand through his hair before picking up the fork. The food is warm, flavorful, perfectly cooked, but it tastes bittersweet. Because all he can think about is how you still made him dinner—even when he didn’t deserve it and that thought stays with him long after he finishes every last bite.

-

That night, sleep doesn't come easy to you. You're lying on your side, staring at the wall in the dim light of your bedroom, the silence pressing down like a weight on your chest. You've tossed and turned so much the sheets are a mess around your legs, and no matter how many times you close your eyes, your mind keeps going back to this morning. To the things you said to Chris. The way your voice shook in anger. The sound of your heels stomping up the stairs. Did I go too far? Did I say something I shouldn’t have?

You replay every word, overanalyzing each line and expression, each moment of silence that followed. He was frustrating, yes, but you knew he was hurting. You knew he was struggling. And maybe… maybe you should’ve been softer, should've been more understanding. With a heavy sigh, you roll over and grab your phone, blinking at the time. It’s late. Too late. Hyunjin’s probably already asleep. Still, you tap his name and call.

He picks up after a few rings, his voice soft and raspy with sleep. “Hey, beautiful.”

You press the phone to your ear, your voice low. “Were you sleeping?”

“No,” he lies, and you can tell he’s smiling. “I was just lying here thinking about you.”

That makes you giggle, quiet and shy. “What about me?”

“About last night. And everything we did. On this very bed.” His tone dips slightly, playful but full of warmth, and it sends a tingle through your chest.

You bury your face in your pillow to muffle your laugh. “Hyunjin…”

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” he teases. “You were a lot braver last night.”

You sigh, smile lingering on your lips. “I’m sorry, by the way… for leaving in such a hurry. I didn’t even eat the breakfast you made.”

“It’s okay,” he says easily. “I’ll make you breakfast again. But—” he pauses, then grumbles, “—you didn’t even kiss me goodbye. I was robbed.”

That makes your smile falter just slightly, your thoughts drifting back to how rushed and frazzled you were this morning. “I know… I’m sorry.”

There's a beat of silence, then Hyunjin speaks again, softer this time. “Is something bothering you?”

You're just about to answer—to let it all out, to tell him how badly you feel, how heavy it’s been sitting on your chest—when you hear the unmistakable sound of your car engine roaring to life. You bolt upright. “What the hell—”

You jump out of bed and rush to the window, heart hammering. “Hyunjin… I have to call you back.”

“What? Wait—”

You hang up without answering, panic crawling up your spine as you see someone in your driveway turning on your car. Barefoot and breathless, you grab your robe and dash downstairs, not even bothering to tie it properly, just praying you’re not too late—

You burst out the front door, feet slapping against the pavement, robe fluttering wildly around your legs. Your heart’s in your throat as you rush toward the car, shouting, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

The driver’s side door swings open—and your breath stumbles when you see who it is. Chris. Just sitting there, behind the wheel, completely nonplussed, with his casted leg awkwardly hanging out of the car and one hand loosely resting on the steering wheel like he’s about to take a casual Sunday drive.

You stop short beside the car, panting. “What the hell, Chris?”

He flinches slightly, then gives you a sheepish little grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I wanted to drive somewhere.”

You blink at him, completely dumbfounded. “You wanted to drive? With a broken leg?”

He shrugs. “I thought I’d figure it out.”

You stare at him. “Figure it out? Chris, you can’t even stand for more than five minutes without groaning like an old man!”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, eyes flicking away, “I got bored. The house was too quiet.”

You let out a long exhale, tugging the robe tighter around your waist. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I am kind of charming,” he says with an innocent grin, and that earns him a glare.

“Move,” you say firmly, jerking your thumb toward the other side. “Passenger seat. Now.”

Chris blinks. “What? Why?”

“I’ll drive,” you say, opening the door and gesturing for him to scoot. “Clearly you’re on a mission. Let’s go before you end up reversing into the neighbor’s mailbox.”

He hesitates, then sighs and hobbles over to the other side without another word. You slide behind the wheel, trying not to roll your eyes too hard as he settles in with a grunt. His cast bumps the dashboard, and he winces, but says nothing.

Once you start the car and pull out of the driveway, you finally glance over at him. “So… where exactly are we going?”

-

Chris stays quiet, hands resting on his lap as the streetlights painted soft orange patterns on the dashboard. The air in the car is still tense, but not sharp anymore—more like static, waiting to settle. He steals a few glances your way as you drive, noticing how your jaw tightens every time the silence stretches a little too long.

When the familiar glowing sign of a fast food chain appears, he mumbles, “Can we stop there?”

You don’t say anything, just pull into the drive-thru without comment, the tires crunching over gravel and painted lines. As the car rolls to a slow stop in front of the glowing speaker, you reach for the button to lower the window and say flatly, still not looking at him, “Go ahead. Tell them your order.”

Chris leans forward with an easy grin, eyes fixed on the menu board. “Okay, uh… one double cheeseburger with large fries, a six-piece nugget, a spicy chicken sandwich, oh—and a chocolate shake. Large.”

You shoot him a look, but he just shrugs. “I’m starving.”

Then he turns to you, voice gentler. “You want anything?”

You’re silent. Chris doesn’t press. He knows you’re still mad—and you have every right to be. Still, he tries. “C’mon… I know you can’t say no to a cheeseburger and fries.”

Your expression doesn’t budge, but then, after a beat of silence, you finally turn to the speaker and calmly add your own order—cheeseburger, fries, and a drink.

Chris grins, triumphant. “Knew it.”

You sigh like you’re annoyed, but the corner of your mouth twitches just enough to betray you. Turning to him, you arch a brow. “You’re paying for this.”

Chris stifles a laugh, holding both hands up in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of making you pay for your own peace offering.”

The salty air stings a little as it whips past his face, but Chris doesn’t really mind it. He’s too busy chewing on a burger that tastes far better than anything he’s managed to scrounge up at home lately. The two of you sit on the hood of the car, legs dangling as the sea stretches out endlessly in front of you, glimmering silver under the moonlight.

It’s quiet—just the faint crash of waves below and the crinkle of fast food wrappers between you. He knows he should say something. The words have been brewing since you pulled out of the driveway, since he saw your shoulders tense behind the wheel, your silence stretching longer than it ever should between two people who used to be everything to each other.

“I, uh…” Chris swallows thickly, then clears his throat. “I need to say something.”

You glance at him, not saying anything but not stopping him either.

“I was a dick this morning,” he admits. “And I said some really shitty things about you and your boyfriend. That wasn’t fair. Not to him—and definitely not to you.”

The burger suddenly doesn’t taste so good. He sets it down on the wrapper in his lap, staring out at the water like it might give him the right words. “It’s just… this broken leg, the meds, being stuck inside—I’m losing my mind a little. But that’s not an excuse. I lashed out because I was frustrated. And insecure. I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. He wonders if you’re going to stay silent. If he deserves it. But then you turn to him, your expression softer than he expects. “I accept your apology,” you say, voice gentle.

His eyes flick to yours, surprised. But you’re not done.

“And I’m sorry too. For saying mean things. For storming off like that.” You glance away, your voice quieter now. “You’re not a nuisance, Chris. I actually… like having you around.”

You actually like having him around? Before he can grin or say something stupid that might ruin the moment, you add flatly, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He lets out a low chuckle, warmth bubbling in his chest. He picks up his burger again, the bite he takes somehow lighter, easier. “Too late,” he says with a smirk.

The ocean glows faintly ahead, but he’s not looking at it anymore. His gaze lingers somewhere between the horizon and the truth that’s been sitting heavy in his chest for weeks now.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I’ve been feeling like everyone’s leaving me behind.”

You turn to look at him, and he feels your eyes even though he’s still staring ahead.

“It started when Rowan and I separated. Even though it was mutual, it still felt like this… severing. Of everything. Of home. Of normalcy.” He lets out a breath. “Then Tigerlily got married. And don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of her. So damn proud. But suddenly she’s not just my little girl anymore. She’s someone else’s now, too. And it hurts more than I thought it would.”

There’s a lump in his throat now, and he swallows it down. “And Rowan’s been calling, trying to take Riley with her for a while. Wants her to stay with her. And I get it, she’s her mother, she has a right, but I just…”

He pauses. You’re listening. That’s what gets to him the most. You’re actually listening. “I feel so alone, most days. Despite the music, despite the name, the fame, all of it. It means nothing when you’re eating cereal in an empty kitchen with a broken leg and no one to talk to. I don’t know who I’d even be right now if I wasn’t staying with you.”

He finally turns to you. “I got really happy when you let me stay,” he says honestly. “Like, actually happy. And—” he chuckles softly, “I don’t know if this makes me a complete idiot, but… I’m kinda glad I broke my leg.”

You swat his arm, just like he hoped you would. “Hey! Don’t even joke about that.”

But he catches your eyes, holds them there with something real. “I mean it,” he says, quieter this time. “I’m happy I’m here. With you.”

It slips out before he can stop it. Raw and unfiltered. And for a second, he sees something flicker in your expression—something unspoken but shared. Then you laugh. “It’s really hard to take you seriously when you’ve got ketchup on your face.”

Chris blinks. “Wait, what?”

You’re already reaching over, grabbing a napkin from the bag and dabbing gently at the corner of his mouth. Your touch is careful. Familiar. Kind.

And as ridiculous as it sounds, that fluttering feeling—like something starting again inside him—rushes in all at once. It’s the same feeling he had when he first met you. But for now, Chris keeps it tucked away, tucked quiet in the center of his chest. For now, being here—sharing a quiet moment under the stars with you—is enough.

-

The afternoon sun casts golden streaks across the kitchen counter as you line it with bowls, measuring cups, and a fresh bag of chocolate chips. You hum to yourself while tying the strings of your apron behind your back, the scent of vanilla already floating faintly in the air.

After everything Chris shared last night, something settled in your chest. A quiet understanding. He’s been feeling stuck—helpless, in a way that doesn’t sit well with someone like him. Chris is someone who likes being needed, who feels most like himself when he can be useful. And though he's never said it out loud, you know his broken leg has been making him feel anything but.

You peek down the hallway and call out, “Chris! Come help me bake cookies!”

There's a beat of silence before you hear his voice reply with a spark of interest, “Am I seriously just got promoted from kitchen DJ to a kitchen assistant now?”

“Let's see how well you do in the kitchen first,” you playfully reply.

Soon, you hear his crutches tapping against the floor as he makes his way to the kitchen. He enters with his hair slightly messy and a curious look on his face, like he’s not entirely sure if you’re kidding or not. But once he sees the counter full of ingredients, his grin stretches wide. “Oh, we’re really doing this.”

You hand him a spoon and flick the speaker on, the sound of soft upbeat music filling the room. It doesn’t take long for the mood to lift—Chris is dancing awkwardly while stirring the batter, and you’re laughing as he keeps snacking on chocolate chips from the bowl.

“Chris!” you scold, slapping his hand lightly. “Stop eating them—we need those!”

He grins like a guilty kid. “Quality control. Someone’s gotta make sure they’re safe.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you finish mixing the dough and start rolling it into neat balls. Chris joins you, carefully shaping them with one hand while balancing his crutch with the other. You slide the first tray into the oven, then take out a warm, golden batch, setting it to cool by the window. The scent of melting chocolate and warm butter wraps around you like a hug.

“Okay,” you say, watching him as he sets the next batch on the tray, “I think you’re officially hired as my sous chef.”

Chris smirks. “Does that come with benefits? Like… extra cookies?”

You shake your head, laughing. “Only if you stop stealing from the chocolate chip stash.”

You move around each other with ease, bumping elbows, exchanging smirks and floury fingerprints. And in that moment—just the two of you in the kitchen, music playing, cookies baking—you feel it. The way things feel light again. Like maybe, just maybe, Chris is starting to feel a little less stuck.

After the first batch of cookies is out of the oven, you and Chris sit side by side at the kitchen island, each of you with a plate of warm cookies in front of you. The smell is divine, the chocolate chips still melty in the center, and every bite feels like a reward. Chris licks a smudge of chocolate from his thumb and hums in satisfaction.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you,” he says, leaning back with a content sigh. “These might be the best cookies I’ve ever had.”

You smile and offering your fist at him. “We made a great team!”

Chris chuckles before gently hitting your fist with his. He then gets up from his chair, pushing his plate aside and getting up. “I’ll get the milk. Cookies this good deserve milk.”

As he opens the fridge and grabs a carton, you check the oven again. The timer’s nearly up, and you watch the cookies through the glass like a hawk, not wanting to burn even a single batch. Just as you pull them out onto the cooling rack, your phone rings. It buzzes on the counter, right beside Chris’s, and before you can slip your mittens off, he picks it up, peeking at the screen.

“It’s Hyunjin,” he says with a mischievous grin. Then, into the phone: “She’s a little busy right now—in the kitchen with me. I'm tasting her cookie right now.”

You immediately shoot him a glare, snatching one mitten off. “Chris!”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Kidding, kidding! Here.” He passes the phone to you with a sheepish smile.

You finally tug the other mitten off and press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

Hyunjin’s voice is soft and familiar. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“Just baking some cookies,” you say, already smiling again.

There’s a pause. “Sounds like you and Chris are having fun,” he says, and there's something in his voice—light, but unmistakably tinged with jealousy.

You laugh gently. “He’s just on a sugar high from all the chocolate chips he’s been snacking. I’ve had to swat his hand five times.”

Hyunjin chuckles quietly on the other end. “Can I come over?”

Your smile grows. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he says warmly.

“See you soon” you reply, heart fluttering just a little as the call ends.

You set your phone down and turn to find Chris already pouring milk into two glasses. He gives you a look as he hands one over, a raised brow and a half-smile like he knows something’s brewing beneath the surface. But for now, you sip your milk, munch your cookie, and let the warmth of the moment settle in your chest.

-

Chris licks melted chocolate from his thumb, leaning back in his chair with a soft exhale. The cookies are warm and gooey in all the right places, the milk is cold, and the soft hum of music mixes with the occasional clink of plates and your quiet laughter. It’s simple. Easy. And for the first time in a while, he feels like he can breathe.

He watches you from across the island—hair tied up messily, sleeves dusted in flour, a smudge of dough on your cheek. You look… peaceful. Happy. And God, he didn’t realize how much he missed seeing you like this. Seeing himself like this, too. It makes him wonder how the hell he ever let you slip through his fingers.

Your phone buzzes beside him on the counter, screen lighting up with Hyunjin’s name. Chris hesitates. A small, petty part of him wants to let it ring. Just one more quiet minute. One more bite of warm cookies before the real world knocks again. But instead, he sighs and taps “accept,” lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause. “Uh… Chris?”

Chris smirks. “Sure is.”

“…Where’s—uh, is she around?”

Chris leans back in his chair and tosses the words out casually. “She’s a little busy right now—in the kitchen with me. I'm tasting her cookie right now.”

Your head snaps up immediately, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Chris!” you say, voice low and warning, already reaching for the phone.

He holds up both hands in mock surrender, grinning as he passes it to you. “She’s all yours.”

You take the phone, mittens off now, pressing it to your ear like it belongs there. “Hey…” you say, voice soft, warm in that way that’s unmistakably for Hyunjin.

Chris turns back to his half-eaten cookie, chewing slowly. He tells himself it’s fine. That it’s nothing. That he’s being ridiculous. But watching the way you smile as you talk, hearing the way your voice dips into something just a little sweeter—it knots something sharp and jealous low in his chest. He hates to admit it, but it stings.

Hyunjin shows up not long after the call ends. He walks into the kitchen with that easy grin, kissing your cheek before helping himself to a cookie off the tray like he’s always belonged here. Chris watches the way you look at him—soft, familiar—and it pulls at something in his chest he’s not quite ready to name. He keeps it cool, making room for Hyunjin and even pouring him a glass of milk. They chat, the three of you, nibbling cookies and laughing at how many chocolate chips Chris stole before the dough even hit the oven. Then Chris’s phone buzzes this time and he glances at the screen. Riley.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says, already stepping toward the back porch for some privacy.

The cool air outside hits him as he slides the door open and leans against the railing. “Hey, Riley bear. Everything okay?”

Riley’s voice is upbeat. “Yeah! I was just wondering if I could have a sleepover this weekend?”

Chris chuckles. “How many friends?”

“Just… five?”

Chris groans. “Five? Riley, that’s a whole squad.”

“But Dad,” she whines, dragging the word out.

He negotiates, like always. They settle on three friends, no loud music, and lights out by midnight. “And steer clear of my studio,” he adds.

By the time Chris hangs up, he’s smiling, but that fades the second he steps back toward the kitchen. He stops in his tracks. Through the doorway, he sees you and Hyunjin, kissing with your hands gently curled behind his neck, his hand on your waist. Chris instinctively ducks out of view, pressing himself back behind the wall, heart thudding in his chest. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. But he can’t help it.

“Just for ten days,” Hyunjin murmurs against your lips.

