#and i love her downstairs neighbors

[thefixeraa]

palazzo serenzo , via degli archi , 12 florence , italy .

background : palazzo serenzo is a historical building from the 15th century . the di conti family , a prestigious and one of the most prominent noble families in florence , commissioned the architect leonardo de'amici . the thing about the di conti family is , there isn't much known about them . their family is a closely guarded secret , where only a known select few know of their true identities . thus using their title to serve as a symbol of their noble lineage and historical significance in florence .

their family can only be traced back to wealthy merchants who amassed great wealth and power through their successful trading ventures . with their wealth , the di conti family became influential patrons of the arts , supporting renowned artists , architects , and scholars at the time . they were known for the passion for collecting rare artifacts ( some of which mia is in possession of today . ) they commissioned elaborate frescos , hosted lavish gatherings at their palazzo , which became a hub of cultural and intellectual exchange .

the di conti family played a pivotal part in the political landscape of florance , often holding positions of influence and participating in key decision - making processes . they were esteemed for their diplomatic skills , strategic alliances , and their commitment to perserving the city's cultural heritage .

mia's residency in the ancestral palazzo of the di conti family represents a continuation of their legacy , as she findes herself surrounded and enamored by the remnants of a bygone era .

the apartment : mia bought the two upper floors of pallazzo serenzo during a time of transformation . she had just returned to public life after a year and a half underground . it was during this time that she was working as the fixer . the apartment contains four bedrooms , one including the large master bedroom , two bathrooms , a large eat - in kitchen with a seprate formal dining room . a library with hundreds of books adorning the bookcases . a more traditional armory that hold some 15th century military artifacts and then some . with the captivating blend of historical charm and timeless elegance , mia's apartment begins at the entrance , with a heavy wooden double door , leading to a long hallway that showcases the first fresco ( a celestial panorama , one with a rich night sky , adorned with twinkling stars and constellations . with a radiant full moon and surrounding it some etherial figures of mythological creatures . ) another fun fact about the di conti family is that they were catholic , but believed in science too . some believe that the patriarch of the family was an astronomer .

the hallway holds a few artifacts and paintings that mia has collected over the years . tall windows lining the left side , with dark wooden panels that are opened most of the year . the living room is further down the hall and to the right , it is adorned with more frescos that grace the walls - mia kept the walls a more neutral tone , a warmer white so that the antiques and art work can hold presence there . there is a large , antique persian rug that graces the rich , dark hardwood floors . off to the right is the formal dining room , where a refurbished farmhouse table sits in the center of the room . it can host around eight to ten people . the kitchen resides further on , and mia opted to keep the utilities more modern here , although attempting to keep up with the rustic vibes that was there originally . considering she lives on the upper floors , the original kitchen is on the ground floor , so she had options .

the four bedrooms are divided , with the master bedroom on the ' first floor ' . mia created a warm and comforting room , oping for a four - poster bed , crafted from aged mahogany . the bed is dressed with layers of linen sheets and fluffy pillows . she has a vanity table on the other side of the room , which is also where her walk - in closet is situated . there she has an ornate gilded mirror , which is brass and also an antique . throughout the apartment , among the many artifacts and vintage art , there are a few chandelier's which hang from the tall ceilings . all of which are designed to emulate the glow of candlelight and create an enchanting atmosphere in the evenings .

** below mia lives an elderly couple , luciano and maria amato . luciano is a retired professor of literature and maria who was more of a traditional housewife . they both are friendly , inviting , charming and of course - full of wisdom and humor . **

[incorrectfigureskatingopinions]

AMBER LIVED AMBER SLAY

[umemiyan]

i’m continuously baffled by how some people just seem to live in a constant state of being loud 😭 like slamming cabinets and doors and the fridge and stomping on the floor like hello but do you have absolutely no awareness of anyone or anything else in your environment outside of yourself???? or do u just not care

[tittyinfinity]

Since I had to order new stuff I needed online and I'm broke I'm just gonna claim my packages as lost or stolen and get my money back. Lmao. Sorry walmart but you're not gonna be hurting.

[rqyup]

boyfriend material (drabble)

pairing.. caleb x reader

cw.. xavier mentioned

a/n.. an au where everythings alright and caleb became our boyfriend after graduating :P | masterlist navigation

oh, caleb is the ultimate heartthrob boyfriend material. Just picture this: him stepping out of his sleek, black car in his casual outfit, but is still exuding confidence with every stride.

His physique is so well-built that even the simplest movements; adjusting his watch or running a hand through his hair, make people swoon.

And when he comes to pick you up for a date, the way he leans casually on the doorframe of your apartment while waiting for you? Chef's kiss.

The neighbors outside? oh, they’re practically melting. the grandma from downstairs almost dropped her freshly bought vegetables, the women are glaring with envy, the men are trying (and failing) not to look impressed. The kids playing on the street even stop to stare at the real-life action hero standing outside your door.

Caleb on the other hand? Totally unfazed. he's too busy admiring you (even though you're still in your pyjamas, considering how early that man is when it comes to dates)

And poor Xavier on his balcony, gripping the railing a little too tightly as he watches Caleb hold open the car door for you. He doesn’t just see you leaving; he feels his own jealousy burning deep. Watching the love of his life laugh and blush with some random “perfect” pilot guy is a blow to his pride.

He’d mutter to himself something like, “Seriously? Out of all people, it had to be him?”

Then there's caleb, blissfully unaware,or maybe he knows and just smirks about it later lol

What makes Caleb even better is that he’s not just a head-turner in public. The minute it’s just the two of you, he’s this gentle, golden retriever of a man. playful, sweet, and protective in all the right ways.