“Ten?” you echo, brows knit with concern.

Chris hears the sound of another kiss. Then Hyunjin’s voice, low and affectionate. “I’ll be back before you know it. Can’t wait to take that trip and finally be alone with you.”

More kisses. The wet, soft kind. Chris closes his eyes. That same burning feeling blooms in his chest again—jealousy or something dangerously close. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s there, bitter on his tongue.

He takes a breath, then deliberately stomps his way back toward the kitchen, exaggerating his steps loud enough to warn you both. By the time he walks in, you and Hyunjin are standing apart, faces flushed. Chris doesn’t comment. He just saunters to the counter like nothing happened.

“Riley’s having a few friends over for a sleepover,” he says, grabbing another cookie. “I’m ninety percent sure they’ll break the house apart.”

You chuckle. “Let her have some fun.”

Chris grins. “With me not around, that should be fun for everyone.”

That earns a laugh from both you and Hyunjin. Chris joins in, but only half-heartedly. He doesn’t say it, but that burning in his chest still lingers.

-

You walk Hyunjin out to his car with a warm jar of cookies pressed into his hands, the lid tied with a little ribbon you found in the kitchen drawer. He cradles it like a gift and leans in to kiss you—slow, deliberate, a long peck on your lips that makes you want to hold him there just a few seconds longer.

"Don't go getting back together with your ex-husband while I’m gone," he teases, eyes twinkling.

You laugh against his lips. "Only if you promise to turn away every time you see an older woman."

Hyunjin barks out a laugh, his hands still resting lightly on your hips. "You wound me."

You give him one last kiss—short, sweet, maybe a little reluctant—and then step back as he opens the car door. He gets in, his window still rolled down as he gives you a little wave. “Ten days,” he says. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“Oh, no. What should I do? I miss you already,” you tease him.

With that, Hyunjin walks to his and gets in. You smile, watching his car roll down the street and disappear around the corner.

The house feels quieter when you walk back in. A little colder without him in it. You kick off your shoes and wander into the kitchen, finding Chris at the sink, stacking the dirty dishes from your baking session. He’s got the sleeves of his hoodie shoved up, one hand awkwardly holding a plate, the other trying not to knock over a glass.

You come up beside him and lean your hip against the counter. “Since we’re both too tired to even think about cooking after all that,” you start, voice playful, “how about we just order something for dinner?”

Chris turns to you with a grin, towel slung over his shoulder. “Oh, thank God! Finally. I don't have to lie and say that your cooking is good,” he says with a rather dramatic tone.

Later that night, you both huddled over the dining table, sleeves rolled up, newspapers spread beneath metal trays filled with steaming seafood boil—shrimp, mussels, crab legs, corn, and potatoes all soaked in garlicky, buttery sauce. Chris insisted on it for dinner, and now he’s grinning like a kid in a candy store, elbow-deep in shellfish. You munch on a piece of corn, watching as Chris meticulously peels shrimp after shrimp—not just for himself, but for you too. He quietly places a perfectly peeled one on your plate, then another, and another.

“You know I can do that myself,” you say between bites, amused.

“I know,” he shrugs, all smug and proud as he wipes his fingers on the edge of the napkin and goes right back to peeling more for you.

You laugh, shaking your head. “You eat like a child.”

Chris pauses, mid-bite. “What?”

You point with your greasy finger. “You’ve got sauce on the corner of your mouth.”

He tries to lick it off, tongue darting out to the side. He misses completely. “Did I get it?”

“Not even close.”

“Well,” he leans in toward you, eyes gleaming mischievously, “help me out then.”

You snort, eyes widening as you look at both of your hands coated with the sauce. “My hands are dirty.”

“Just lick it off then,” he deadpans, tapping his casted leg under the table. “Come on. I'm injured.”

You roll your eyes, but the moment lingers—his face is close, and you catch the faint scent of lemon and garlic and something warm and familiar that’s just him. You hesitate only for a second before you lean in and lick the corner of his mouth quickly, your lips brushing his skin.

Chris looks shocked and then smug. “You missed a spot.”

He swipes more sauce with his finger, smearing it deliberately across the corner of his mouth like a child trying to frame a moment. “Guess you’ll have to clean it again.”

You gape at him in disbelief, grab a shrimp from your plate, and shove it into his open mouth before he can say another word.

He hums exaggeratedly as he chews. “Worth it.”

You can’t stop laughing and for a minute, it feels like the two of you are back in some lighter, simpler version of your lives—sleeves rolled, hands messy, hearts full. You hum softly to yourself as you clean up after dinner, wiping down the sticky table and putting away the dirty dishes into the sink. Chris is moving slower behind you, his cast dragging just a little, but he insists on helping despite your protests. Then, as you're about to rinse the last dish, he opens the freezer and pulls out a tub of ice cream with a grin.

“Dessert?” he offers, wiggling his brows.

You glance at the tub, then at him, and shrug. “Why not? We’ve already made a mess.”

So the two of you settle back at the dining table, this time with two spoons and a tub of chocolate ice cream between you. You sit side by side, legs brushing, both a little warm from the food and laughter still lingering in the air.

Chris scoops the first bite, moaning dramatically as he eats it. “God, I missed this.”

You laugh. “What? Ice cream?”

“No. Eating dessert with someone and not having to share with a teenager who hogs the last bite.”

That makes you smile. “Speaking of—how’s Riley?”

He leans back with a sigh. “She’s good. She called earlier to ask if she could have friends over. We negotiated.”

“Negotiated?”

“I’ve had to learn,” he says with a smirk. “Parenting a teenager is like hostage diplomacy. You give an inch, they want a concert ticket.”

You chuckle. “That’s good for you, though. Builds character.”

He grins. “Also found out she snuck a drink from my liquor cabinet a few weeks ago.”

You snort. “Classic teenager behavior.”

“She’s sneaky.”

“We’ve done worse,” you say playfully, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh god. You remember that time we snuck into that concert pretending to be part of the crew?”

You burst into laughter. “And you carried a random amp just to sell the lie!”

He grins wide, cheeks slightly flushed as you both tumble down memory lane. The conversation flows easily, laced with laughter and little looks that linger too long. You feel it—the atmosphere changing. Getting quieter, softer, more intimate. Then Chris shifts, turning slightly toward you. “Hey… that package from yesterday? It was a bottle of liquor. A ‘Get well soon’ gift from my label.”

You raise a brow. “Fancy.”

“Yeah. I thought maybe we could open it. You know… share a glass?”

You glance at the clock, then back at him. The warm food still weighs on your belly. You offer him a soft smile. “I feel kind of full, honestly. Maybe another time?”

Chris nods slowly. “Yeah. Of course. Another time.”

You rise from your seat, brushing invisible crumbs off your clothes. “I’m gonna head to bed early.”

“Okay,” he says, standing as well despite the awkwardness of his cast. You meet in a loose embrace near the kitchen doorway, and as you pull away to wish him goodnight, Chris places a kiss that lands on the corner of your lips. It’s soft, brief—but enough to steal your breath. You step back, eyes flicking to his for a second, searching for something you’re not ready to name.

“I didn’t mean—” He stammers, “I was going for a full on, lips lock... kiss.”

You shake your head and chuckle at him, “Goodnight, Chris.”

You don’t look back as you head upstairs, your heart picking up pace like you’re running from something—maybe the feeling blooming somewhere deep inside, somewhere you told yourself you’d locked tight.

-

There’s something about this house that always feels a little warmer in the late morning light. Maybe it’s the way the house always bathed in sunlight, or maybe it’s just you. Chris leans quietly against the doorway, his arms folded as he watches you in your reading nook. You’re sitting with your legs stretched out in front of you, tucked under a soft throw blanket, completely immersed in a book. You don’t notice him, and he doesn’t call out to you. He doesn’t want to break the moment.

He’s seen you do a thousand beautiful things—over five years of marriage, you were always dazzling in a way that pulled him in without trying. But somehow, watching you like this—quiet, relaxed, just being—feels different. Feels deeper. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the tassel of your blanket. Your brow furrows a little, then lifts as you read between the lines. Chris watches the way your toes curl and uncurl, like they’re reacting to the tension in the story. It’s cute. All of it. It shouldn’t make his heart thump the way it does, but it does. He could watch you for hours like this, then your eyes lift and catch his, and it feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You tilt your head. “Do you need something, Chris?”

Chris clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Uh—yeah. Just wondering if you remember about my doctor’s appointment?”

Your eyes widen as you check the time on your phone. “Oh my god—I totally lost track of time.”

You close the book quickly, already rising from the nook. “Let me get ready, I’ll be quick!”

He just nods, lips twitching with a faint smile as he watches you rush out of the room. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling—but it’s warm and heavy in his chest, and for a fleeting second, it almost feels like the past, like something familiar and tender that he didn’t realize he missed until just now.

Chris doesn’t really need your help walking, not this much at least. The crutches work fine and the doctor even said he’s healing faster than expected. But still… he likes it. The way your arm is linked with his, your other hand gently resting over his as the two of you make your way down the hospital corridor.

It’s slow and quiet, just the faint squeak of his crutch against the linoleum floor and the soft echo of your steps beside him. And he can’t help but wonder what people see when they pass by. To anyone else, it probably looks like you’re his wife. The devoted one. The one who still sticks around even when he’s limping through life—literally and metaphorically. And god, he likes that thought way more than he should.

You lean in a little closer when a nurse pushes a cart past you both, and Chris feels your shoulder brush against his. His heart does this dumb little stutter in his chest, like it still hasn’t figured out that this kind of intimacy is borrowed now, temporary. Still, he clings to it.

“You okay?” you ask, glancing up at him with that soft concern that always seems to undo him.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower than he means for it to be. “I’m good.”

Chris should want to go home. He should be tired after the appointment, after walking more than he probably should have. But there’s this ache in his chest that’s got nothing to do with his leg, and everything to do with the fact that he just… doesn’t want this to be over yet. So he clears his throat, casual like he's not already thinking too much about how to say it. “Hey,” he says, turning his head a little toward you. “You hungry?”

You briefly glance away from the road ahead “A little. Why?”

“I was thinking…” He pauses for dramatic effect, because he knows you hate that. “Early dinner? I'm thinking Italian, pasta or maybe steak?”

You squint at him for a second, like you’re trying to read between the lines. He shrugs, looking out the window, like it's not a big deal. “Only if you're not in a rush to get home.”

You’re quiet for a beat, and he doesn’t even breathe as he waits for your answer. Then you sigh, a soft little smile curling on your lips. “Yeah. Sure,” you say. “You can just say that you don't want to eat my cooking, Chris.”

He grins, relief and something warmer blooming in his chest. “You read my mind,” he teasingly says.

The restaurant isn’t crowded, just the way he likes it. There’s a gentle breeze sweeping through the outdoor patio where the two of you sit, your hair moving with it, catching bits of sunlight. Chris leans back in his chair, his cast resting comfortably, and watches as you open the menu with a kind of focus he swears you used to reserve only for editing scripts or assembling furniture. Your eyes scan the options like it’s a high-stakes test. He smirks to himself, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table as he rests his chin in one hand, just watching you.

You hum thoughtfully, then glance at him. “Okay, hear me out. If we get the grilled octopus, the sea bass, and the truffle fries, we can split them and still have room for dessert.”

Chris nods solemnly. “Smart. Strategic.”

“I know,” you say with a satisfied grin, then turn back to the menu. “Also, we should get the mussels.”

“That’s four dishes,” he teases.

“We’ll pace ourselves.” You flip a page. “And we’re getting the wine. That red blend we tried that one time—remember?”

He remembers everything. “How could I forget?”

The waiter comes, and you order with such certainty, like you’ve already envisioned the entire meal playing out. Chris can’t stop smiling. Something about the way you talk to the waiter—clear, kind, decisive—makes something settle warm in his chest. You’ve always been like this. Always good at taking care of people, of moments, of making things feel easy without trying. And he thinks—yeah. He’s going to enjoy every damn second of this. Not just the wine, or the food, or the sunset that’s slowly dipping behind your shoulder. But this. Sitting across from you. Listening to you talk. Watching you reach for your glass and wrinkle your nose as you swirl the wine, pretending to be a snob about it before breaking into laughter. It’s all so familiar. And god, he’s missed it more than he’s willing to admit.

The food is incredible and the wine is warm in his chest, loosening things that he usually keeps tucked away. "If this is what we would've been like back then," Chris says, voice low, casual but meaning every word, "maybe we never would’ve gotten divorced."

You look up at him, your fork pausing midair. Your eyes catch the light — same as they always have — and something in Chris's chest aches. "Yeah," you murmur, setting your fork down. "Maybe."

He toys with the edge of his wine glass, tracing it with his finger, pretending he’s not hanging onto every second of your silence. "Sometimes I think about it," he admits. "If we’d just waited a little longer. Grown up a little more. If we hadn’t been so damn stubborn about everything."

You smile — a little sad, a little knowing — and Chris swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen all night. "We were so young," you say, your voice gentle. "We didn’t know how to fight for the right things."

Chris chuckles under his breath, remembering all the late nights and slammed doors, the pride that always came first. "We knew how to fight, though," he jokes lightly.

Your laughter is soft, almost tender. It hits him harder than he expects. "Yeah. We were good at that."

For a moment, the world goes quiet around you — just the hum of the restaurant, the flicker of the candle between you, the way your eyes hold his like they’re remembering too.

"I don’t regret it," you say, your voice steady. "Not meeting you. Not marrying you."

Chris's heart knocks hard against his ribs. He drinks you in — the curve of your mouth, the quiet way you look at him, like you mean it. "Me neither," he says, and it comes out rougher than he intended. "Not even for a second."

Without thinking, Chris reaches across the table — maybe to grab another plate, maybe to get your attention — but instead, his fingers brush against yours. You freeze, looking up at him.

Chris’s mouth goes dry. His hand lingers over yours for a second longer than necessary. He half-expects you to pull away. Tease him. Make a joke like you always do, but you don’t. You just look at him with that quiet, familiar softness. The same one you used to look at him with in the mornings, when it was just the two of you and no walls between you. He feels his heart thudding in his ears. Slowly, he curls his fingers around yours. Testing. Asking. You don't pull away. You smile — a small, secret thing — and let your thumb lightly brush over his knuckles. It’s nothing. Barely anything, but to Chris, it feels like everything.

He swallows hard and forces a chuckle, squeezing your hand once before letting go — before he does something stupid like pulling you across the table just to kiss you. "You know I was reaching for the fries, right?" he muses, picking up his fork again to distract himself.

You laugh softly, reaching for your glass of wine. "Yes. And I successfully stopped you from taking it."

Chris grins despite himself, heart too full, hands still tingling where they touched you. Maybe he’s a fool, maybe he’s setting himself up to get hurt all over again, but right now, he doesn’t care about all of that. He just wants more of this — more of you.

-

Toward the night, the weather turns bad. The rain comes fast, a steady drum against the windshield as you pull into the driveway. You shift the car into park, turning to Chris.

"Stay put," you tell him firmly, already reaching for the umbrella behind your seat. "I'll come around and help you."

Chris opens his mouth, probably to protest, but you shoot him a look that makes him snap it closed again, grinning helplessly instead.

You shove the car door open and dart out, the cold rain immediately soaking into your clothes. You wrestle the umbrella open, fighting the wind for a second before managing to steady it, then hurry to the passenger side.

Chris is already half out of the car, and you have to laugh a little under your breath because he's stubborn even now.

"Hold on," you say, breathless from the run and the rain, as you wedge yourself between him and the car, the umbrella awkwardly angled over the both of you. One hand gripping the umbrella handle, you extend the other to him. "Okay, come on."

Chris leans heavily into you as he swings his good leg out. His cast bumps clumsily against the door, and you wince for him, but he just chuckles low in his throat and wraps an arm around your shoulders without hesitation.

"Gotcha," he murmurs into your ear, his voice warm despite the chilly rain.

You cling to each other, awkward and close under the flimsy umbrella as you make your way up the driveway. Every step has you practically pressed chest-to-chest, Chris clutching you for balance and you gripping his waist tightly, both of you half laughing as you stumble once, twice, splashing through shallow puddles. The front door never looked so far away.

By the time you get inside, you’re both half-soaked, your shoes squelching against the floor. You slam the door shut behind you, breathing hard from the run and the cold. Chris's arm is still around you, your bodies still pressed close as if neither of you quite wants to let go yet. You feel his chest rise and fall against yours, the shared breath between you heavy with something that feels... different. You tilt your head back to look up at him, and for one suspended second, neither of you says a word.

Chris’s gaze lingering on you, heavier than before. It’s not playful or casual like it’s been lately. It’s intense, almost like he’s seeing right through you. It’s the way he used to look at you years ago, back when the world felt small and safe because you had each other. Back when just one look from him could tell you everything he was feeling and right now, it’s telling you too much. You feel your heart clench, your chest tighten with the weight of everything unsaid between you. The conversation you had over dinner still hums in the air, a thread pulled too tight, fraying at the edges. You swallow hard, breaking your gaze away before you can let yourself drown in it.

"I'm gonna head upstairs and dry off, and uh... sleep," you say lightly, forcing a small smile as you step away from him, peeling off your damp jacket and hanging it by the door.

You don’t miss the quick flicker of disappointment that crosses Chris’s face. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced with that familiar, easy smile he always wears when he’s trying not to show too much.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a little rougher than before. "Goodnight."

You nod, hugging your arms to your chest. "Goodnight, Chris."

You don’t dare look back as you head for the stairs, your footsteps soft against the wood. You can feel his eyes on you until you disappear from view, the pull between you stretching thinner and thinner—like a rubber band waiting to snap. Behind you, the house feels too quiet, and somehow, you feel like you’re running away from something you’re not ready to face.

The rain drums steadily against the windows, a constant, restless sound. You lay curled under the covers, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never comes. When the thunder cracks again, louder this time, you sigh and reach for your phone on the nightstand. Instinctively, your fingers find Hyunjin’s name and you press call. It rings once, twice, three times. No answer. You chew on your lip for a moment, then quickly type a text instead: "Just checking on you... hope you haven't found another older woman to steal your attention. :)"

You smile softly to yourself as you hit send, imagining him rolling his eyes with that fond little grin of his. Setting the phone back down, you exhale a long breath and stare into the darkness. But the thunder keeps coming, low and rumbling, rattling the windows. It’s clear you’re not going to sleep through this. You throw the blanket off and slip out of bed, shivering slightly as your feet touch the cool floor. You pull a bedrobe over your nightdress, tying it loosely at the waist, and quietly head for the stairs.

When you reach the first floor, you catch Chris stepping out of his room with his hair tousled wildly, sticking out in every direction. You both stop and chuckle when your eyes meet, the absurdity of the timing not lost on either of you.

"Can’t sleep, huh?" you ask, your voice low, almost conspiratorial against the storm’s noise.

Chris scrubs a hand through his messy hair, his mouth curling into a tired smile. "Yeah. Guess not."

He glances toward the kitchen, then back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe this is the perfect time to crack open that 'Get well soon' gift," he suggests.

You raise an eyebrow, pretending to consider it, then shrug. "Why not," you say, the words feeling lighter than the knot sitting in your chest.

Chris grins, his face lighting up for real this time, and you follow him into the kitchen—both of you barefoot and slightly disheveled, like two teenagers sneaking around past curfew.

-

Chris is back in his room to get the bottle of liquor, finding it still tucked in its box. It’s a fancy-looking thing, something expensive if the weight of it in his hand says anything. When he turns around, he finds you already poking through the pantry, pulling out a bag of chips and a container of peanut butter-filled pretzels. You flash him a triumphant smile, and he can't help but grin back. It’s stupid how easily you make him feel lighter, like the two of you are just kids up too late, sneaking junk food behind your parents' backs.

You both settle onto the sofa, the movie playing quietly in the background, though neither of you are really paying attention to what’s on. You tuck your legs underneath you, pulling the blanket over the both of you without a second thought, and Chris shifts closer, careful with his leg. You pour the first two shots, and you clink glasses with a soft clink.

“To thunderstorms," you say, grinning.

"And insomnia," Chris adds, smiling back at you.

You both down the shots and immediately reach for the snacks, laughing at the way the liquor burns its way down. You make a face, sticking your tongue out dramatically, and Chris nudges your side with his elbow, pretending to scold you.

"Lightweight," he teases.

"You wish," you shoot back, tossing a pretzel at him. It bounces off his forehead, making both of you burst into laughter. It feels easy. So easy.

As the storm outside grows wilder, you lean into him a little more, warm and soft under the blanket. Chris drapes his arm across the back of the sofa, pretending it’s casual, though really he’s just hoping you’ll lean even closer. You hand him another shot, and this time you both sip it slower, letting the conversation drift from silly things—bad reality TV shows, your weird obsession with true crime podcasts—to the movie still flickering in the background, some terrible romcom neither of you can take seriously.

"You would totally be the guy who trips over himself trying to win the girl back," you tease, smirking over your glass.

Chris scoffs, feigning offense. "I’m way smoother than that."

He then leans his head back against the couch, feeling the pleasant buzz of the alcohol seep into his veins, making everything a little hazy around the edges. His leg is stretched out carefully in front of him, the blanket pooled over his lap, and he watches you talk animatedly, your face flushed from the drinks and the warmth of the room.

"You know," you say, pointing a finger at him, your words just slightly slurring, "you were so bad at being romantic sometimes. Like—so bad."

Chris chuckles under his breath, lifting his glass lazily. "That’s not true. I was plenty romantic."

"You were not!" you argue, scoffing as you grab a handful of chips and shove a few into your mouth. "You forgot our anniversary once."

"It was one time!" Chris defends, laughing, though his protest is weak at best. "And I made it up to you."

"You bought me a hairdryer!" you say, throwing your head back against the couch dramatically. "A hairdryer, Chris!"

Chris snorts, nearly choking on his drink. "Hey, that was a very expensive hairdryer. Top of the line."

You glare at him, though the way your mouth twitches betrays your amusement. "That’s not the point," you mumble, poking his arm with your finger. "I wanted, like... romance. Flowers. Grand gestures."

Chris lifts his hands in surrender, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Okay, okay. Maybe I wasn’t exactly Romeo."

"Not even close," you mutter with a huff, your words dragging adorably.

He watches you as you curl deeper into the blanket, your frustration fading into giggles you can’t hold back. Chris can't help it—he laughs too, the sound low and fond. You're slurring more now, your sentences wandering, but Chris listens anyway, his heart squeezing a little tighter with each teasing complaint you toss at him.

Somewhere between the drinks and your sleepiness, Chris finds it hard to focus on anything other than the curve of your smile and the way you keep stealing glances at him through heavy lids. He wants to defend himself more, maybe argue that he did love you deeply even if he showed it clumsily—but he figures it’s a lost cause tonight. He shifts slightly, his voice light and teasing.

"You know," he says, nudging you gently with his shoulder, "I might’ve been bad at the whole romance thing, but I don’t remember you ever complaining about the... sex."

You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes without lifting your head. "I admit, you were good back then," you say with a mischievous glint in your eye as you glance down meaningfully at his injured leg. "But who knows if you still are. You're not exactly young anymore, Chris."

Chris gasps in mock offense, his mouth falling open dramatically as he clutches his chest. "Wow. Wounded physically and emotionally in the same month," he says, pouting exaggeratedly. "I’ll have you know that with age comes experience. I’m very, very good now."

You turn your head toward him, and Chris feels your warm breath brush across his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. Your lips curve into a sly smile. "Very good at making terrible choices, you mean?" you muse, voice soft and teasing.

Chris narrows his eyes at you, the playful challenge sparking between you like static electricity. "You won’t believe me," he murmurs, his voice dropping low, "until I show you."

Before you can react, Chris reaches up and gently grabs your chin, holding your head steady. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away—but you don’t. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and for a heartbeat you don't kiss him back. Chris almost pulls away, heart thudding painfully in his chest—

But then you part your lips slightly, letting him deepen the kiss. His hand slides along your jaw, cradling you like something precious. It's unhurried, tender, a kiss that feels more like a memory than a temptation.

When you finally pull back, your laughter is warm and soft against his mouth. "Okay," you murmur, teasing. "You’re not that bad... but not that good either."

Chris lets out a low, breathless laugh, eyes glinting with mischief. "Is that so?"

Without giving you time to think, he leans in again and catches your mouth in another kiss—this time bolder, surer, stealing the breath right from your lungs and this time, you don't hesitate at all.

-

Chris can’t seem to stop himself. The second your lips part beneath his, something primal wakes up in him — something he’s been keeping buried, locked up for so long. His kisses grow hungrier, deeper, each one a little more desperate than the last, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you all over again. His hand slides from the nape of your neck, fingers skimming down the line of your throat to your shoulder. You shiver against him, and it only spurs him on. His touch is deliberate but unhurried, tracing the curve of your collarbone through the soft fabric of your robe.

Chris shifts closer, his good leg anchoring him while he leans into you, his hand finally finding the loose belt of your robe. His fingers toy with it for a moment, giving you a heartbeat’s worth of time to stop him if you wanted to — but you don't. So he tugs, slow and certain, pulling the knot free. The robe falls open around you with a whisper of fabric against skin, revealing the silky nightdress you’re wearing underneath.

Chris exhales shakily against your mouth, his hand gliding under the open folds of your robe to settle at your waist, feeling the warmth of your body through the flimsy fabric. His forehead rests against yours for a beat, both of you breathing hard, the air between you thick with the heat of everything unspoken.

He drags his voluptuous lips down your neck, kissing a slow, reverent trail along the delicate curve of your throat. He feels you breathing harder, each soft exhale fanning across his hairline, sending a rush of heat through him. When he nips lightly at your skin, he hears the faintest sound escape you—a breathy gasp that curls something wild and reckless in his chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand cradling your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek. Your eyes meet his, wide and uncertain, and for a moment, Chris feels the weight of everything that could fall apart if he takes this any further.

"Please," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Stop me. Please stop me here… because if I kiss you again, I don't think I'll be able to stop."

The room crackles with tension. Chris watches the emotions flicker in your eyes—hesitation, longing, that same undeniable pull he's feeling too. He knows you’re both standing on the edge of something you might not be able to come back from.

And then you move. You don't answer him with words. Instead, you slide your hand into his hair, pulling him down, and crash your mouth against his with a desperate kind of hunger.

Chris groans low in his throat, the last thread of his restraint snapping as he kisses you back just as fiercely. Your kiss tells him everything he needs to know—no second-guessing, no going back. You're choosing this. You're choosing him. And he knows with absolute certainty: he’s about to lose himself in you all over again.

-

✨ Evermore: Chapter III is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Layers of Truth

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn, alcohol consumption, hungover

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Five: Layers of Truth (2000+ words)

It’s Thursday when I run into him again.

The podcast episode went live yesterday. I haven’t listened to it. I can’t, not yet – not ready to look at him and my vulnerability. Maisie has watched it though – twice. She made exaggerated gasping sounds during Max’s love life ambush and texted me a flurry of emojis that I’m still trying to decode.

She even mentioned the chemistry that she saw between George and I – but I ignored her.

The bakery has been chaos since.

Orders are up. Walk-ins are nonstop. Someone posted a clip of George eating the jam pastry with that stupid – handsome… smirk on his face, and suddenly it’s the only thing half the city wants. We’ve been making batch after batch, running out of flour twice, and I’ve barely had time to think – which is honestly a relief.

But today is slower – and I have the rain to thank for it.

The first real storm of the season rolls in like it’s been waiting for this exact moment – thunder heavy, air thick with the kind of rain that feels personal.

It’s nearly closing – but I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon with the rain.

The bakery is half-lit, music down low, a slow hum of Fleetwood Mac playing Silver Springs in the background. I’m behind the counter, icing the last row of cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday order, when I hear the bell jingle.

And there he is.

George.

Hood Up. Trainers soaked. A victim to the thundering rain although a sheepish grin tugging at his lips,

“Hi,” he says softly, pulling down his hood, “didn’t know if you’d be working.”

“I always work,” I reply, a little too fast.

He steps closer, but not too close – he’s stood two steps away from the counter, I know because I can just smell his cologne. “Do you have any of the… jam ones?

I blink, “the ones from the podcast?’

He nods. “Figured I owed Max an apology pastry. Maybe two.”

I should tell him np. That we’re sold out. That they’re cooling. That we’re closed. But I don’t.

Instead, I point toward the cake stand.

“Still warm.”

He reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off, “it’s on the house.”

A beat passes.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He takes the two pastries gently, like he’s worried it’ll crumble if holds it wrong. He bids his goodbye, and heads towards the door.

A thundering sound is heard outside which stops him in his track.

The he just… stands there. Looks at me.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to a table pushed against the window of the bakery.

I hesitate. My heart thundering along with the thunderstorms. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I nod – still deeply caring for his safety and not wanting him out in the storm.

He shuffles to the stool to wait out the thundering storm.

I hum to myself as I clean the counter, preparing to close the bakery. On my way to the door, I grab the last chocolate éclair from the cabinet.

His favourite.

I slowly walk to the door, feeling George’s eyes lift from his phone to me.

I flip the open side to read closed – before taking a deep breath and placing the chocolate éclair in front of him.

I sit across from him. He doesn’t speak right away. Neither do I.

Then, softly; “You remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

He takes a bite of the dessert. “What I like.”

“Well, yeah.” My sentence gets trapped in my throat as I look away.

“You didn’t reply to the podcast.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I answer.

“You didn’t have to. I just… I don’t know.” He exhales. “You looked at me. During that question. About your love life.”

“You looked at me first,” I defend before I can stop myself.

He lets out a chuckle at the banter – as his eyes search mine. They’re warmer than I remember, or maybe I’ve just spent too long pretending I forgot.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, “when you said you’re focused on the bakery?”

“I do mean it,” I say. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to count on.”

He nods, slowly. “And me?”

I flinch.

“I meant… back then,” he says quickly. “Was I—did I ever feel like something you could count on?”

There it is. The real question.

I breathe in, and it tastes like cinnamon and jam and rain-soaked ghosts.

“You were,” I whisper. “Until you weren’t.”

His face falls, like he expected the answer but hoped it would hurt less.

“I never wanted to stop being that,” he says. “I messed it up. I know that. But you—God, Y/N, you were home. And I’m sorry.” He finishes, running a hand through his wet hair.

“George-“ I start but am interrupted.

“I know I don’t deserve anything. But if there’s a chance – for you just to be in my life, I would be grateful.”

I smile at George, and his stressed, nervous expression changes as I nod along.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We sit for a while, just watching the rain coast the windows in silver – we speak of what each other have been up to recently, with George expressing about his holidays he has had the chance to go on and I mentioning the startup of the bakery and meeting Maisie.

No mention of a girl was stated by George – and I brighten at the observation, unaware as to why.

“People are starting to ship us,” George says finally, a wry tilt to his mouth.

My stomach flips. “Yeah Maisie showed me.”

“They think we’re strangers who have only just met and have chemistry.”

I laugh once – soft. “Imagine if they knew the truth – about us.”

He looks at me. “They don’t need to.”

And somehow, that matters more than I expect. That it’s ours. Still.

“Your fans are nice. They’ve been visiting,” I say fiddling with my apron. “Loud. But nice.”

He smiles. “They love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They like who I am around you.”

That shuts me up.

I look to George, heart beating as it’s now my turn to apologise. “Sorry I never came to you events when you first started. Not back then. Not really.”

George blinks. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“I think I do,” I say. “You were doing big things. And I didn’t know how to be part of that without feeling like I didn’t belong. I was scared – back then.”

He takes a breath. “You did belong. I just… never wanted to make you choose.”

A pause.

“I’m glad you came on the podcast,” he admits.

I look at him. “Yeah?”

“I think we both needed it. Even if it was… weird.”

“Very weird – thanks Max.” I agree, grinning.

But it opened something. That much is clear.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days have passed since George and I shared the conversation in the bakery. We don’t label anything, but he starts showing up again – always with a reason.

Maisie pretends not to be obsessed with the whole thing. She fails – always bringing up the second chance with excitement.

We go for coffee one day after I close up. Walk to the canal like old times. Sit on benches until the streetlights flicker on. Some nights, we talk about the gap between then and now. Other nights, we don’t say much at all.

We talk about the video – the one that started it all. How Maisie and I had only posted it as a joke, and at one point I had almost deleted it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” George says.

“Why? So you could storm into my life unannounced just like the first time?”

He shrugs. “Felt like the universe owed us a second take.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart agrees. Something floated in the air, unsaid, but we both understood.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One afternoon, he helps me haul boxes into the kitchen — deliveries for the weekend market stall. He leans against the bench, watching me work like he used to, arms folded, mouth twitching with something he won’t say.

“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the baking trays.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

“At lifting things?”

“No.” He gestures vaguely. “All of this. Building something. Staying. I used to think running was brave, but… staying’s harder.”

That stays with me. Especially coming from him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We don’t talk about the past in specifics. Not yet. But it lingers, between every laugh. We both know what we want to say and both understand that. But every look between us was too long to be causal.

Still, we try to take it slow.

“Let’s just… be in each other’s lives again,” I say one night, fingers wrapped around my mug. “No expectations.”

“Friends,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Okay. But real friends. The kind who show up.”

“I’ll try,” I whisper.

“So will I,” he says.

And I believe him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next time he comes in, it’s sunny. People are queued out the door. He waits like everyone else, hood low, sunglasses on, but still spotted by a group of girls who whisper loudly behind him.

When he reaches the counter, he grins. “Sold out?”

I nod. “Maisie’s idea. She renamed the jam ones ‘George’s Regret’.”