Even though you’ve known him since childhood, he makes every moment feel new, whether it’s cooking together in the kitchen or holding hands on a walk, it’s always filled with genuine love. He’s the type to leave notes around your apartment or bring you flowers for no reason other than "I saw these and thought of you."

But that Doberman energy? Oh, it’s there too. Someone stares at you a little too long? Caleb’s arm will wrap around your waist, holding you just a bit closer. His smirk? Dangerous. But his words to you? Gentle as ever.

"Let’s go, pipsqueak. You don’t want to be late to OUR 1st anniversary date." caleb oddly empasizes his words, hoping a certain someone from a floor above hears (xavier is ready to throw hands)

Perfect balance of protective, domestic, and utterly dreamy. You lucked out with Caleb, for sure.

rqyup © 2024 – do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my content; dividers by me; likes and reblogs are appreciated !

[girlatmirror]

couple’s getaway | jjk

you and jungkook spend the weekend before christmas with taehyung and his girlfriend at his cabin in the mountains, and you start it off with a bet.

rich! jungkook x reader

warnings: anal (minors you know what to do), kookie is rich asf, pda, tae and sasha are v cute, yn showing a hint of her crazy side, jk’s in loooove, christmas, mentions of marriage, pretty short imo, idk what else.

an extension to bend my rules 🫶🏼

__

It was the week before Christmas, and Taehyung had the amazing idea to invite you and Jungkook to his and Sasha’s now-yearly Christmas weekend getaway to his parents’ cabin in the mountains—a way to celebrate Christmas together while still being able to see family on actual Christmas Day.

Of course, you immediately agreed.

Your relationship with Jungkook was still new—almost two months—and it took the entire student body by surprise; finally, Jungkook could proudly say he proved everybody wrong.

The drive to the cabin was a nice bonding experience with the other couple—Taehyung driving, Jungkook sitting in the passenger seat, and you and Sasha in the back, already giddy about the two-day trip.

You very much loved the view of Jungkook’s broad shoulders, keeping your hands on them at all times.

“Sooo, what did you get Jungkook?” Sasha asked in a whisper tone, curiously.

You giggled, remembering the stupid thoughts that went into getting him a present. Your relationship with Jungkook wasn’t transactional at all; he paid for everything, bought you everything you ever wanted, and didn’t expect a thing in return. It was hard to think of a gift to give your rich boyfriend, who could snap his fingers and get whatever it was he wanted.

“I got him a massage gun for after his workouts and a card he can use whenever he wants anything, like a blowie or a home-cooked meal, and I’m not allowed to object to anything,” you explained in an equally quiet voice, excited to reveal your present. “Oh, and I also put in my used panties.”

There was no such thing as TMI in your friendship with Sasha—you knew everything about each other, down to the smallest details.

Sasha giggled mischievously in response. “Oh my god, Yn, that’s niiice. I got Tae a new camera; you know how much he loves photography.”

You let out a loud “awww,” which made Jungkook turn his head to you. The heated argument between Taehyung and Jungkook about who was the greatest NBA player of all time suddenly died down.

“What are you girls whispering about?” he smirked at you, which you reciprocated.

“Nothing, just how excited we are for the weekend,” you leaned in playfully, giving him a chance to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss quickly deepened as Jungkook turned his body entirely to you, both of you moaning softly into the kiss.

“You guys realize we’re here too, right?” Taehyung asked with a chuckle.

You ended the kiss slowly to lean into your seat again, only to be met with a smirking Sasha playfully pushing your leg with her hands.

“It’s alright, Tae; they’re still in that stage of the relationship,” she held onto his shoulders as she talked. “You remember how we were.”

“Were?” Jungkook asked, dumbfounded. “You guys are way worse than us!”

Taehyung and Sasha gasped dramatically in unison as if rehearsed. “Okay, bet. We’re gonna keep score of every PDA action between you and Yn and between Tae and me, and the couple that has the most loses. The losers have to clean the cabin before we leave.”

Taehyung, responsibly focused on driving, let out an agreeing sound to show Sasha he liked her idea.

“Deal!” Jungkook immediately replied, to which you giggled.

_

Finally arriving at the cabin, it was already 7. You all decided to only watch a movie tonight and start the real activities tomorrow.

Jungkook and Taehyung carried all the bags inside, and you took in the surroundings of the cabin; it was beyond beautiful. It was very secluded, no neighbors—only nature around.

“The bedrooms are upstairs; there are only two bathrooms—one downstairs and one upstairs,” Taehyung revealed, leading all of you into the house. “We’re gonna let the guests choose what bedroom they’d like to stay in, right, baby?”

Sasha nodded and smiled at the two of you.

“How very generous of you,” you thanked them as Jungkook took your hand, guiding you upstairs, your bags in the other.

You explored the upstairs rooms and decided to stay in the one that had the best view of the mountains—something you’d like to wake up to every day. The bed was big and comfortable, and the closet was, thankfully, big enough for the unnecessarily huge amount of clothes you brought with you.

“This is just wonderful,” you expressed to Jungkook, who immediately unpacked and undressed while you picked out the pajamas you were going to wear.

Jungkook opted for grey sweatpants and a white wifebeater (yummy), and you chose a baby blue satin pant set that you recently purchased while on a shopping spree with Jungkook. It did wonders for your figure.

“I’m glad you like it here,” he smiled lovingly. “Just want you to enjoy yourself this weekend—no college stress or nothing, okay?”