He snorts. “Charming.”

I lean in. “You good?”

He shrugs. “Bit overwhelmed. But this helps.”

“Being here?”

He nods. “Feels like breathing again.”

Something in my chest stirs.

That night, as I lock up, he’s still there, leaning against the wall like a character from a film he’d make fun of.

“You walking me home?” I tease.

He grins. “Trying to earn back my bakery privileges.”

“You already get too many free pastries.”

“I don’t want pastries.”

I stop. Look at him.

He clears his throat. “I mean — I do. But also… this.”

He gestures between us. Whatever this is.

I tuck my keys into my coat pocket. “We’re not rushing it, remember?”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m glad we’re not pretending it never happened.”

“Me too.”

He offers his arm. I take it.

And we walk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the end of the week, we’ve started texting late again – with the occasional call here and there. Always casual. Always friendly, but we both still know something lingers.

Some nights, I hear his voice in my ear long after I hang up. His laugh tucked into my pillow like it belongs there.

We don’t talk about what we’re doing still. No label. Just… a quiet rhythm falling bac into place. One I missed without realising.

Maisie find my phone on the bench one morning, reading aloud a message and yells, “Did George Clarke just say he’d fight anyone who insults our croissants?”

I whip my head around, icing bag still in hand. “Maisie –“

She holds the phone out of reach, dancing backwards on socked feet like a gremlin. “I mean, he used actual capital letters! Look – oh my god, he’s in love with your pastries. And you.”

I snatch the phone back, cheeks burning. “He’s just being stupid.”

A pause. Then a grin blooms across her face.

“You love him still!”

I go very still. “I do not.”

Maisie raises a single brow, crosses her arms, and simply waits.

I hate her.

But I smile anyway.

Because yes. Maybe I do.

Still.

Always.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

LOOK AT THEM! Being adults and talking about their feelings! How mature of them.

But only one part left everyone :(

I'm going to be sad to finish up this story... but I do have some things planned for them and another series to finish too, whoops.

See you next time for the last part,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz @cheesystylesig @burkayyy @mia-maybank @smzyyx @simp-hub @sundarksposts

[artist-issues]

I think pretty much all of what you said can be refuted by condensing and simplifying a phrase that was already at the heart of the original post in the first place:

There is no such thing as “their truth,” or individual truths—Jesus is the (singular, only, exclusive) Truth.

He decides what’s right and wrong. He decides what love is, because He invented it. And He is the one who describes being a Christian as dying, the old self getting crucified.

You can’t be a queer Christian, or an LGBTQ+ Christian, any more than you could be a carnivorous vegetarian. Vegetarians don’t eat meat. Christians don’t find their identity in sin.

Christians welcome all, everyone, to come and repent. Die. Die to their old selves, and be raised as new people who only identify with Christ, not the sin He died to save them from. That’s what Christian’s welcome people, including KGBTQ+ people, to do. It’s not some arbitrary welcome into a social club or a deep community. It’s a welcome into new life, MEANING death of the old self.

If that’s not what you want? Then why are you so desperate to be labeled “Christian” anyway? That’s like somebody who loves bacon and has no intention of giving it up railing against vegetarians because they won’t let the bacon-eater be called “vegetarian”—“just because I love meat, they say I can’t be a vegetarian!!”

You can’t be both. That’s how Truth works.

I will say it again:

The LGBTQ+ person who asks Christians to "welcome and accept them without telling them they should change" is openly demanding that the Christians change. From being Christians, to being non-Christians.

Because Christ died to save you from who you used to be. When you become a Christian, you're choosing to change from who you were to who He tells you to be. That is Christianity. To tell Christians to stop talking and behaving like that is what they believe is to not only reject Christianity yourself, but demand that they reject it, too.

Do not listen to any influencer, pop culture icon, or person who says to you that Christians do not love LGBTQ+ people, because they say LGBTQ+ people should change who they are.

Christians change who they are. More accurately, they let Christ change who they are. That’s how they became Christians. Truth goes hand in hand with love—it is not avoiding it. Because love is not anti-rejection. Love rejects plenty of things! Love rejects hatred, self-focus, and lies. So of course Christians who believe in a God that says, “let Me change you into who you’re meant to be” can tell you that you need to change—and that is loving. They love you, and they’re not okay with leaving you the way you are. Because Christ didn’t leave them, the Christians, the way they were.

Don't listen to anyone, "Christian" or otherwise, who tells you different.

[lustlovehart]

Warnings: Biting, Possession, Death (Indirect Murder?)

Yandere Tweel spirit guides?!?! Maybe you’re a fortune teller, determined to help people find a good future for themselves! You’re not too famous, but enough people know you, and that’s all you need really.

Until… You finally meet your guides. It’s only when they look you straight in the eyes do they realize, they don’t have to tell you the truth about your fortunes, do they? Well… it’s a widespread occurrence for those you’ve helped to come back, attempting to ask you out… It wouldn’t hurt to give them a little scare yeah?

… You won’t lie, the two are an extremely suspicious pair, but if they’re the ones helping you… maybe they’re not all that bad?

While you’re holding hands with the first poor unfortunate soul to their discovery, Floyd brushes your cheek, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip. You try your best to conceal any reaction lest you scare the man in front of you, but you can feel Jade's fingers crawl up your spine as they take hold of your shoulders.

“Hmm… He will live a long, prosperous life. He shall suffer no misfortunes. Isn’t that right, Floyd?” You can hear his smile in his words, but you don’t push him any further.

“Yeahhh… Long and whatever— Go on an’ tell 'em Shrimpy, he’s got a good life to live yeah?”… You can sense something is amiss, but they’ve been with you long enough, that not trusting them would just feel… wrong. With a deep inhale, you can feel both of them lean into you, Floyd's cheek smooshed against your right, as Jade’s face places itself on your left shoulder.

“You… You’ll live long. And… and everything will come to you in good fortune.” You muster a soft smile, the guy in front of you visibly brightening at the news. He leans over the table, thanking you for your services.

It’s only when the light hits him just right do you realize… He’s the guy you had some childish crush on in high school.

You can tell the twins must have some way to read minds because the moment you connect the dots the two of them are staring at the way your eyes practically form hearts. When he realizes how excited he seemingly became, he awkwardly sinks back into the chair, doing everything to avoid looking you in the eyes.

“Honestly… I didn’t even come for the fortune… I just heard you were here and wanted to see you.” The two of them are forced to watch you on a mini date, having small talk with some rando… No matter how many times they pinch, poke, or even bite you, the two of you just can’t seem to stop.

When he finally leaves through the door, you finally react to their ministrations, yelping when Floyd bites you hard on the base of your neck as Jade pokes your rib.

“Ohh, so we only matter to Shrimpy now huh? At this point, you should just let him be your guide…” Is… is he sulking…? When you turn around you can hear the sound of Jade sniffling burying his head on your shoulder.

“You’re so cruel… After we’ve spent so much of our time helping you…” Jade finally peaks up, that sadness he displayed completely unfound as he smiles. You know what they’re getting at here… They’re not too secretive with their motives. With a sigh, you let them drag you out of your chair and into your office.

Though, all you can think about is the date you have tomorrow… Unknowing to the lie you told the poor guy. The two of them can only smile as they internally laugh at the fact he won’t take any precautions against the impending doom that comes for him tomorrow.

…

You can only stare absentmindedly at the sea of flames in front of you, Jade and Floyd’s spirit discreetly shielding you from any stray fires. As well as covering your view from the hand that reaches out for you.

Long and prosperous. That was the fortune you told him. No…

That was the fortune they told you.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

payneland + 22

Thank you for the prompt! Here's some post-canon, pre-slash Payneland:

22. “...you knew?”

CW: Referenced homophobia

They don’t talk about it, until there’s nothing to do but talk.

Charles isn’t sure how long they’ve been trapped in this iron cage; there aren’t any windows in their prison and it’s not like they need to eat or sleep. Their captors took Charles’s bag, his cricket bat, and Edwin’s notebook when they threw them in there, so there’s nothing to do to keep them occupied. There’s not even enough room for Charles to pace; the cage is barely large enough for them to both stand chest-to-chest without touching the iron bars.

So they talk, because Charles would go mental otherwise. They talk about Charles’s dad and Hell and Port Townsend and losing Niko. They reminisce about past cases. They speculate about how much Crystal and the Night Nurse are probably driving each other mad right now. And finally, when it seems there’s nothing left to talk about, they revisit the elephant that’s been hanging between them for six months now.

“I wasn’t sure if you would ever want to see me again after I told you,” Edwin says quietly, nearly a whisper. The basement is pitch dark; even though their faces are only centimeters apart, Charles can’t make out his expression.

Charles is surprised by how much that hurts. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”

“Because back in my day, what I told you would have been unconscionable.”

“Well, it’s not your day anymore, is it?” Charles shakes his head. “You really thought I’d go all the way to Hell for you, then leave you on the steps?”

“Of course not. I just didn’t know if you’d want anything to do with me after we escaped.” Edwin blows out a frustrated breath. “You must understand, none of this was something to be spoken of when I was alive. It wasn’t even to be thought of. When people like me were spoken of, it was because we were the subject of scandal, condemnation, and usually criminal charges. There weren’t people like Crystal running around with flags.”

“Yeah, I get that, mate,” Charles says. Not even the happy memory of Crystal and Edwin arguing when she wanted to hang up a pride flag in the office is enough to distract him. “But I told you, didn’t I? It doesn’t matter one bit to me. It wasn’t really a surprise, to be honest.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say even before Edwin’s voice goes shrill with indignation. “You knew?”

“Not about you being in love with me,” Charles says quickly. “Didn’t see that one coming, trust me. But I mean, I could guess you were… not a ladies’ man.”

“Not a ladies’ man,” Edwin echoes. “How did you know”

Charles doesn’t know how to answer that, because the truth was, he just sort of… assumed. There was something about Edwin that always reminded him of Mr. Wright, the man who’d lived two doors down from him when he was a kid. He’d always seemed like a nice enough bloke, but his father sneered at him and forbade Charles from riding his bike past his house alone. It wasn’t until Charles was older that he realized that the quiet man who lived with Mr. Wright probably wasn’t just his roommate.

“I don’t know, mate,” he finally says. “Guess I just know you, don’t I?”

“Everyone always knew, back when I was alive.” Edwin doesn’t sound indignant now, just tired. “The way I walked, the way I spoke, the way I stood.  That was why Simon…”

He trails off, but Charles knows what he was going to say next. Days ago—at least Charles assumes it was days, but it may have been weeks by now—Edwin finally told him the whole story of how he died. Charles got so angry, he punched the bars of the cage and barely noticed when they burned his hand.

“They were fucking idiots,” Charles says fiercely. “All of them.”

“Of course they were, Charles. They accidentally summoned a demon as a prank. They were hardly Britain's greatest minds.”

“No, because they were shitty to you because of the way you stood.” Charles reaches up to put his hands on Edwin’s shoulders, just like he did on the stairs out of Hell, smoothing his thumbs over his collarbones. “Listen, you have to know that there’s nothing you could ever tell me that would make me never want to see you again, yeah? Nothing. You’re my best mate. That’s never going to change.”

He hears Edwin’s throat click as he swallows. “Never say never.”

“No, I will bloody well say never,” Charles says firmly. “Our friendship survived you not liking ska. It will survive anything.”

That earns him a small laugh.

Charles’s chest feels tight with a thousand emotions he can’t put a name to yet. “And I think you being in love with me is brills, okay?”

“You do?” Edwin sounds gobsmacked, which makes Charles smile. He likes taking his partner by surprise. Doesn't happen often, does it?

“I mean, it’s just… flattering, you know?” Charles’s face is warm, which is weird. Ghosts aren’t supposed to get flushed. Did he touch the iron bars without noticing? “Because you’re aces and if you love me, then I must be pretty great too, yeah?”

“Like I said in Port Townsend, you’re the best person I know,” Edwin says, voice going soft again.

Yeah, it’s definitely too warm in here. Time to get out of this bloody cage. “And at least you’re not in love with the Cat King or that bloody crow.”

Edwin lets out a huff of laughter. “I suppose it could be worse.”

Charles feels like there’s more to say, because Edwin’s got to know how much he means to him, but before he can find the right words, there’s a horrible wrenching noise, followed by a crash, as if the door has been ripped off the cage. Charles whirls around, arm thrown out to defend Edwin, ready to take on these wankers with his bare hands if he has to—

“For goodness’s sake.” The Night Nurse’s voice rings through the darkness. “I do not know how on earth the two of you managed before Crystal and I came along. Getting dragged to Hell, kidnapped by witches, and locked in cages. What a way to run a business.”

Charles’s shoulders sag with relief as Edwin makes an offended noise behind him. “Would you believe that we used to not get kidnapped all that often?”

“No,” she says flatly. “Now, come along, let’s get the two of you out of here before you manage to get into more trouble.”

***

Angst and Hurt/Comfort Prompts

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Comfort in Unexpected Places | Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: you and JJ broke things off, but whose arms *cough*-bed do you fall into looking for comfort?

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Trying to clean up my drafts. x

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Me and y/n are over. I broke it off last night.”

“Ok good, cause I slept with her last night.”

"After all we've been through-" You follow JJ down to the dock where he's untying the boat, "You're just going to end things?!"

"We both deserve better. Look we've been through a lot, but I think the feelings are just not there anymore, you know?" He shrugs, "I don't want to string you along anymore."

"String me-" You scoff, "string me along? Whatever, JJ. You're such a dick and I can't believe I wasted so much time on you."

You stomp away, pissed and broken hearted. After all this time, all this effort you'd put into the relationship and into JJ and he ends things? You'd done everything to try and help him get on to a better path.

You find yourself a few drinks deep at the local dive bar a cigarette hanging between your lips, you take a drag.

"When did we start smoking?"

You blow the smoke out, recognizing the voice, "a girl can have a cigarette every now and then."

He slips in the stool next to you, waving down the bartender, "I'll have what she's having." He smirks a little, side eyeing you, "and put her drinks on my tab."

"oh?" You crush the cigarette in the ash tray, "You're going to pay for my drinks?"

He shrugs, "a little birdie told me you were nursing a broken heart. I figured it's the least I can do."

"Word travels fast."

"You deserved better than Maybank anyways." Rafe places a hand on the back of the stool, leaning toward you, "I've been waiting for him to fuck up so I can swing in and save you."

You roll your eyes, laughing, "You're so stupid," You push him away from you. "You've never once looked my way. I'm not your type."

He chuckles, but leans in once more, eyes locked on yours, "Now, how do you know you're not my type? Maybe you've had your eyes on the wrong guy and haven't noticed me yet?" It was the truth. He'd had his eyes on you all this time, but knowing you were Maybank's there was no overstepping. You weren't his. Now though? Now you were anyone's. And Rafe wanted to make you his tonight.

You feel yourself heat up at the look he's giving you. A look of passion and longing. Suddenly you start to look at Rafe differently. Had he always been this hot and desirable? Maybe it was the alcohol but when Rafe asked you if you wanted to get out of there, you didn't hesitate to take his hand and follow him wherever he took you.

~

The next night a local party, you'd stepped away to grab a drink when JJ and the rest of the Pogues arrived. Rafe couldn't wait for this. The moment he could rub it in JJ's face. JJ had fumbled losing you. You were beautiful, funny and Rafe realized he wished he'd over stepped the boundary sooner so he could have had more time with you.

"Hey man," Rafe approached JJ, "How's it going?"

"Fine," JJ replied, "What do you want?"

"Oh you know," he sips his beer, "I was just wondering about y/n? You two showed up separately tonight."

“Me and y/n are over. I broke it off last night.” JJ says.

Rafe can't help the smirk that plays against his lips, “Ok good, cause I slept with her last night.”

If looks could kill. JJ's sure he didn't hear him right, "Excuse me?"

"y/n." Rafe points to you at the drink table, "I slept with her last night."

"You son of a bitch-" JJ lunges at Rafe, who is chuckling and shakes JJ off.

"Hey man, you broke it off with her. That's on you. I'd say you lost the best thing that could have happened to you. But I also have to thank you." He watches you heading toward him and smiles at you, patting JJ on the shoulder without even looking his way, "Cause now she's my treasure."

~

Thanks for reading! Comments, likes and reblogs always welcomed and appreciated! x

[itsfennix]

THIS THIS ALL OF THIS!!!

It is so, so clear (at least to me) that Solas was loyal to a MASSIVE fault when it comes to Mythal. The relationship, regardless of if it was platonic or romantic, was the textbook definition of unhealthy. There’s an inherent power imbalance due to Solas’s allegiance as Mythal’s right-hand-man. Sure, one could equate this to a knight and his queen/princess, but still…….

Additionally, I really appreciate that Veilguard made it clear that Mythal was not nearly as benevolent as she seemed. Like what OP said about the slavery discussion! I always thought it was strange that Solas was this big “none of us are gods,” rebel leader, Breaker of Chains™️ …but was reverent of Mythal……. Even when we were in her temple, seeing these ancient elves with Vallaslin, marking them as slaves to Mythal the Goddess.

Solas has his internal war against his nature, his nurture, and his inbetween right in front of our faces. CONSTANTLY. The inq can say “but wasn’t Mythal one of the Evanuris?” when Solas brings up the truth of the vallaslin in Trespasser. Solas defends Mythal, saying that “she was the best of them” and she “cared for her people. Protected them.” Oh? Because it’s just SOOO much better to be enslaved to a polite person with a god complex than a blatantly abusive person with a god complex??? /s

Solas KNOWS that his reasoning is flawed when it comes to Mythal. He KNOWS, not even that deep down, that they both are WRONG. Another great example of this is the different endings so here’s an additional SPOILER WARNING

If you try to convince Solas to bind himself to the Veil, he’ll talk about not wanting to disrespect the people he’s already wronged by simply giving up. This is yet another hint that Solas is doing this out of his warped perception of justice and duty. The inquisitor asks him to stop, and he considers it. But he ultimately says the vow he made earlier to Mythal outweighs what happened in Inquisition. Again, Solas WANTS to stop. He KNOWS he’s wrong. He KNOWS the opportunity for amends is there.

But he’s so used to tossing aside his morals and nature for the whims and expectations of others. So it takes Mythal officially releasing him from her service for him to stop, just as it took Mythal officially requesting his presence in the mortal world for him to abandon his spirit form. Solas is willing to do anything, say anything, give anything, take ANYTHING to get the outcome he believes is required of him by someone else.

I was discussing the other three endings with a friend earlier today, because it really drives that point home. If you decide to trick Solas instead (and succeed), he’s actually kind of… resigned to his fate. In fact, he remarks that he’s impressed by your wit. He, who prides himself on the reputation he built of being the most clever of them all, has been outsmarted. And honestly, he should’ve guessed that exact trap. He REALLY should’ve! It was borderline obvious, especially to a veteran general such as himself. He does then snap and say you can’t understand what he’s been through, that he is “…a fool. Who has finally met his match.”

However… if you successfully fight him… He’s not nearly as pitiful. Instead, he’s absolutely fucking FURIOUS when you bind him. He goes feral on you, and then belittles you as a mere mortal whereas he is “…a GOD.”

Yep, that’s it. He said it. Solas, who hated the idea of godhood and resented the false gods of the Evanuris, proclaimed himself a god.

I told my friend about how much that difference broke my heart, because it truly shows that Solas will change EVERYTHING about himself to do whatever he thinks is best/required of him. He isn’t innocent, no, not even close. At his core though, he is still there. He is still wanting to have better, do better, be better.

Ultimately Varric was right. Solas comes up with excuses and justifications because his pride rests on his usefulness, in a way. He truly did need someone to sell him a better option. Unfortunately for Varric, Solas was tied to his past vow too much to focus on the present. But once he was released from that vow? He doesn’t hesitate to choose that better option. He catches his breath and then immediately binds himself to the Veil, making a new vow.

Time and time again, Solas proves that he is never whole. He is never settled, never stable, never revealing his true nature. Because he has been denied that nature. Ironically, he said of Cole “a spirit cannot change its nature simply by wishing.” Perhaps this was something he told himself as well, justifying the horrible things he’s done because he couldn’t possibly go against his wise and benevolent nature if he did.

Solas is a beautifully written character that has forever changed how I view my own storytelling, characterization, and even how I approach critical thinking in moral issues. He couldn’t be nearly as effective without the lore surrounding him, which makes him that much more real to me. While Veilguard felt far too removed from the rest of the franchise to me (in many ways), I did really enjoy it both as part of a series and as its own game.

The whole 'refuge for Mythal' thing is really interesting bc it shows that Solas really saw Mythal as being on his side when it couldn't be more obvious that she enjoyed the power of being queen of the Evanuris. He calls it a 'struggle' in the regret memory, but I don't think she was struggling as much as he thinks. Even Felassan realises how delusional he is about her. It's one of many things Solas is in denial about.

That said, it does seem like he was much more aware of Elgar'nan's evil than she was; I truly believe that Mythal found a kindred spirit in Elgar'nan and thought that she was the right one for him. She tempered him and mitigated the harm he did as much as she could (which doesnt seem to be that much, in all honesty). Whether or not they had romantic feelings for each other is up for debate, but I think it's very possible. There was likely an element of tension at being evenly matched in the way they were that gave their relationship a pathological edge. It was only when Solas told her about the Evanuris using the power of the Blight that she finally decided to take him seriously and challenge her husband and the rest of the Evanuris head-on.

It's also really revealing that the Blight was her final straw. Mythal obviously had no issue with slavery as long as her slaves were treated well. It's very reminiscent of real world attitudes some had towards their slaves ie that as long as you don't abuse them it's okay. They don't understand the fundamentally unethical nature of owning another person. It's why I don't buy the benevolence retcon because slavery is inherently cruel--something that both Solas and an elven Inquisitor can argue with Dorian about.

Yeah, Solas really is an unreliable narrator with Mythal and I really wish we'd had more perspectives other than his. I long to see Mythal in all her cunty glory but alas it will never be

[violetscar656]

"New Beginning" - Aftermath Part 5 (Last part)

Summary: Y/N is sister to Rhys and Cassian, but what is she to Azriel?

Warnings: 18+ Fluff with smut (somewhere between loving and fucking),

Authors Note: Last part, finally here, and it's like a dual POV. And I have officially realised that writing smut is a challenge. Comments are open to any suggestions, ENJOY!

Y/N POV

“I don’t know about this one” I said, looking at my reflection wearing a one-shoulder maroon A-line dress. The dress was pretty, but not what I wanted

A sigh reached me “This is the 6th dress you have tried” Mor said, sitting on one of the chairs in the trial room of the shop. I rolled my eyes

After that kiss, I didn’t trust myself staying in the same house as Azriel. I knew sooner than later I’d somehow end up in his bed. So, I went to The Town House, it’s not like I didn’t try to make other excuses for why I wanted to stay there, but Mor and Feyre cornered me, and well, the truth came out

“I knew it” Feyre screamed “You two are thing now, right?” I just shrugged and looked at Mor

She smiled at me, shaking her head, her eyes were apologetic, though, for all those years when she strung Azriel along. I just hugged her, letting her know what happened, happened

Somehow, telling them, and whatever happened in these past couple of weeks, made me feel freer

“Do you even know where he is taking you?” Ferye asked, handing me an emerald green dress

“He just told me to be ready by 8, I don’t have a clue where we’ll be going” I bit my lip,

The dress was beautiful, equal parts of elegant and sexy, something that said You better fuck me tonight. Well, I didn’t tell the other thing to the girls, it somehow seemed wrong to. Seeing the sweetheart neckline of the dress, I knew it’ll show the deeper scar mark. I’m used the mark showing until my collarbone but-

“Okay, go try this one” Mor ordered, I turned towards her, “Whatever your mind is thinking” Mor narrowed her eyes “It won’t matter to him, you and I both know what kind of male Az is”

Mor was the only one who knew about the extent of the scar; she got suspicious after seeing me wearing an outfit completely out of my element to Rita’s. I suck in a breath, Azriel of all the fae in the world will not be horrified from scar marks; mustering up the courage and go try the dress

As I emerge from the curtains wearing the green dress, a gasp rippled out from Feyre, and Mor just looks at me, mouth wide open “WOW” that’s all the high lady said

I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes going to the angry scar; a hand went towards the middle of my chest, even with the Illyrian healing, the scar stayed, an angry shade of pink and brown mixed

“It's funny how you see the scar first” Feyre says, looking at me “But we see how beautiful you look in that dress”

The dress was more than beautiful, the neckline, the slight shimmer on the dress, which made it shine on different angles according to the light, and the way it hugged my curves, but was also flowy.

“I bet by the night he ends ripping it off you” Mor says, grinning

My face went red.  It’s not like I didn’t want Azriel; hell, I needed him. But he wanted to take it slow, and understanding that I agreed to it

A sigh left me “I don’t think there is going to be any Ripping tonight” I replied

Mor and Feyre start laughing, I look at them raising my eyebrow “Y/N, you have too much faith in Azriel’s control” Feyre says midst laughing “When it comes to you” she adds, teasing

“Oh shut up”

--

Arziel POV

I couldn’t wait for tonight, finally sorting my feelings out. The pining after Mor, and then an attachment with Elain; all because my mind couldn’t process the fact that there was a female who was interested in me, even after knowing my darkest sides.

In a way, I was glad that Y/N wasn’t there in the house when I woke up. I didn’t trust myself around her anymore; it fucking took 500 years of self-control to leave her room after that kiss, well I had to pump myself 3 times before I got any hint of sleep.

I kept thinking about how she would feel, tugging on her silky hair, her mouth on my cock, the taste of her pus-

I heard footsteps outside “Who is it?” I said before anybody knocked

Rhys entered grinning, working like an ice bath over my thoughts “Hello brother” he said

“Hey” I replied, sitting on my bed, and staring at my open closet

“I came here to check up on” he said, and I raised up an eyebrow “Well, Feyre, Mor and Y/N are out and” he pauses “I just wanted to make sure you are not a mess”

I chuckle “Well, it’s a date, Rhys” I pause “With my best friend, with everything on the line” The confession left me without me thinking

Rhys looked shocked, then he chuckled, “Brother, I know you two” He gave me a knowing look “It’ll be more than fine” he walked toward the door, he paused “Just don’t wear your leathers” He teased me and shut the door

--

Y/N POV

I looked beautiful, I had to admit, somehow, I looked feminine, with the makeup and dress. Mor was a magician when it came to my hair. I did tie it up in braid before, first knowing it’ll just get in my way while flying, and second, I didn’t know how to manage it,

 “A braid belongs on the training field and not on a date” Mor said, finishing the last section  “We should head down, your lover boy should be here soon” I laughed at the lover boy nickname

“Thank you, Mor” I told her, standing up, my hand reaching to the to mark

 “You look beautiful, Y/N” Mor reassured

“Thank you”- “You need to teach me how to do hairstyles Mor. These curls look great” I tell her

I reached the end of the stairs and froze, warm honey eyes looking into mine. His eyes travel up and down the length of me

“Hi” Azriel said, taking 2 long strides to reach in front of me

I was at a loss of words, Azriel was wearing a white shirt with dark grey pants. I rarely saw the male in anything but black

He reached out “These are for you” I look at the bouquet of dark purple tulips, and just blinked

“You're not wearing black” My mouth uttered the first thing before thinking; I bit my tongue

He chuckles and gestures to the flowers in his hand “Oh, thank you” I said, our gaze locks again. My breath hitched at the contact of our hands, heat already creeping its way

“You look like a goddess”- “It should be a crime to look this beautiful” Azriel whispered

I couldn’t help but blush “You're one to talk, shadowsinger” I tell him

“I’ll take these” Mor chimed in, taking the bouquet “You two need to leave before a make-out session begins right here”

My face heated, turning crimson

Azriel offered me his hand “Shall we?” I nod

--

Azriel POV

After dinner, we landed on the hillside top in Velaris, a place I usually visited alone, but I wanted to show her this

“Azriel!” Y/N exclaimed “This place is beautiful” she told me looking at the city lights below us

“When did you find this?” those hazel-green eyes were looking towards mine

I huffed, walking towards her “You’ll be surprised at the places you find flying around the city” I reply, sitting near the edge of the grassy ground

She narrowed her eyes to me “Well thank you for the obvious statement” moving to next to me

My hands moved before she sat, and I placed her on my lap, her cheeks turning pink

“Dove?” I look towards her, voice husky “When did you know?” – “That I was not a friend to you” A question that was burning up inside me

Y/N let out a sigh, looking at the lights “I always knew”- “I tried to see you differently” she shook her head “But I couldn’t, I also couldn’t act on it cause I thought you saw me as a sister” She huffed out a laugh

“I never did” I wrapped my hands around her waist, looking into her eyes “You were always my best friend, never a sister” –“But my mind- it never comprehended that someone could show interest in me”

I reach out to her scar mark, pausing, looking up to her, and Y/N slightly dips her head. My finger traces her mark, and Y/N stiffens; the urge to kill those bastards again consumes me. We sat in silence for a while, looking into each other.

“This is the second place my mind is quite” I confessed

“Second?” Y/N asked

I took a breath, knowing it’ll be now or never “First is always next to you” My eyes graced upon the scar again “I did not know before, but I know now” I look into her eyes again

I took her hand and placed it on my heart, and I did the same with mine. Y/N’s breath hitched

“That I loved you before, I love you now, and I’ll love you for my whole existence and beyond” The confession left me, 2 heartbeats pass by

I saw it then, the golden light, the string that bonded us; my eyes widened and my body froze, then I felt a tug towards her

I choked on my breath “How long have you known?”

“When Rhys walked in with your limp body” She threw grass strands on my face “You luckied out, you felt the snap when your mate is on your lap, not bleeding out” Every vein in my body was on fire

I moved, kissing her, placing a hand on the nape of her neck to get her closer, trying to simmer down this need. Y/N opened herself instantly for me

She shifted in my lap, and her body touched my already hard cock, I growled in the kiss. She started grinding herself, our kiss turning from passionate to devouring. Her need hit me like a drug. I moved away from her mouth, kissing her neck

“Azriel” Y/N moaned, rolling herself on me, and a curse left my mouth

I don't know whether it was the mating bond, just us, or how she moaned my name. A part of me was ready to fuck her right here. Another, had to stop this madness before I cum in my pants without touching her.

“Let’s go from here” Y/N said “Or this place is going to turn into something else” She bared her teeth, her need as potent as mine. I tried to reach towards a sane part of me, winnowed us away

--

Y/N POV

I was wrapped up around Azriel’s waist, our mouths in an open kiss, teeth clashing, my hands were already unbuttoning his shirt when we landed. My body, working on its own, grinding on his hard length. A thud sound was the only indication of finally being where we are supposed to be  

“Dove” He growled, placing me on the edge of the bed

I bite down on my lower lip, and start unzipping my dress. While watching my mate remove his shirt, his eyes nearly black

Azriel pushes me on the bed and pins my hands “So impatient little dove” he says voice full of silk

His eyes roaming over me, wearing a lacy black underwear, his finger flicks my already hard nipples, I moan and arch my back at his touch, Azriel hums his approval “Your body is so responsive to my touch”  

That finger travels down the length of my scar, and then he stops “Azriel” I whimper his name, moving my hips

Biting his lip, he rubs my core through the barrier “You are drenched” He growls

I moan his name, tired of this game, wanting, no needing him “Mine” I snarl

A growl sound was the only response before Azriel ripped my underwear and kissed me hard. His mouth travelled down me, placing kisses; he stopped at my breast licking a sucking one and kneading the other. My nails digging on his back, careful of the wings, he nibbled my nipple, and pleasure zigged in me.

“Azriel” I moaned out his name, he pinched my other breast. I could feel my already drenched core getting wetter

I gently tugged on his hair, a slight command, he obliged me, kissing his way down my centre

I moaned at the painfully slow lick down my core, he did it again

“You taste exquisite my love” Azriel’s voice low, I whimpered

He sucked on the bundle of nerves and my back arched more, I was at his mercy. He inserted a finger down me, and I gasped at the sensation, my focus on that single finger

He added a second one, my eyes flew open, looking towards him to find him staring at me, as if waiting for the movement, he curled those digits.