His strong arms engulfed you in a strong embrace; you immediately melted into him.

“Okay,” you quickly kissed his neck, your arms still firmly holding onto his bigger ones. “But we have to beat them at the PDA game. If you even think about touching me in front of them, I will break your fingers, got it?”

“Hey!” Jungkook called out while you exited the room, following behind you. “What if you can’t keep your hands off me? That’s also a possibility!”

“Pfff,” you mocked, walking down the stairs. “Likely story.”

Downstairs, you were met with the smell of warm apple cider. The warmth of the house in contrast to the freezing cold weather outside solidified the Christmas experience.

“We should watch Love Actually!” Sasha enthusiastically suggested.

“Oh my god, yes!” you immediately agreed with her, reciprocating the enthusiasm.

The two men looked at each other with unimpressed glances, both knowing the girls were going to end up getting what they wanted anyway, so there was no need to protest.

“Why do you look like that?” you challenged Jungkook when you noticed the exchanged glances. “You love a good rom-com; we always watch rom-coms when I come over!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re actually watching them,” Jungkook implied with a sly smile, slowly groping your waist and kissing you.

Taehyung and Sasha watched the scene with amusement.

“Aaand,” Sasha suddenly moved to the fridge with a pen in her hand, where she had hung a piece of paper that said “Tae&Sasha vs. JK&YN.” “That goes on the list.”

You feigned anger at Jungkook, scolding him. “What did I just tell you about touching me?”

“Sorry, baby; you’re just so grabbable,” he cooed.

You all sat down on the spacious couch facing the TV as Taehyung put on Love Actually.

“Not a real word,” you grumpily replied.

“It is now.”

_

After the movie was finished, Taehyung had the idea to open presents, so everybody went and got their presents.

You got a present for Jungkook and one for Sasha; Sasha got one for you and one for Taehyung; Taehyung got one for Sasha and one for Jungkook; and Jungkook got one for Taehyung and one for you.

“Okay, during gift exchanges, we are allowed to kiss as much as we want without it getting put on the list, alright?” Sasha put out the rule, which everybody agreed with.

“Okay,” Taehyung took a sip of his wine. “Who wants to start?”

“Ladies first,” you replied, eating popcorn. “I think Sasha and I should give each other our presents first.”

“I’ll go first,” Sasha couldn’t contain her excitement as she handed you the stylish pink gift bag.

You took it with a cute “thank youuu” and started unwrapping the gifts; there were three wrapped gifts of different sizes. You decided to open the smallest one first and go from there.

All three of them watched with curiosity as you carefully unwrapped it, revealing a Fenty Beauty contour stick. “Oh my god! I was just about to buy that for myself, S; thank you so much.”

“I know! You ran out of yours,” she grinned like a baby, wiggling with joy. “Go on, go on.”

The second gift was a gua sha, something you had mentioned you wanted to buy before but never did. You felt absolutely loved, knowing you had a friend who remembered those things about you.

The big present was a Vogue journal, which you took the time to admire; it was the most beautiful thing ever. “Oh my god, Sasha! I love you; come here.”

You hugged for a while, really expressing your gratitude.

“Is that going on the list?” Tae asked humorously when you finally pulled away from the hug.

“Okay, now it’s time for your present,” you pulled out the box of presents.

Sasha was all about clothes and fashion, so it was always easy to buy her presents. You got her sunglasses, a chic Ralph Lauren sweater, a personalized gold necklace that said “Sasha Fierce,” and a scented candle. She flipped out and went in for another hug.

“I have the best best friend ever!” she yelled out. “Now, Jungkook and Yn, you give each other your gifts. I’m very curious.”

Jungkook clapped his hands together as if he were waiting for this very moment a long time, and you sheepishly handed your present to him.

With each gift he opened, his smirk grew bigger in appreciation. He held the massage gun with a grin. “We can use that for other stuff too, you know?”

You giggled like a schoolgirl in love, forgetting that your other friends were there for a moment, cuddling up to his side comfortably. “Read the card.”

“Jungkook’s wish card,” he started reading. “Yn Ln has to do whatever Jungkook Jeon wishes as soon as he pulls out this card; she is not allowed to object. Valid until next Christmas. It’s even laminated; wow.”

Everybody started laughing, admiring your creativity. Jungkook kissed you passionately with a “thank you, my baby; you know me so well,” whispered in your ear, followed by a “I’ll put those panties to good use,” that sent shivers down your spine as you leaned in for another kiss.

“Okay, Yn, now you open Jungkook’s gift!” Sasha ordered, so you did.

Jungkook’s present was a huge box that you carefully put in your lap and opened. In it lay a big diamond-encrusted Birkin bag.

You and Sasha gasped in disbelief, lost for words.

“Hope you like it, baby,” Jungkook stated with a brush on your arm when you sat in silence for a few seconds.

“I love it!” you shouted, jumping on him and kissing him all over his face and simultaneously banging at his chest with your small hands. “How could you do this?! I hate you so much!”

Taehyung was beyond confused, not knowing what the fuss was about but still able to appreciate the beauty of the bag.

Jungkook just laughed at your changing moods that he got used to by now and kissed you back, his hands on your waist. “Just wanna make you happy.”

After the chaos that Jungkook’s present brought died down a little, Taehyung and Sasha exchanged their gifts; for Sasha, a Dyson Airwrap that she went crazy for, and for Taehyung, a vintage camera he adored.

The rest of the evening was filled with storytelling, snacks, and stolen kisses until you all decided to go upstairs and call it a night.