Pleasure gathered down my spine, as his mouth sucked at clit again “Azriel” – “I’m I’m gonna” words fail me as white hot pleasure fills me wave after wave

I come down from my high, panting, my eyes go towards my mates, and he slowly licks does finger clean. Blood pumps in my veins at the sight of him, I get up and tug on his belt, noticing his hardness that’s caged

He lets himself free, my mouth waters at the sight of him, I was gonna devour him. I moved forward “Later” his voice came, barely leashed

He moved us back, and slowly he guided himself in, stretching me to the sweet point of pain and pleasure. He moaned, and the sound that came out of me was not of this world. He filled me so deliciously, letting me adjust to his size

He was inside to the hilt “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfect, Az, now please move”

He started moving at slow pace “You feel heavenly, so tight love” he hissed

“Az, harder” I said between pants

“Are you sure it’s our first time”

“HARDER” I commanded, moving my hips

I wrapped my legs above him for emphasis, and he sped up, setting a punishing pace. I met his each thrust with my own. He shifted, hitting the spot, and my eyes rolled back

“There” I cried out “Just like that”, pleasure gathered again

His pace didn’t falter, hard and brutal. The sound of our moans and slapping of skin on skin filling the room

 “Azriel Azriel Azriel” his name was like a prayer on my lips

I felt my walls tightening, but I wasn’t ready to let this end

“Let go dove” Azriel panted his thrust losing their rhythm “Cum on my cock Y/N”

I cried out his name, shattering, compelled by his words  

 “Y/N” he roared, filling me

He lay on top of me, panting, still seated inside me, the thread between us shimmered. We looked at each other and chuckled, slowly, he pulled out of me

“I’ll be right back” He came back with a towel, and moved my legs apart

I blushed “Az I can do it” and said trying to take the cloth, he held my hand and smiled

“Let me take care of you” He smiled “My mate”

--

Lying on the bed all cuddled up “I love you” I looked in those hazel eyes

“You are mine and I’m yours, dove” Azriel says, wrapping his arms tighter around me

I bit my lip “I know things are busy for me and you both” I pause “But I, I want to accept the bond Az”

His head jerks up eyes widening, “Not now” you say, tapping his chest

His soft eyes look into mine “Would you like a ceremony?” He asked, I shook my head

“A week alone would be good” I tell him, my face heating up

He furrows his brows “Just a week?” He says teasing

I gape at him, and he smirks

“I bet it’ll be a fun conversation with Rhys” Azriel teases “Brother I need at least a month off to accept my bond” He mocks me

My eyes widen “A month??” Shocked, I look at the male

He bites my lip “With all the things I want to do to you” he traces my scar, and my core heats “A whole lifetime is not enough” his voice was full of shadows

--

Few Months Later

Slamming a stack full of documents in the living room, I let out a sigh, and turn “That’s it we are moving from here” I tell my brother

“You tell this every time” Cassian just grins “A little scent bothering you, sweets?”- “You should be used to it by now”  

The training sessions began in the House of Wind with one additional member in the house, Nesta. I were not sure about the female at first, but as the days went by, she was improving, we bonded over our mutual love for books. But the house smelled of sex, and my brother smelled of her; the thought of that made me want to puke

“Oh c’mon now” – “You and Az were worse” Cassian yelled

Well we have been worse, but we barely got time after we accepted the mating bond. Azriel had left for his spymaster work, and I helped with the females' training lessons. Ruby, Lucy and Sarah joined along with 2 more.

Rhys did offer us to stay at the River House, but with Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta looking for the dead trove, someone had to stay. There was also the fear of losing Rhys and Feyre, in short things we fucked up

“I can’t fucking sit in the library cause of the memory of you two clawing each other there, and don’t get me started with the dining room” I yell back

Cassian starts laughing, I glare at my brother

--

4 Months Later

I was walking behind Azriel “Okay, okay, but where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise” Azriel said smiling at me

We were near the hillside, of Velaris, Azriel stopped and turned his head to the small house building there,

My eyes widen “Az you didn’t” I gape at my mate “So all the What's your dream house questions you asked”

Azriel grinned “It’ll be ready soon my love” he leaned forward and kissed me gently

“Decorate it as you wish” A tear slips from my eyes

“This is gonna be our home” I say, Azriel hugs me from behind and places one hand on my stomach

“A family home” he whispered

Note: I’M finally done with this series, and I know they being mates is cliché, but I wanted a happy ending. I hope you guys enjoyed it and well I think imma either take a break from writing or just write another drabble. I don’t know, but thank you to everyone.

My Taglist <3: @the-onlyy-angie @lreadsstuff @xadenswhore @willowpains @secretsicanthideanymore @a-chegwidden @tele86 @i-am-infinite

[loveforlukeynewts]

I need to get this off my chest, and please feel free to unfollow me if you don’t like it, or want to argue with me over this.

Nicola has been gallivanting all over the place with Jake and has been “IG official” since his birthday because of the story she shared. Yet as soon as Luke shared Antonia on his grid, suddenly it’s all ‘how dare he do this to Nicola!’

Are people for real with this bs?

I have never held either Luke or Nic to a higher standard than the other. They are both behaving in the same manner, and have been since the press tour began.

Yet it’s always been a complete double standard. Luke is the asshole. Nic can do no wrong.

I’ve been on the Lukola ship since S1. I will always be a Lukola - endgame, baby! I don’t think it’s a secret where I stand.

I was a fan of Luke first (pre-Bridgerton), then Nic (from Derry Girls). I love them both. I love the idea of them together. I started my Luke-related accounts to help combat the shit that was being spread about him after June 13.

I do not care about Antonia.

I do not care about Jake.

I care about Luke and I care about Nicola. I care about their individual projects. I care about their professional relationship with each other, and I care about their personal relationship with each other - whatever the truth of it is right now.

Whatever is happening, they are behaving in the exact same manner. One is not worse or better than the other.

Both Jake and Antonia were around during the world tour, so spare me the “why was Luke so flirty with Nic if he had a girlfriend? What a shitty boyfriend!” bs.

If Luke is dating Antonia and was back then, piss off with the double standards. Nic would be pretty shitty then too for the way she flirted and behaved around Luke.

But sure, keep those “Nic is innocent of all charges, your honour” blinders on.

And if you’re of the mind that Thursday’s appearance of Luke with Antonia was Luke’s way of diminishing Nicola’s BAFTA nomination for Big Mood and disrespecting Polin fans, please unfollow me on all platforms.

Your “I hate Luke” is showing.

That’s it. I have said my piece. I won’t be responding to comments. Fight amongst yourselves, I don’t care.

I’m here to support Luke and Nic, to get more comfy in my seat on the ship, and whatever happens next, happens next.

[keepingitformyself]

but i am flesh and blood (and this flesh has needs) ii

synopsis: even with the snow finally melted you find yourself questioning whether it’s even possible to protect the girl you love from something that doesn’t bleed. or is she too far gone to come back?

pairings: lottie matthews x reader

genre: angst, violent themes, fluff.

warnings: blood, typical yellowjackets violence.

word count: 4.3k

read the first part here

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

three months before the spring.

it doesn't feel as cold as it used to. but that doesn’t help much when you’ve spent the past few weeks crammed in some splintering wooden hut with everyone else. it doesn’t ease the weight of losing the cabin that still burns despite its ultimate collapse weeks ago.

the snow still bites at your skin when the wind gets harsher. your ribs still ache with the hunger you’ve grown accustomed to. but lottie still holds you close despite it all. she still whispers silent prayers with her arms wrapped around you. she lets you cry into the curve of her neck when you need to. she says, ‘i love you’ like it’s the only truth she’s never cracked. she looks at you like you’re the one thing that’s always felt real.

and you kiss her when you need to remember that she’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt for you out here.

you start to have dreams shortly after the cabin burns down. sometimes they’re pleasant. dreams of you living another life. a life where you still play soccer, where lottie is there loving you, like nothing bad has ever touched you both. like, there wasn’t some strange and unfortunate string of fate that brought you together.

other times, the dreams are cruel, scarier. the cabin is there, whole again, but nothing about it feels right. people who shouldn’t be there are alive. greying, blue corpses that talk. you smell the smoke, but there’s no fire. and you feel the heat despite feeling the harsh wind of the cold blowing through the hut.

when the flames finally do come, you shoot awake from your sleep. your breathing is laboured, and tears stain your cheeks. lottie is already there to hold your hand. like it’s some twisted routine you’ve both come up with. you never ask, she doesn’t either. she’s just always there, like maybe she was waiting for you to come back.

you think maybe she was. maybe she also has the same dreams.

one night, when the dreams seem more brutal, lottie is there again to hold you close. you wake in quiet sobs enough to wake the others up. lottie cradles you, holds you close to her chest, and you let the sound of her breathing ground you as you sob into her collarbone.

“you’re safe,” she repeats into your hair. you believe it. because god has never answered your prayers the way she did.

the others watch with worried expressions. natalie looks at you like she’s uncertain of something. tai looks like she wants to reach for you as well, but never does, once catching lottie’s gaze. and shauna doesn’t look at all.

later that day, when you’re supposed to be sourcing wood to build with, you catch lottie again. she’s crouched by a tree, looking distantly at it as if it were speaking to her. you don't announce yourself; instead, she’s already meeting your gaze before you call for her.

“lottie,” you say, but it sounds like a plea. you drop down beside her, her hands reaching for your face.

“what is it?” she asks, but it sounds like she’s barely even here. and you don’t notice how tears start streaming down your face until she’s trying to wipe them off with her thumbs.

“what’s wrong?” she asks again, this time more present. you feel the warmth of her breath hitting your face.

you shake your head, trying to move her hands off you. but she holds on tighter.

“no,” you manage to say.

“what?” she searches your face.

“you have to promise me something,” you say once finally clutching her hands in yours.

lottie looks at you, searching out of confusion, or nervousness, or both.

“look at me,” you say low, but pointedly. “please, look at me.”

“i’m here,” she whispers, “i’m looking.”

you move one of her hands to press against your chest, over your heart.

“do you feel this? the way it beats?”

she nods her head. eyebrows furrowed, “i feel it. i feel you.”

“it means i believe in you,” you whisper, “it means i love you.”

a beat.

“i need you to believe in us, too.”

there’s an agonizingly long pause in between. lottie stays still. like, she won’t answer. like, she can't. but you see the tremble in her lips, the wetness of her eyes starting to show. she gulps down the knot in her throat because, sometimes, she feels like she doesn’t know how to love you without letting this place eat her whole.

lottie knows exactly what you’re asking. understands exactly why you’re asking it. but, nevertheless, she knows. it’s the only thing she feels she’s ever known. the kind of thing that feels like it’s never slipped away. not like the trees she prays to. not like the voices that won’t speak to her.

because in the space between, out of all the fucked up madness that has happened, you’re still the only thing that feels tangible.

the only thing lottie can swear she will always believe in.

lottie releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, a shudder leaving her mouth as she chokes out a sob.

“i do,” she nods. “i swear– i promise,” she chokes back a sob.

she lunges forward, hands immediately finding their place on your face as she presses against your lips. she tastes your tears, salty and warm. she doesn’t even try to wipe them away. instead, she drinks them up like they’re the only thing close to being ordained.

and in that, lottie promises to herself, reminds herself, that she’d choose better. because nothing good has ever lasted long in the wilderness. but maybe you can.

——

you made it to the spring, and for the first time in ages, you were no longer desperate or clinging to some hope that you’d live to see another day. you weren’t actively starving, and you’ve slowly found joy in the new way of things.

and, lottie, well, lottie was still lottie. even after surrendering the crown to natalie, after she survived the hunt, and after claiming the wilderness had chosen her. even after admitting she could no longer hear it. but even then, lottie still believed. she still believed there was a reason everyone was still here. and she still came back from her little solo walks with a fresh wound on her palm. an offering, she’d call it.

you’d just sigh and pull her down to the makeshift bed of your shared hut. you’d wash her palm with the lake water and wrap it in old scraps of cloth. muttering to her that if she was gonna offer something, she could at least try giving it something more convenient.

“could you try offering it a squirrel head or something next time?” you’d joke as you wrapped the fresh wound. lottie didn’t reply, not even a wince when you tightened the cloth around her hand.

“you should come with me,” she replied instead. you looked up at her expectantly. you hadn’t tried much to feel what lottie felt in the last months. but she still wanted you to believe, even if she couldn’t hear it as clearly as before. she tried with the others. she tried to keep them believing, and she tried with you. but people could only humor her for so long.

you hesitated for a moment. months ago, you would have followed her wordlessly. you would have reached for her. you would have let her pull you under until the cold didn’t bite at your skin anymore.

now, you still reached for her, but not for the same reasons. there was no hunger, no desperate need to cling to something that felt greater than you did. you changed; you had to. because you loved lottie, you loved her, and you knew that if you ended up like her, it’d end up destroying you both. you needed to be sane so that you could be there for when she needed to come back.

maybe you didn’t believe in the wilderness anymore. but you believed in her.

you smiled at lottie, holding her wounded hand in yours and bringing it to your lips. “yeah.” you nodded, agreeing with her. “i’ll go with you next time.” lottie smiled at that. you would go. even if you didn’t want to. even if it’s the last thing you’d want to do. you’d do it for her. you’d do it to keep her happy.

the days pass on as they always have. you have your weekly meetings with natalie as an advisor, along with taissa, gen, and van. you play ‘capture the bone’ along with the girls, and lottie always kisses you when you arrive back, whether in defeat or victory. and mari and shauna still bicker over their petty girl drama, and you always are thankful for having that entertainment around.

until mari goes missing.

it’s days of scavenging the surrounding woods. there isn’t any luck at all. even if you’ve tried every single trail you’ve covered in your months here. and just as you’re discussing with taissa and natalie what the next step should be. just as you’re about to decide that pronouncing mari dead as a possibility, she comes stumbling into the village, knee wrapped in a cloth as she limps across the yard.

the girls all rush towards her. helping her settle down, checking her for any injury besides her knee. you feel yourself let out the biggest sigh of relief that you didn’t have to lose someone else. at least not today.

but it all feels full circle once mari mentions being held captive by coach ben. a name you didn’t think you’d ever hear again. a man natalie had tried to convince everyone was dead. he should’ve been dead. but he isn’t. he’s holed up in some cave drinking hot chocolate.

everyone jumps at the idea of going off to find him once shauna mentions it.

“he tried to burn us alive.” you watch in shock as she spits the words out. natalie is the only one who protests against it before shauna storms off, inviting anyone to go with her in capturing him.

lottie doesn’t seem to be ecstatic about the whole ordeal. violence is usually the last thing she wants to partake in. she just nods encouragingly, understanding if it’s something that needs to be done.

you silently pack for the trip that evening before going off with the group to find him. a small part of you is hoping you won't have to bring ben back and make him face the wrath of a bunch of angry teenage girls.

“you’re scared,” lottie says from the entrance of the hut. you look up at her towering figure and huff out a laugh before turning back to what you were doing. “i’m not scared.” you don't know why you lie.

“don't lie,” she says softly, as she kneels beside you. “you don’t have to be scared,” she says it like it’s the simplest thing ever. like, this isn't ben you’re talking about. a man who you once trusted, a man you looked to for guidance. this was coach ben. coach ben, who let you sit out on practices when he saw you were too lost in your own head. he was the last piece of humanity left. the only reminder of wiskayok that wasn’t so fractured by what has become of all of you.

and you’re not sure what scares you more. the fact that he was still alive or that his capture may inevitably lead to his death.

“i just…i don’t think we should do this,” you confess. lottie all but stares at you. patient, waiting, listening, inviting you to say what you need to. like she always has.

“i mean he– he didn’t kill mari,” you start. “he let her go. he let her come back.” there’s more conviction to your words as you regain your confidence. “if he was so dangerous, wouldn’t he have left her to die?” you finish.

lottie hums, not in agreement or dismissal. she grabs your hand in hers and runs her fingers over the insides of your wrist. in some way grounding you. “he still left us.” she replies.

and that’s what it takes for you to understand fully. maybe it didn’t matter that he might’ve started the fire at the cabin, that he let mari go. maybe this was about the fact that he chose to abandon you all in search of his solitude. that he would have rather suffered alone than with all of you.

he could have chosen to stay. he could've chosen to believe. he could have survived with all of you. but he didn’t. maybe that’s why everyone was so angry. because he gave up on them.

lottie watches as the realization settles on your face. the way your mouth parts, the way you feel your throat tighten.

“don't be scared.” she says again, pulling your hand in to kiss your wrist. “we’re here. we’re here together.” you close your eyes as her words settle within you. when you open them again moments later, all you feel is that pull towards her. the one that’s always been there. only this time, it doesn’t feel like you need it to survive. you feel her. and you love her.

you love her more than the fear of what comes next.

she holds your hand in yours for a moment longer. then, with a final squeeze of her hand, you rise to your feet and sling your pack over your shoulder, ready to head off.

“i’ll be back,” you murmur, brushing a kiss against the arch of her brow before finding her lips.

"i know," she whispers, smiling.

you're gone until morning light. walking behind ben and natalie, you catch her gaze just before entering camp, a silent plea, a reminder to have her back for what comes next.

it all happens fast. shauna storms toward natalie the moment they set foot in camp, eyes blazing with the need for justice now that coach ben is in their grasp. but natalie is ready for her. she won’t let this end in blind violence.

“there has to be a trial,” she says, voice steady.

the anger in shauna’s face all but rises. her fists clenched at her sides. “after everything he’s done, you want this to be about fairness?” her voice accusatory, annoyed. melissa, from behind her speaks up in her defense, “he literally tried to burn our fucking home down!”

but you know what you’ve all become out here just as much as natalie does. what you’re trying your best not to continue to be. everything can’t be done in rage.

you step closer behind natalie, you let her feel you there. present. solid. understanding that you know she’s trying her best to do the right thing. even though she’s terrified. even if she doesn’t know what to name it.

a line has to be drawn, right? something no one should dare cross. this is that. like the thing lottie has always explained to you. some things are left out of your hands. some things happen because we aren’t meant to decide them.

and then, like you summoned her with a thought, lottie steps forward. “natalie is right. life and death has always been for it to decide.”

you see how her eyes find you as she says it, not seeking agreement but offering a reminder. of what you’ve once believed. of what she still believes.

you don’t always know what lottie hears anymore. she’s quieter than she used to be, her certainty less loud, but it’s still there, alive in the way she looks at the world and at you.

there’s a long silence. coach ben shifts between his feet.

“okay,” mari speaks up, warily. “how does a trial even look like out here?”

you glance back at lottie. she doesn’t say anything. she doesn't need to. this part is yours. this is up to the rest of you.

natalie shares a look between you and lottie before she steps forward. “we gather everyone. lay out what we know, and take a vote. it isn’t perfect…but it’s something.”

you hear shauna’s huff at her words. her nose flares in frustration, and you know she has something to say but decides against it. instead, she storms off into her hut, melissa trailing behind her.

natalie glances to you at her side, another silent plead. an agreement. you give her a nod. you have her back, no matter what. people disperse into their groups, you hear the mutterings, the doubts. some already taking sides. you don’t care.

you’re just glad there’s still some order to things around here.

you close your eyes for a moment and inhale. you don’t have to open your eyes to know that lottie has appeared next to you. her hand brushes yours, and it feels like coming down to earth. you exhale. when you open them again, you find her looking right at you. it’s there. a knowing. a stillness. how she knows exactly when you need her. you cling to that.

everyone gathers in the center of the village not long after. you sit quietly beside misty and ben, your knee bouncing, heart lodged somewhere between your chest and throat. you scan the faces around the table, searching for something. certainty, doubt, anything human.

your eyes catch on lottie when you glance behind you.

she’s across from you, expression unreadable as she shuffles the deck of cards with steady hands. when your eyes meet, she doesn’t say a word. but she doesn’t have to. you know her. and you know what silence like that means.

when van steps forward and announces natalie as the judge, your stomach twists. the weight of it hits you all at once. how real this is. how far you've come. how far you've fallen.

you turn to misty, voice low but certain. “misty.” she looks at you, wide-eyed.

“give it everything you’ve got.”

the whole trial is anything but easy. it’s stressful, terrifying, and relentless. mari shares her side. then shauna. you're almost ready to object when lottie steps up, until you realize where misty is steering the narrative. then natalie takes the stand, and it’s brutal watching her get shut down again and again once everyone learns she knew ben was alive. you want to speak up, to defend her, but she shoots you a look that says, not now. don’t risk it.

so you bite your tongue, even though it burns.

when ben takes the stand, you can barely look at him. he’s a shadow of the man you remember, broken and hollowed out by everything he’s endured.

he doesn’t even try to defend himself anymore, not really, but there’s still this heartbreaking honesty in the way he answers. like he knows it won’t save him, but he has to speak anyway. and then he starts talking about his life. all the things he hated, all the ways he felt stuck, but says it was all bearable because he got to coach you. the team. because he saw something in everyone that no one else ever bothered to look for.

you feel your throat close up, eyes burning. there’s no way, there’s just no way everyone in this room still wants to kill him. how can they? how can you? how can you all be about to vote him guilty? he’s not a monster. he’s not the villain of this story. he’s just a man who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. and now he’s going to die for it.

when it comes to voting, you have hope. it’s all you have for this. the one thing you’ve always held onto since being here. lottie looks teary-eyed, so does tai, and travis; they all do. but still, a part of you knows a few tears aren’t enough to save a man from death.

natalie glances at you as she approaches the table, jaw tight, like she doesn’t know whether to be hopeful or nervous.

“okay,” she looks around scanning everyone's faces. “we vote guilty or innocent with the raise of hands.” she gulps. “we vote until we get two-thirds.”

the first round. guilty, guilty, innocent, guilty, innocent, innocent, guilty, innocent, innocent, innocent. but it isn’t two-thirds.

“that’s not two-thirds,” natalie calls as she scans everyone's hands. “we have to vote again… until people change their vote.”

it’s silent. then again. people raise their hands. fall again. then raise. again. again. again.

it’s brutal, silent, and feels like crushing something soft. every. single. time. like you’re all operating some mechanical machine meant to press things closed until there’s no air left. you keep your hand steady. you never change your mind. but you feel it. you feel the pressure winning.

and then shauna disrupts. angry, upset, and nothing of what she says, nothing she does, is supposed to be allowed. natalie tries to disrupt her. to tell her this isn’t right. that she isn’t allowed to intercept the vote in any way. of course, shauna doesn't listen. all she has to do is give natalie some look before she cowers back.

and all shauna has to do to manipulate everyone is appeal to their emotions. to remind them that ben still left them, and so he must've burned the cabin down. in that, she also manages to make everyone question natalie’s leadership.

this time, van, shauna, melissa, gen, travis, akilah, and lottie all vote guilty.

when it’s over, the two-thirds is met. ben is found guilty. the sentence comes next.

you block the rest out. numbing all of it, as if ignoring it might make it less real. but it’s real. it’s all very real. and someone is going to die because of it.

you don’t even look at lottie. not right away, at least. too upset to even look her in the eyes. but you do glance up eventually, and you see the look in her eyes. like she knows what she’s just done, like maybe she’s hopeful you’ll understand. like she didn’t just let the fucking trees decide for her.

and the worst part is she thinks she did the right thing.

even if it hurt you in the end.

you huffed, walking off before you could say something cruel. lottie doesn’t try to follow you.

you tried to cool off. you walked laps around the edge of camp, hands stuffed into your pockets. you try to make sense of everything that’s just happened, but it never becomes clearer to you. and you decided it isn’t something you wanted to try and understand, especially if it isn’t something that felt right.

when you return to camp, it’s already the evening. you miss dinner, but you don’t find yourself caring.

lottie is there when you enter your shared hut—quickly rising to her feet as soon as she sees you, like she’s ready for whatever you’re about to give her.

but you don’t. you don’t give her anything.

you clench your jaw and brush past her, ready to head off to bed in the cot you share with her. you go through your motions of getting ready for bed and when you’re done you lay facing the wall of the hut, avoiding looking at lottie at all. she decides she’d break the silence instead.

“i know you’re mad,” she starts, stepping closer to the cot's edge. “but, you have to understand that i chose what it made me feel.”

her words make something in you snap, like all the anger you’ve held onto all day has finally reached its limit. you turn to face her, she doesn’t cower back when she notices the obvious anger on your face.

“well, i am mad,” you say with a silent venom. “i’m fucking upset, lot.”

“i just wanted to–”

“no!” you hiss, rising from the cot to look her eye to eye. “i told you how i felt, and you took that and didn’t think about what it would feel like for me when you chose something i was obviously against.”

lottie blinks slowly at you. she gives you that small, unadulterated smile as if she understands that you may not see it her way. and if she’s offended by your words, she doesn’t show it.

“i know it may seem unfair, but sometimes it knows more than we do. sometimes, it’ll show us things to push us towards a certain direction–”

“weren’t you the one who said some things aren’t for us to decide?” you counter.

“they aren’t.” she says, steadily.

“then why?” you demand. “you saw how broken he was! he’s innocent. hell, you even cried during his testimony, lottie.”

“we all voted,” she steps closer, trying to reach for your hand. “we all felt something and chose.”

“no,” you shake your head, stepping back. you feel the lump in your throat tighten. “don’t do that. don’t hide behind it.”

she calls your name, as if hearing her say it may bring you back to her. as if maybe it’d get you to understand. “i didn’t want it to end this way.”

you try to swallow down the tears, try to force yourself not to just yell at her for what will happen. part of you understands this isn't her fault. that it isn’t anything she can help. still, you can’t help but want to blame someone for the way things are. if it’s even something that can be protected from the kind of thing that doesn’t bleed, but continues to demand sacrifice.

you whisper, broken but clear. “don’t you remember what you promised?”

you see the glass start to break. her mouth parts, eyes turn glassy. you hear her small exhale at your words.

“i don’t want to lose you.” she whispers.

“then don’t.”

[keeryhours]

both arms cradle you now - emperor geta

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The chambers were quiet, cool, dark. The torches flickered against the wall, providing little light. You were waiting anxiously - you were always anxious waiting on these nights. So many things could go wrong, disastrously so.

You tensed as you heard footsteps coming down the hall - the moment of truth. This was always the scariest part, the unknown, the potential for trouble. You wrung your hands together, fussing with the material of your tunic.

The footsteps neared. You could see the light from the torch they were carrying. Then, around the corner - you released a breath, a smile spreading across your lips at the sight of your love, your emperor.

He returned the smile, one that was rarely seen on his regal face. He stowed the torch on the wall and approached you quickly, arms wrapping around your waist in a tight embrace.

“My love,” he greeted you, his voice full of emotion. “I have missed you.”

“I think I’ve missed you more.” You were smiling so big your face hurt, your heart beating rapidly against his chest, a mix of fear and longing.

Geta leaned down with his tall frame and kissed you, his hand tenderly resting on your cheek. His lips were slightly dry. He had been working too hard, stressing too much, not taking care of himself. But here with you, he could feel like himself. He could feel loved.

When he pulled away, those anxious thoughts crept into your head again. “Where is-“

“Shh,” he shushed you with his finger against your soft lips. “I do not want to speak of her. I am here with you.”

You always thought of the Empress. The woman who had what you wanted more than anything in the world. You knew the marriage was political, you knew there was no love between them, but it stung. Another woman shared a bed with your love. Another woman had his hand in marriage.

But you had his heart.

“Let me lay with you,” he whispered. “Let me be here with you tonight. Let us not worry of anything else. Tonight, I am yours.”

Before you could protest, Geta’s lips were pressing to yours once more. He pressed forward, walking you back to your bed. You often wondered what it might be like to lay with Geta in his bed - you imagined it was much more comfortable. But that was impossible, and he never complained.

He laid you down gently, his hands caressing down your body. He climbed over you, his lips never leaving yours. His thick thigh slotted between your legs, rubbing against your core. You were so needy for each other - these dalliances were rare, you had to savor them when they happened, even though you had little time together before Geta was expected somewhere.

No one could find out about you. It would make him look like a weak ruler, turn public opinion against him. Rome always came first. Even when he didn’t want it to.

Geta’s lips worked down to your neck while his large hands slid up your tunic. You had prepared specifically for this, spending extra time in the bathhouse, coating your skin in his favorite scents. He breathed you in, his favorite drug.

He undressed you swiftly, his eyes hungry for more of you. Your hands worked at his tablion before removing his robes, his gorgeous, toned body revealed to you. How lucky you were, to see all of your emperor in this way.

His cock was already hard, ruddy tip leaking from his desire. He could never control himself around you, always needed you right away. He thought of you constantly in the times you were apart, always looking forward to the next chance he had to be alone with you.

Once your tunic was gone his mouth went straight for your breasts, mouth eagerly wrapping around your nipple as he sucked, his tongue running over the nub before he grazed his teeth ever so gently over it, making you gasp. He loved the little noises you’d make, they got him going like nothing else.

“Beloved,” he groaned against your breasts, nipping gently at the skin, leaving marks. “You are divine. You are a blessing from the gods themselves, placed in my hands. All mine.”

You loved his words, but there was always that nagging voice in the back of your head that you weren’t his. You were just a slave. He was the Emperor. He had a wife. The negative thoughts made their way back, tears welling in your eyes. Geta noticed immediately.

“My dove,” he murmured, a hand on your chin turning your gaze to meet his. “Why do you cry?”

“It’s just…” You tried to hold his gaze, but found your eyes dropping. “I just wish we could be together.”

Geta’s chest ached. He wanted that more than anything. He would give anything for your happiness, anything to have you. But it was impossible. There was simply no way.

“I know, my love,” he said. “As do I. But let us not think of it now. I am here, and I want to make you feel good. I want to be one with you. I want to show you how much I love you.”

You tried not to dwell as he went back to kissing all over your body, throbbing cock pressed against your core. He slowly rocked his hips, cock sliding just between your folds, coating himself in your wetness. He longed to bury himself inside you, to thrust in to the hilt and take you for his own.

He reached between you to line himself up, pressing just barely inside you before pulling back out, teasing you - and himself. You whimpered at the loss before he was pushing back into you, his girth stretching you like no other man could.

“Geta-“ you let out a choked moan as he filled you in a single strong, slow thrust, his low groans vibrating against your neck.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned against your skin, rolling his hips in a slow pace, savoring the feeling of being inside of you. Every inch of him was buried into you, the pleasure all encompassing for you both. “Like no other.”

You hated the thought of your love with other women. You knew he had been, of course. He was married, after all, and before you there had been others, concubines. It still twisted your heart in your chest. Knowing you were his favorite (and his only, now) only soothed the sting a little.

The thoughts were pushed from your head as he thrusted particularly deep, cock pressing against your bundle of nerves in the way only he could. Geta was the only man who had ever brought you to orgasm, and he made sure to every time. He loved it. He loved bringing you pleasure.

His large hands spread your legs wide, and he looked down to where you were joined, a soft whimper escaping the emperor’s lips at the sight. His pace faltered for a moment, hips stuttering into you as he lost control for only a brief moment.

“Fuck,” he let out in a quick breath, his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. You thought about examining your body later, seeing all the proof of Geta’s claim. He liked to mark you up, liked to see you around the palace with the proof of what he’d done to you, although he was the only one who knew.

You clutched onto his strong arms, whining as he began to pound into you. Your back was arching, vision going spotty, nerve endings coming alive. Your body felt like pure energy, a storm brewing deep in your core.

“Geta…” you cried, your hips moving up to meet his thrusts. “I’m…”

“I know, my dove,” he said, eyes meeting yours, looking deeply into them. “I can feel you. Can feel you clenching around me, needy little thing. Go on and cum for me, cum for your emperor.”

Your mouth dropped into a wide O as you felt it, that feeling Geta brought you every time. It spread through your body like lightning, and you came hard, crying his name over and over. 

Geta bent over, burying his face between your breasts, placing kisses all over them as he grunted with every thrust until he was stilling, filling you deeply with his spend. Your mind was so hazy from your orgasm you didn’t think twice about how he didn’t pull out and finish on your stomach and breasts the way he usually did.

Geta’s trembling hands held onto you for a while longer as he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. When he finally did, he pulled out of you, rising from the bed and reaching for his clothing.

You watched, your heart sinking. “Must you leave so soon?”

He turned to you, his expression genuinely hurt. “I must. I am sorry, little dove. I will be back as soon as I possibly can.” He reached for you, his hand resting on your cheek. “You know how they watch. It is not so easy to slip away.”

You understood, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Instead you laid there, still naked with Geta’s seed between your legs, as he dressed and placed a final kiss to your lips and the top of your head before leaving.

And you were alone once again.

It had been but a few months since that night with Geta when you knew something was wrong.

Your cycle was regular. It was something you could count on. When it didn’t arrive, that was your first worry. Then your breasts began to swell and ache, sensitive even to the feeling of your clothing rubbing against them. When you noticed the slightest rounding of your stomach, you knew there was no denying it. You were pregnant with the Emperor’s child.

He didn’t visit for a while. It always hurt when he didn’t come, having to see him through the palace acting as if he didn’t know you. It was like a sword to the chest, yet a pain you knew all too well.

When you received a missive through Geta’s most trusted courier, a message letting you know he would be coming, your anxiety increased. This was it. You would have to tell him. How would he react? Would he be angry? Happy? That was naive, you thought. You would never be a family.

This pregnancy could have you killed. Your child could be born into slavery. The thought itself made you sick to your stomach.

So as you paced your chambers, waiting for Geta’s arrival, you thought and thought. There had to be something you could do to save the child. There had to be.

You heard his footsteps. As always, you tensed, listening closely. When he came inside, a soft smile spreading across his face at the sight of you, you let out a breath. He always brought a comfort that wasn’t entirely logical.

He said your name gently as he approached, taking your soft hands in his. Your returned his smile, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms and tell him everything, and have him tell you it would be alright. 

His eyes roamed your body, as if he could see a change but didn’t put it together. His large hands came to rest on your hips, rubbing your body over your clothes.

“I have missed you,” he muttered, his head dipping towards you, lips nearing yours. You accepted the kiss, but when he tried to deepen it and you knew where it was headed, you gently pushed at his chest. He moved back, looking down at you with his brows drawn together.

“What is the matter, my dove?”

You didn’t know what to do. He would know once your clothing came off. You had to tell him. But how? “Geta…”

His hand rested on the side of your face, thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. “Something is bothering you.”

“I…” You paused, unsure how to continue. “My cycle…it…I didn’t…”

Geta just stared at you. Then, a grave understanding passed over his already pale face. “Oh.”

You watched his face for any further reaction. But he had withdrawn into himself, his mask he never wore around you coming over his features. Your heart sunk. Was he angry with you? Would he - gods forbid - have you killed to keep his secret? 

He looked away from you and you watched as he lifted a shaking hand and ran it through his ginger hair, blowing out a long breath. He began to pace your chambers, shoes scuffing against the floor. This was a version of him you knew from around the palace - stressed, thinking, burdened. You were his only reprieve from this form of himself, yet here he was.