-

“I can’t believe you got me a Birkin bag,” you whispered into his chest as you just stood in the middle of the bedroom, hugging.

You were both very physical people; it was something that Jungkook made you realize about yourself.

“What did you think I was gonna get you?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he rocked you back and forth.

You thought about it for a moment and quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn’t at all out of character for Jungkook to get you an extravagant gift. “Okay, it actually totally makes sense that you got me a Birkin bag. But it’s not even my birthday; it’s Jesus’ birthday.”

Jungkook laughed heartily and kissed the top of your head. “I’ll get him one next year. Now, let’s go; I wanna take a shower.”

After taking everything you need with you, you entered the bathroom together and locked the door behind you before you both started undressing.

Jungkook’s eyes roamed over your bare body hungrily as you entered the shower just behind him and let your hair down carefully.

“I haven’t washed my hair in three days; it’s time to do that now,” you stated, grabbing the shampoo bottle, but before you could open it, Jungkook grabbed you by the hips and leaned in to kiss you.

The warm water streamed down your bodies as you deepened the kiss, and his wandering hands were now on your ass. You looked up and down his sculpted body, getting aroused by the sight of him all hard and muscular.

“Remember the first time I had you in the shower?” he breathed against your full lips, kneading your ass. You simply nodded. “Let’s recreate that.”

You would have lied if you had said that your pussy wasn’t wet since the morning and that you hadn’t been waiting desperately to have sex with him the entire day, but you had to wash your hair now. “Jungkook, I gotta wash my hair; sorry.”

“Give me that,” he nodded to the shampoo bottle, which you handed to him. “Now, turn around.”

Once you turned around, he moved your hair to the side to reveal your entire back and grabbed you by the hips. He fisted his huge dick before slowly entering your ass. He squeezed some shampoo into his hand and started massaging your hair with it.

You gasped, “Jungkook!” before leaning into him closer until your ass hit his hips. He first started thrusting slowly, letting out low grunts that sent shivers down your spine before his thrusts began to hasten.

You arched your back, and your moans became louder; the clapping of his hips against your ass sounded like fireworks. You were sure if there were any neighbors, they would’ve heard you.

“You like that, huh?” Jungkook growled, head tilted back in pure pleasure. “You like when I’m fucking this fat ass, yeah? This ass was made for me to drill.”

“Yes, I love it, Kookie,” your desperation was palpable. “Please, don’t stop; don’t ever stop.”

His hands massaged your hair again, as if to not abandon it, before he suddenly lifted you up with ease and started fucking into you like you were a toy. He was hitting all the spots, your chest bouncing up and down, and your combined moans had never been louder.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook grunted, his hands finding the opportunity to spank you harshly. “Just a little more, baby. I’m 'bout to cum; fuck, I’m 'bout to cum.”

Your own orgasm was nearing too, but you were too lost in your pleasure to say anything. A few thrusts later, you felt a warm flood of cum enter your ass and a breathless Jungkook kissing your neck.

You collapsed against Jungkook, whose strong hands held you upright. “You exhausted, baby?”

You nodded, with a pout on your lips. “Can’t feel my legs right now.”

Jungkook chuckled, cleaning your body with your coconut body wash. “It’s okay, baby; I’ll clean us up, and then we’ll go to bed.”

_

The next morning was surprisingly sunny, yet still freezing. You went downstairs to find everybody already awake; you blamed the sex you had last night for the fact that you woke up so late.

“Morning, princess,” Jungkook called out with a big grin. “You sleep well?”

Sasha chimed in, sarcastically, “Yeah, Yn, did you sleep well?”

You simply nodded and said, “Yeah, what about you guys?” before going up to the fridge to get something to drink when you saw something.

There was another line added to yours and Jungkook’s side of the sheet.

“Hey, why is there another strike on here?” you asked in disbelief. “The only PDA that happened was yesterday before opening presents!”

Sasha and you were truly the only ones invested in this competition; the guys just looked at each other in amusement, finding their girlfriends absolutely adorable.

“Are you serious?” Sasha snapped. “That show you two put on last night was very much PDA; we heard everything! Right, baby?”

Taehyung vigorously nodded his head as if not to give her a reason to be mad.

“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not PDA if you didn’t see anything!” you argued. “It’s called a display of affection for a reason!”

“You disrupted our sleep! It deserves to be on here,” she declared with conviction.

“I’ll tell you where you deserve to be—” you started until Jungkook cut you off.

“It’s okay, baby; we’ll get them back soon enough,” he assured you with a cute smile. “Just eat breakfast before you say things you might regret.”

You simply abided by his wishes and sat down next to them at the kitchen table and started eating.

_

After spending two hours hiking and exploring the little town, you and Sasha were exhausted, but the guys weren’t; they actually decided to go to the gym, which was about a 20-minute drive from the cabin.

While they were at the gym, you and Sasha cozied up on the living room couch, her legs over yours.

“This is so much fun,” Sasha dreamily said. “We are best friends dating best friends; I love that for us.”

“Hmmm,” you agreed. “I feel like I can’t imagine it any other way, you know? Like Jungkook and I have been dating for two months—not even—and I already can’t imagine a life where I’m not with him.”

Sasha smiled softly. “And to think this is the guy that you rejected for two years…”

“I know! This is what’s kind of scaring me,” you started ranting. “Jungkook has been into me this whole time, and now, now he has me. I’m scared that there was a version of me inside his head that I can’t live up to, you know?”