“Geta…” you said gently, taking a tentative step forward. He held up a hand harshly and you stopped in place, startled. He was never this way with you.

He turned toward you, face immediately softening at your hurt expression. “I am sorry, my dove,” he said, walking back over to you. His hands rested on your upper arms. “But this is…”

You blinked back tears. You knew there was no happy ending. Nothing you had dreamed would come true. It was foolish. You were foolish.

He wiped at your tears with his thumb. “Please do not cry,” he whispered. “I hate when you are sad. Please. We…we will figure this out.”

That surprised you. “What do you mean?” you said, your voice cracking.

“I will not let harm come to you,” he said firmly. His eyes glanced down at your stomach. “Either of you.”

“But what can we do?”

“I…” He looked down. “I do not know. But I will find something.” His hands dropped from you and he moved to sit on your bed. “Come lay with me for now. I wish to hold you.”

You obeyed your emperor, walking slowly until you reached the small bed. He laid down, holding out an arm for you. You fit yourself into the mold of his body, your back pressed against his chest. You could feel his breathing as he wrapped his arm around you, holding you close.

His hand caressed your arm, your side, until he hesitantly reached forward and placed it over your stomach. His breath hitched as he felt the bump there, the proof of the life growing inside you. The life you had created together. You could feel his heart thudding against your back.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he placed a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder, rubbing your stomach. His mind raced. His emotions confused him. This was not good. This was disastrous. Yet, he was happy. The thought of you carrying his child, the child he had given you, warmed him from the inside out. He imagined what the child might look like, if it would be a boy or a girl.

He knew he would never know.

When you awoke, Geta was gone. You must have fallen asleep in his arms and he snuck out after. You had never fallen asleep with him before, but your bed suddenly felt much colder than it ever had.

You went about your day, your mind on the child growing inside you. You felt a fierce protectiveness. You looked over your shoulder throughout the day, terrified someone knew of your secret and would be coming for you. But no one bothered you.

When you returned to your chambers, you were surprised to find Geta waiting there for you.

“Geta…?” you asked hesitantly to the man sitting on your bed, his head in his hands. At the sound of your voice he looked up, standing and walking to you. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close to his large body.

“My dove…” he muttered into your hair, not letting you separate an inch from him.

“Geta…what is it?” you asked him, pushing him back only enough to look into his dark brown eyes.

“I…”

You could see pain in his expression, and that terrified you. You held onto him tighter. “Please. Tell me.”

His trembling hand came to rest on your cheek. “You know I love you. More than anything on this earth or above it.”

Your heart beat faster. “Yes. I love you, too-“

“I would do anything to protect you. And our child.” His voice cracked on the last word, as if he were choking back tears. You had never seen him cry.

“What is it?” you whispered, eyes searching as if something in his face would tell you.

“I’ve arranged to have you sent away,” he said.

Your heart stopped. “What?”

“It is the only way,” he said, and you could tell it was the painful truth. “They will have you both killed. I cannot have that. I will never let that happen, do you hear me? I will never let that happen.”

“So you’re sending me away?” you asked. “Alone?”

“You will be safe in the countryside,” he said. “I have arranged for you to stay with a family there. They will take care of you and the child. You will get the care you need. You will be safe.”

Your lips parted, tears welling in your eyes. Geta watched as they fell, helpless to take your pain away. Helpless to take his own pain away. “Will I ever see you again?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. His lack of an answer brought more tears, and he pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back.

“I would do anything to keep you both safe,” he whispered again. “Anything.”

His heart cracked as he held your shaking body, sobbing into his chest, soaking his tunic. His own eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He had to be strong for you, especially now, despite the intense despair he felt, the hopelessness.

“I will try to write to you,” he said. “I will try to visit.”

Try. You knew deep in your body that you would never see Geta again. But if it was the only way to keep the child safe, you would do it. You had no choice. You pulled back and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. Your emperor, your love. The man Rome was terrified of, your only comfort. The only person who had ever loved you properly.

“I do not want to lose you,” you admitted, voice weak.

“You will not.” He took your hands in his and kissed the knuckles. “I will love you until my dying breath.”

With your few belongings packed, you stood outside the palace. Servants loaded your bag into the back of the carriage. You looked around, wondering if Geta would come to say goodbye. No one came.

“Are you ready?” the carriage driver asked you, tearing you from your reverie. 

You blinked the tears out of your eyes. “Yes.”

You climbed into the carriage, and then you were off. Off to a new life. You rested your hand over your stomach, thinking of Geta. You allowed yourself to dream for only a moment of a life together. Geta holding the tiny babe, small fingers wrapped around his. The child of the emperor. Not that they would ever know it.

While you were still lost in thought, the carriage stopped abruptly, jolting you forward. You felt the panic rising in you, and you covered your stomach with your arms protectively.

“Wait!”

But you knew that voice. You opened the door and stepped out, seeing Geta running towards you from his own carriage. Both drivers looked forward, giving you privacy as if they weren’t even there.

He wrapped his arms around you once he reached you, pulling you close to his body. “My love,” he said. “I could not let you go without saying goodbye.”

The tears were back, streaming down your face. You clutched onto him tightly, wishing he’d never let you go. When he pulled back to look you in the eyes, he stroked your hair gently.

“The gods truly blessed me when they brought you to me,” he said quietly. “But my life has always been nothing but sacrifice.”

“Come with me,” you said, foolishly, knowing it could never be so, but desperate for him, desperate to hold onto him. “Come with us.”

Something broke in him then. “I cannot,” he said, and all the pain in his body could be heard in the words. “I wish I could. More than anything, I wish I could run with you. But I belong to Rome.”

You looked up at him with tear stained cheeks. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I will do everything in my power to see you again,” he said, and you knew that was the best promise he could make you. “I love you. If you remember anything about me, remember that. You will be in my heart for all of eternity.”

He pressed his lips to yours, not caring that the drivers were still nearby. He put all of his emotions into that kiss, both of you could feel it through your bodies like a current. He pulled away, and stepped backwards, reluctantly dropping your hand.

“Be well,” he said. “I love you, my little dove. I love both of you more than I have ever loved anything.”

You watched with a broken heart as he climbed back into his carriage and they left, heading back towards the city. You felt in your chest it would be the last time you ever saw him.

You climbed back into the carriage, a hand resting on the swell of your stomach. A new life. A new beginning. And an ending.

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[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

Happy prompts? Say no more!

Buck watching Tommy play with Jee-Yun and/or Baby Boy Han in Madney’s backyard and deciding that he has to figure out the secret to mpreg ASAP.

big man, tiny kiddie coming right up!

(did i scroll through several lists of Korean baby names just for one throwaway line in this fic? why yes, yes I did)

Future with you (also on AO3)

Rating: G word count: 1392

---

They're in Maddie and Chim's back yard, little Jae-Hyun only a little over two weeks old and so tiny he all but disappears in Buck's hands. His little hand too small to even fully wrap around his uncle's finger.

He's adorable and Buck is completely in love with the little boy.

He'd taken him from Maddie the second he'd walked through the door, both to give her a break and to have a buffer between him and his parents.

Things were better but not perfect.

But today everyone is on their best behaviour to celebrate the newest addition to their family.

The weather is nice, his mom is busy fussing over Maddie, Chim escaped into the kitchen half an hour ago, and Tommy is sitting next to him and softly strokes the baby's head with one finger.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

"I think you're his new favourite person after mom." Tommy says, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from the boy dozing in Buck's arms.

"I don't know about that." Buck says with a chuckle. "I think he's just happy to be held. Jee was like that too."

"Uncle Tommyyyy" Jee whines as if on cue and starts tugging at Tommy's hand. "I wanna fly!"

"In a minute princess. I'm just hanging out with your little brother now."

She gives him an unimpressed huff.

"You can do that later. I wanna fly nowww!"

Tommy bites back a laugh.

"Why don't you come sit with us for a little while? We can fly later."

She rolls her eyes in a way that makes her look like Maddie's mini me and Buck bites his lip and focuses on the little boy in his arms to stop himself from laughing.

"Babies are boring." Jee tells them but lets Tommy pick her up and put her in his lap anyway.

She's a little obsessed with being in Tommy's arms, a feeling Buck can relate to all too well, and sometimes he thinks she might be the happiest member of the Buckley-Han family to have Tommy back where he belongs.

"That's because he's only little. When he's older you can play together." Tommy explains but Jee isn't convinced.

"I want a puppy." she says. The 'not a little brother' goes unsaid but not unheard.

"Yeah I always wanted a puppy instead of a brother too." Tommy tells her and that gets her attention.

"You have a baby too?"

Tommy chuckles.

"He's 8 minutes older than me actually." he moves her in his arms so he can take his phone out of his pocket. "That's him on the left." he shows her a picture Buck remembers taking at the badge vs badge basketball tournament a few weeks ago after someone had suggested putting Tommy on the PD team and pretend to be Rocker.

Rocker's team had been convinced it would work, while he and Luca had done their best to point out the differences between their partners and why they'd get found out in no time.

"He looks just like you." Jee notes.

"That's because we're twins." Tommy explains. "My mommy had two babies at the same time."

Jee looks at him like she's not sure if he's actually telling the truth but doesn't have the necessary information to prove him wrong.

"Is he a fireman too?"

"No he's a policeman." Tommy tells her, deciding to keep things simple. "Like Athena."

"Girls can be police too." Jee says like she's explaining the mysteries of the world to him.

"Of course. Girls can be anything they want."

"Girls can fly too, right uncle Tommy?"

"Of course. There are a few girls who fly where I work."

"I can fly too!" Jee announces and climbs off his lap. "Come on uncle Tommy! We can fly!" she spreads her arms and starts running around the yard, until Tommy gives in and with a quick kiss and a "duty calls" to Buck, scoops her up and swings her around while she screams in delight.

"He's good with her." Philip Buckley says a few minutes later and Buck jumps. His father has apparently learnt how to appear out of thin air and sits down next to him, both of them looking at Tommy and Jee.

"Yeah... Jee loves him. She's obsessed with flying ever since he told her what his job is."

"I have to admit, I found that one of the more interesting things about him when I first met him too. He said he'd show me around the birds some time."

Buck does a double take. He's still not completely used to the fact his parents know and like Tommy, and approve of their relationship to the point of his father now apparently making plans with him.

"Though with everything that's happened lately, I figured he had other things on his mind than giving me a tour."

"Y-yeah... he won't mind though. He loves talking about the helicopters."

"Maybe next time. Your mother and I are flying back home in a few days. Maddie and Howie have everything under control with this little man." Philip says and tickles little Jae's tummy.

They sit and watch the little boy for a minute until Jee's happy screaming pulls their attention back to her and Tommy.

He's pretending she's getting too heavy and he's too tired to hold onto her and they crash onto the grass together.

They're both laughing as Tommy rolls onto his back and Jee climbs onto his chest to convince him to get up and fly with her again.

Buck winces on his behalf when he notices one of her knees digging into his stomach, but Tommy doesn't even flinch.

"Uncle Buck! You need to come fly too!" Jee decides and Tommy only just manages to move her off his chest before she uses him as a trampoline.

"I think uncle Buck is a little too heavy to fly, princess. He had two pieces of cake earlier." Tommy holds up two fingers.

"I only had two small pieces. Uncle Tommy had two huuuuge pieces." Buck replies. "And he had a chocolate muffin for breakfast. He needs to be careful or he won't fit in the helicopter anymore."

"Are you calling me fat?" Tommy mock glares and turns to Jee. "I think uncle Buck wants to sleep on the sofa tonight. Or in the car."

Jee giggles and Tommy puts an arm around her and pulls her into his side, pretending to whisper something in her ear while looking back at Buck who just laughs.

In his arms Jae is starting to wake up and notice he's not in his mother's arms and decides to let the world know he's not happy with the situation.

"Give him to me, I'll take him inside to Maddie and save her from your mother."

Buck gently transfers the little boy to his father's arms and tries to push away the feeling of emptiness as Philip gets up and walks into the house with him.

"Uncle Buck!" Jee yells his name again and he sees her and Tommy on their backs on the grass. Apparently they've moved on from flying to cloud watching.

She holds out her hand for him and Tommy does the same.

"Come on babe, we've already seen one shaped like a tiger."

"Wow a tiger? Well I can't say no to that, can I?" He gets up and joins the two of them on the grass, leaning over to Jee to kiss Tommy, laughing when she pushes them apart and tells them kissing is gross.

"Just wait until you're older and you find someone you love and want to kiss all the time." Buck tells her, but Jee insists that's never going to happen.

They spend the rest of the afternoon watching the clouds and making up stories to go with them, and when Jee is deep into a story about the unicorn she found, Buck lets his mind drift to a day in the hopefully not too distant future, where it's not their niece he and Tommy are entertaining, but a child of their own.

He turns his head to the side and meets Tommy's eye over Jee's head and they share a smile.

He mouths "I love you" to Tommy, and makes a mental note to invite Hen and Karen over for dinner soon.

[the-ragbros-are-okay]

RAGBROS CODED SONGS

under the cut bc it’s a long post

Ribs by Lorde - this song has such a longing for the childhood and/or past

“you’re the only friend i need; sharing beds like little kids; we’ll laugh until our ribs get tired”

it makes me think of them staying up past their bedtime and telling stories under a blanket

Shots by Imagine Dragons - there are lyrics about reminiscence and places you used to go with someone

and then of course the obvious “i shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that i loved”

i’d say this song is more Diluc-centric for sure, focusing around him realizing “oh God, I fucked EVERYTHING up didn’t i?”

and maybe that realization hits him after he returns to Mondstadt and sees how different Kaeya is

Brother by Madds Buckley - this song was written for Touya and Shoto from BNHA, but it goes along with ragbros as well i think

“i left you alone, in a house and not a home”

“Brother, i watched the sky burn; and all i learned was smoke fills the lungs like a disease”

i want to CRY every single time i hear this song

What’s Wrong by half•alive - just the lyrics “time’s always right to fix what’s wrong”

and maybe both of them think “i should talk to him” every time they see each other but they don’t because they’re scared

also these lyrics are SO kaeya omg

had to take pics bc i wasn’t about to type out ALL of this:

Burning Down by Alex Warren - this ENTIRE song feels like diluc’s internal monologue right after kaeya told him the truth about his origins

once again, way too many lyrics to type out bc i would just be typing the entire song

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths - to me, this song feels like people talking to Kaeya after Diluc left

kind of asking for him to come back to them, bc even though he’s an expert at masking his emotions, i KNOW people like Jean and Adelinde would be able to tell that smth was wrong

Oysters in my Pocket by Royal Otis - when you’re young you think you have all the time in the world, and you think things will stay the same

you think you’ll always be with your childhood friends eating popsicles on the back porch and you don’t want to think about the future

and i think that’s what ragbros felt, they thought they would be best friends for the rest of their lives

Nobody’s Soldier by Hozier - both of them broke away from smth they were previously a part of: Kaeya with K’hanriah (probably spelled that wrong idc) and Diluc with the Knights

they’re forging their own paths from what their parents expected of them

Evelyn Evelyn by Evelyn Evelyn - this song is about two conjoined twins (Eve and Lyn) and how close they are, and then how they want to get away from each other

how one wants to separate and the other doesn’t know what they would do if separated

“We grew up so very close”

Harpy Hare by Yaelokre - just watch this:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP86yYPpJ/

crepus wanting to keep his kids safe and then everything happens on That Night :(

Wires by The Neighborhood - honestly i feel like this song can go both ways

either diluc about kaeya after his return, or kaeya about diluc after his return

Two Birds by Regina Spektor- this song just speaks for itself tbh

a lot of people use this for ragbros animatics and it 100% fits them

Seventeen by MARINA - just the lyrics “could never tell you what happened the day i turned seventeen”

(yes ik diluc was 18)

bc it seems so impossible for them to talk about, such a HUGE topic to tackle and they’re scared of it. scared of talking about it and everything going wrong

but anyway. diluc’s 18th bday is when their worlds crumbled around them. how are they supposed to explain that to anyone else but each other?

The Fall by half•alive - “it’s like sharing a dream with someone, once you say it out loud it can’t be undone. i cant trust the fall”

they would trust each other, but they can’t anymore

diluc thought they would always be brothers

kaeya didn’t know things would fall apart like that

they trust each other when it comes to things like work and keeping Mondstadt safe, but when it comes to each other? it’s just so hard

Traitor by Daughtry - another song that speaks for itself

“the only thing worse than a hater, is a traitor”

definitely diluc talking about kaeya here, probably in those years he was away

My Alcoholic Friends by The Dresden Dolls - kaeya. this song is kaeya. 100%, through and through, kaeya.

after diluc left, he feels lost. he’s trying to figure out what to do with his life now that the person he shared it with is gone

i know you guys have sent songs in my asks and i’ll def be looking through them!! i just moved back from uni and have been INSANELY busy unpacking and everything