Taking a sip from her orange juice, Sasha pulled a confused face. “I think that’s you overthinking because why would that even be the case? He has you now, but the effort he puts into making you happy didn’t go away; actually, on the contrary, he’s putting in more effort because the guy loves you, Yn.”

Your heart warmed at the mere thought of Jungkook, a man who made every other man look less than.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you stated. “You know how I get when something is so good that it doesn’t feel real; I’m just really paranoid. It doesn’t matter; tell me what’s up with you and Mr. Taehyung.”

Sasha suddenly started to smile like a child in a candy store. “He’s so amazing, Yn! But I gotta tell you something…”

Your eyes widened in curiosity. “What? What is it?”

She took a deep breath before saying, “Okay, so… you know how Tae and Jungkook are graduating this year and Tae already got an offer to work again at this firm after? Well, he’s been hinting at… marriage a lot lately, and I… I found a ring while I was sleeping over at his place last week.”

You jumped up with your hand over your mouth. “SHUT UP! This is sooo exciting; oh my god, this is just… this is so amazing!”

“Yeah,” she formed a small smile. “But I don’t know… I feel like I don’t know if I’m ready for marriage yet; it’s so huge.”

You put her head on your chest and soothingly ran your hand over her shoulder. “Sasha, you think about this as much as you need, but if you want to hear my opinion on it, I think if he does propose, you should at least consider it. I mean, you don’t have to get married right away! You can take your time; it will be exactly like now, but you’ll just have a ring on your finger.”

Sasha started to grin like an idiot. “I mean, it is a very impressive ring; I can’t deny that.”

“Oooh, well don’t leave me hanging; I want the deets!”

_

Meanwhile, the guys finished their gym session and made their way to the nearest store to get everything you needed for the Christmas dinner you were going to cook.

Jungkook held the list in his hand, smiling down at it as his eyes scanned over your handwriting, which he adored.

“What are you smiling about?” Taehyung inquired.

“Nothing, just Yn’s pretty handwriting,” Jungkook shook his head and smiled cutely.

Taehyung chuckled. “Finally got your girl, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook shined with pride. “Finally.”

Suddenly, in the middle of the snacks aisle, Taehyung stopped, holding a bag of chips.

“I need to tell you something, man,” Taehyung began, as if deep in thought, to which Jungkook simply nodded at him. “So, I’ve been bringing up the idea of… marriage a lot with Sasha, but she’s kinda—how do I say this—she gets dismissive whenever I mention it, changing the topic, looking kinda uncomfortable, and I’m scared that when I propose, she won’t say yes.”

Jungkook searched for the right words to say, wanting to comfort his friend. “Well, I think you should communicate it with her. When girls do that, it doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t into you; they just overthink everything, see every possible outcome first, you know? And hey, just take me as an example; I hopelessly chased Yn for two years; now she’s my girlfriend. The important thing is you don’t give up.”

“I know she loves me, but she acts so weird whenever I say anything—even the most subtle thing about getting married—and you know I’m really good at being subtle!” Taehyung’s frustration was evident. “I already got the ring; I’m just waiting for the right moment, just waiting for her to give me the feeling that she wants this.”

“Maybe this subtlety is what isn’t working,” Jungkook suggested. “Sometimes, you just need to be honest, direct; say what’s on your mind.”

Taehyung looked at him, dumbfounded. “Ey, just ‘cause there isn’t a subtle bone in your body doesn’t mean everybody’s like that, okay?!”

Jungkook chuckled, recognizing the conflict within his best friend. “Alright, you do you, but if it were me, I’d listen to the master.”

“The master of what exactly? Making a fool of himself?” Taehyung jested. “You waited two years for that girl to say yes to a date; man, you’re no master of anything.”

“Ey, man, don’t piss me off!”

_

After lazily sitting on the couch, you both decided to bake Christmas cookies to kill some time until the guys came back.

Following the sound of Taehyung’s car pull up in the driveway, Jungkook entered the house with two bags filled with groceries and snacks, Taehyung following behind him with equally filled bags.

“Hey, you two!” you welcomed them. “How was the gym?”

“It was good, baby. We went to the store, got you everything you wanted,” Jungkook stepped into the kitchen, where you and Sasha just finished baking the cookies, and was about to kiss your lips, but you threateningly shook your head, the competition still on your mind.

To make up for the lost kiss, though, you grabbed a cookie and held it up to his mouth.

“A cookie for my Kookie,” you leaned towards him over the kitchen counter, accentuating your breasts, feeding him the cookie playfully.

His knowing smirk spoke volumes as he ate the cookie, already mentally preparing for the things he was going to do to you once you’re in your room.

Taehyung brought up the last bag of groceries and greeted his girlfriend with a big smile and an even bigger kiss, which she immediately reciprocated passionately.

“Ha-ha!!” you yelled, gloating. “Finally, I can put you down on the list!”

You danced happily, without noticing Jungkook watching you with heart eyes.

After cleaning the counter and organizing the groceries, you got started on your huge Christmas meal: a roast turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, roasted vegetables, and cornbread.

After four hours of you slaving away in the kitchen and all three of them asking if you wanted help— to which you always replied “No! I hate it when I’m cooking and someone’s in my space!”—you finished your feast, and Taehyung went on to prepare the pumpkin pie for dessert.

_

After stuffing yourself with food and brushing your teeth, everybody went to their respective bedrooms.

You opted for stretchy, tight shorts and Jungkook’s sweater (that you stole), and Jungkook was in his boxers. Comfortable in each other’s arms, you two laid on the spacious bed in serene silence.

Deciding to break the silence, you leaned into him and asked, “How was it with Taehyung today?”

Jungkook sighed softly, touching your head with his lips gently and replied, “It was nice; he’s got a lot on his mind though.”

Curiosity took over you for a second, and your mind raced with the possibility of it being the same thing Sasha talked to you about. “What about?”

His hands were now rubbing your back under the thick covers, adding warmth to your skin.

“I feel like there’d be a conflict of interest if I told you,” he admitted hesitantly. “It’s about Sasha.”

Your heartbeat quickened for a second until you decided to play a game. “I think I know what it’s about…”

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirked at you, challenging. “What is it about?”

“You go first,” you provoked, a finger poking his chest. “Unless you don’t wanna have sex for a week.”

“Okay, so,” he gave in immediately, sitting up straight, symbolizing his readiness to have a conversation about your friends. “Taehyung wants to propose to Sasha, but he thinks she doesn’t wanna marry him.”

“Yeaaah,” you said, unimpressed. “She already knows all of that.”

Jungkook expressed his shock, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner, which he quickly changed back to normal. “No, you don’t understand; he even bought her a ring.”

You nodded, still unimpressed. “And he’s apparently really bad at hiding it.”

“No!” Jungkook exclaimed in disbelief. “Haha, bastard thinks he’s so subtle too…”

After his short gloating session, he suddenly turned to you face to face, curiosity written all over his face. “So?? What does she think? Is she into the idea, or completely against it, or what?”

“It’s complicated,” you explained. “She loves him, but she has so much to think about. On one hand, she feels like she’s not ready for such a commitment, and on the other, she wants nothing more than to spend her life with him.”

“Oof… well that’s better than what Tae thinks; he’s kinda convinced she doesn’t want it at all,” Jungkook let out a relieved sigh. “I mean, he’s not gonna propose tomorrow; he’s just thinking more like… next couple of months, you know?”

“Yeah, I told Sasha that she should take it into consideration; I mean, they have been together for almost two years now,” you observed, your head now on his chest. “And he has a stable future ahead of him. I understand why he wants to propose now; doesn’t mean they have to get married immediately.”

Your conversation made Jungkook ponder what your reaction would be if you found an engagement ring at his place; if you would panic, if you would cry tears of joy or sadness. He hoped you knew all the comments and “jokes” he made about making you his wife weren’t jokes.

“You’re right,” he agreed with you in a soft tone. “But promise me something.”

“What?” you asked.

“If there was ever a similar problem in our life, the only people we talk about it with is us,” he asserted. “I don’t ever wanna make you feel you can’t come to me and tell me everything, okay?”

“I promise,” was your answer.

_

On the last day of that weekend getaway, all of you��Jungkook—thought it was a nice idea to go paragliding as an exciting farewell to the mountains. Despite you thinking you were going to die, you ended up agreeing that it was a great experience to make.

Eventually, you had to say goodbye to the little cabin that would forever hold a special place in your heart.

The departure would’ve been much more emotional if it weren’t for Taehyung’s and Sasha’s triumphant expressions as they watched you and Jungkook clean and scrub the entire house while they sat comfortably on the couch, making out.

__

thank you sm for the support on my first post on here 🥹 if you have any requests pls pls send them to me!! also i’m sorry, i don’t really know what a tag list is. tell me your opinion on this one!! thanks ❄️

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

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[inkskinned]

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[munsonismymuse]

"Oh hi, Steve!" says a young girl who seems very nice, Steve is sure he has seen her in the building, but they have never spoken.

"Hello?" Steve utters in confusion.

"This is Alice, your downstairs neighbor"

"Oh, nice to meet you"

Alice smiles sweetly.

"I don't mean to be obnoxious, I say this with sincere kindness, but would you consider turning down the noise in your apartment a little? Please, " Alice said with a slight blush and a chagrined expression on her face.

"Oh yeah, sorry, my roomie loves loud music, but he is a good boy I swear" said Steve with a smile.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about your roomie. I was talking about you and your girlfriend, I can hear you from my apartment, and I don't think the old people on the second floor would be too happy"

"Oh," Steve is experiencing different colours on his face. He didn't know he could experience embarrassment in so many ways.

Because the girlfriend Alice assumes is actually Robin. Ewwww.

And my god, everyone hears when he's having sex with Eddie.

He can't coordinate his brain to respond to Alice.

OH MY GOD! That's why Alice knows his name because he's pretty sure he's never told her his name before.

"Don't worry, Steve," Alice says softly. "There's nothing wrong with it, just keep making your girlfriend happy in silence"

Steve smiles apologetically, Alice waves goodbye.

"If I didn't know what your roomie looked like, I'd think it was him" Alice says jokingly "but obviously it's not him because he's an super badass metalhead, he couldn't sound that incredibly cute, right?"

Steve smiles and runs to his apartment, where he tells Eddie, who laughs out loud until he has to hold his stomach. Steve loves him.

"Eddie! The whole building knows we're having sex."

"Steve, you've had that reputation since you were 15."

True.

"What can I say? My man takes good care of me." Eddie says proudly.

Steve kisses him. He is so in love.

"You have to be quiet next time"

"Yeah? Make me be quiet."

[filthygalli]

When I met you: Chapter 1 “Package”

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

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Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Rude In-Ho, Some mild cursing, In-Ho’s stubborn cat Lmao, Not proof read so please bear with me.

Word Count: 1989

Author's Note: I've been writing this since earlier this morning, I was so intrigued about the song and I can't help but think 'Why not do a fiction story about In-Ho using this song as an inspiration?' then here am I, publishing the first chapter of the said fiction, I'll try to make this a long series! 🖤

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You worked as a graphic designer for some big company, even though you worked from home—you enjoyed what you were doing; you're a person who doesn't like to interact with so many people, except your friends, family, or someone who's close to you.

You've been working as a graphic designer for 3 years. You've gained enough money to buy a house—it's perfect for you, 2 bedrooms with one bathroom each—a cozy living room, kitchen, and a backyard that you turned into a garden. But honestly, it's too much for what you do for a living, but again, you're more than grateful.

You visit your hometown once in a while to spend some time with your parents and friends; you're more than happy to have them support you in the path that you chose. Whenever you visit, your mom always cooks your favorite dishes, while your dad, well…he always teases you about settling down. Honestly, seeing yourself being in a relationship is crazy; you're a busy person, and you're afraid that you might end up with someone who's not fit for your job and likings.

“Sweetheart, it's just…you're too devoted to your job. I know you hate it every time I tell you about this, but there's someone out there for you—who’s going to understand your busy days.” Your dad gave you a comforting look. It's true, you're too devoted to what you're doing, and you can't even go out on a date without making an ‘excuse’ that you're busy and something has come up, but the truth is…you're just afraid. Afraid that no one will love you for being a busy person, and it sucks.

You gave your dad a shy smile. “I know... I just think that it's not the right time; he'll come when the time is right.”

And that's where your grumpy neighbor showed up. He's tall; he looked old and surprisingly handsome for someone his age. He knocked on your door one night. You were reading a book called ‘Inferno' by Dante Alighieri. You're so intrigued by what you're reading that you didn't even hear that someone was knocking at your door. You hurriedly put down your book and ran towards the door. You swung the door open, seeing a middle-aged man who's wearing a black button-up shirt and black chino pants. He pushed up his glasses. 

“Are you deaf or something? I've been knocking since forever.” He annoyingly said, “Good evening to you too.” You said giving him your best fake smile, “I think we switched packages, These aren't mine.” He said, bringing up the two packages in his hand, “Oh…I didn't know–” he cuts you off before even finishing your sentence “of course you don't.” He whispered under his breath, “I'll…I'll go get yours I'll be back in a sec.” You said as you took your package in his hand as you slammed your door shut right at his face.

You sigh as you close the door, feeling embarrassed by your actions. ‘He deserves it,’ you thought. You went to your room and grabbed the unopened package; you checked the name, making sure it's not really yours.

“Hwang In-Ho…” you read the name on the parcel, liking how his name sounds. 

You went downstairs and opened the door, seeing the man leaning against your porch railing. “Thank God, what took you so long?” he groans. He leans forward as he slowly walks towards you; he looks down on you and rudely takes the package from your grasp. You're stunned at his action but manage to say something: “I'm sorry, Mr. Hwang, it won't happen again. Have a good evening.” You said, giving him a shy smile; his eyes softened upon hearing his name. “Right, good evening to you too,” he said as he turned around and walked towards his home.

You noticed his reaction when you said his name; was he expecting you to say it?

Did you catch him off guard? You just chuckled to yourself and closed the door behind you as you walked to your bedroom to continue reading your book.

Meanwhile, In-Ho sat on his couch, staring at the package that he set down on his coffee table, ‘Hwang In-Ho,’ he read in his mind. He scoffed; of course you would know his name; it's written on the damn parcel. He groans as he palms his face, “Fuck,” he grumbles. He quickly gets his mind off of you, on how good your voice sounds saying his name, the way you would give him a shy and innocent glance even though he's being rude to you. He finds it cute. But at the same time, he feels bad—but deep down he doesn't care; you're just another annoying neighbor that would give him nothing but pure hatred. 

The next day

You woke up holding a book in your hand. Great, you fell asleep again. You sigh as you sit up, lightly scratching your eyes as you yawn, making you stretch your arms in the air, groaning in response. You went to the bathroom and took a warm shower, getting ready for today.

In-Ho groans in his sleep, and as his alarm clock goes on, making him reach for his phone to turn it off, he sits up, grabbing his glasses as he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He went to the kitchen to make his morning coffee, a classic Americano. The aroma of the coffee beans filled the air; it made him feel alive. He sighed as he poured his fresh brewed coffee into his mug. 

You went out from the shower, drying yourself off before putting on comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. You went to the kitchen to make your morning coffee. You and In-Ho brew your coffees the same; you both like black coffee. Some may hate it because of the bitter taste, but the difference between you and In-Ho is that In-Ho doesn't put sweetener in his coffee; he just likes pure black coffee, while you… you drink your coffee with 2 tablespoons of sugar in it.

You went outside to sit on the bench on your porch while you drank your coffee as you held your book in your right hand. You like doing this every morning; it's calm and peaceful. Not until In-Ho walks by your house do you watch him walk by; it looks like he just woke up too. He's wearing a dark blue t-shirt and comfortable pants—a pair of loafers too. You can't help but notice how fit he is, how his biceps fit on the sleeve of his shirt, how broad his shoulder is. Before you could think of anything, you snapped yourself out of it as you noticed that he's holding a leash... of a cat? You smiled as you saw In-Ho’s black cat. The fur of his cat is gorgeous. It was unexpected to see In-Ho with a pet cat. After your interaction with him last night, you somewhat thought of him as a person who doesn't care about anyone except himself…and, well, his cat too. 

You didn't notice that you've been looking at In-Ho for a while, he looks at your direction as he adjusts his glasses, god he looks so good with those glasses…you blushed and felt a little embarrassed, you pretend to read and quickly drink your coffee, Meanwhile, In-Ho chuckled at your reaction��He somewhat finds himself admiring you, the way you had your hair into a messy bun, the way your t-shirt hugged all your curves, your soft skin…he wondered how would your skin feels like under his touch, he imagined you lightly shivering upon his touch, he snapped himself from thinking something else as his cat, Yu-jin, leading him to your porch, he tried to pull his cat away but Yu-jin decided to be stubborn and ran towards your porch making your eyes widen, you smiled at In-Ho’s reaction—he’s shocked and decided to let his cat Yu-Jin walks towards you, usually his cat doesn't really care about people, just like him. 

“Aren't you a cute little one—!” You crouched in front of In-Ho's cat, who seemed happy to see a new person besides his dad, In-Ho. The cat purred and circled around your legs. “That's odd,” In-Ho mumbled. “Odd? ” You looked up at In-Ho, who's looking at his cat still circling around your legs. “He never does that to other people,” he said coldly, not even bothering to look at you. “Oh—maybe he likes me! ” You said, ruffling the cat's fur as he lay on his back, making you rub its belly, “He's so precious—what’s his name? ” You again looked at In-Ho, who was looking at you but quickly glanced away and said, “Yu-jin.” “Yu-jin…” you tested the cat's name on your lips, “It's cute—Hi, Yu-Jin! ” You cupped the cat's face. “He's so adorable, In-Ho—” You looked at In-Ho, who gave you a look as he looked down on you, still crouching in front of him. ‘Fuck,’ he thought. “How did you know my name? ” He mumbled, so low it almost sounded like a whisper, “What?” “Forget it.” He said as he crouched down, picking up Yu-Jin in his arms, making his hands slightly brush yours. You took a glance at his hands; they're so beautiful. The veins in his hands looked attractive; it felt so smooth against yours… He also smells like coffee, your favorite coffee.

And just like that he left without even saying anything, leaving you crouching down on your porch. You sighed as you stood up, grabbing your book and your coffee before going inside the house.

In-Ho puts down Yu-Jin far enough from your house. “That's new…you've never been like that to anyone,” he said as if Yu-Jin could understand what he was saying. They went to a vet, to check up on Yu-Jin, In-Ho treats his cat like his own child, Going to a vet at least once a week, vet means new toy for Yu-Jin, And let's not forget the treats that Yu-Jin would get on the way home, But not that he doesn't want a kid or whatever, he just never really thought of falling in love, he thinks that being in love with someone takes so much time and energy, He also thinks that no one would put up with his attitude and stubbornness—he’s also a professor, a busy one, he doesn't even bother to flirt back with his colleagues at the University who's been hitting on him since he stepped foot in that university, perhaps Yu-Jin is the only one who he needs to go through with everyday. 

While waiting for Yu-Jin and his vet, he thought of you, “Damn it.” He whispered to himself. He remembered how your face looked when you were crouching down. In front of him while playing with Yu-Jin. How beautiful your smile is; he wonders how old you are, what you do for a living, but he also remembered having a book on the bench on your porch. He tried to remember what book it is, but the book cover looks familiar. He grabbed his phone and searched for something: Dante Alighieri’s book. He pressed the search button, and multiple books of the said author showed up, but he managed to find that book that you're reading earlier. ‘Inferno,’ he thought; he couldn't help but smile to himself. It's his favorite book; it's one of the reasons that he teaches as a literature professor. He's not expecting someone like you would be reading a book like this; it surprised him. He can't help but regret being rude to you; you're such a kind and gentle person. He thought of at least being nice with you—just enough for you and him to have a good relationship with each other as neighbors.

Author's Note: Omg I wasn't expecting to publish a fiction regardless of me panicking about my first semester school works—But please let me know what you think, I would really like to make this a big series. I love In-Ho/Byung Hun so much he's way too precious! Let me know if you want to be in my taglist. 🖤

[covenofagatha]

alright alright i’m thinking dub!con modern/nonmagic au.. into something rough and/or bondage. we love the age gap. i’m leaving a lot of holes lmfao i will talk shop if you want specifics baby

finally finished omg

hope everyone enjoys

title is from Chains by Nick Jonas cause why not

Chains for your love

When you're house sitting for your neighbors Agatha and Rio, you decide to throw a party and they are not happy when they find out

Word count: 3400

Warnings: dubcon, smut, rough sex, bondage (handcuffs), vibrators, fingering, spanking, choking, threesome, might be missing one or two sorry if so, age gap (all legal)

Your neighbors would kill you if they found out what you were doing right now. 

Agatha and Rio, the couple next door, had asked you to house sit for them while they were on vacation to Cabo for a week as a favor to your mom. 

You had just graduated from high school and she said, and you quote, “you need to get your lazy butt off the couch and do something with your life or so help me.” 

So when Agatha mentioned to her that they were leaving for a while, your mom had thrown you under the bus. 

You didn’t know much about your neighbors, only that they were two smoking hot older women who were kind of crazy. You had also barely ever interacted with them, always at school or doing homework when they came over to have lunch with your mom. 

Agatha is about ten years older than her wife, with long dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. Her fashion sense is always on point and her veiny hands do things to you. 

Rio, while pale and a brunette as well, is tall and lean, and very intense. Her hazel eyes bore into you whenever you’d come downstairs to get a glass of water, like she knew something that you didn’t. When she looks at you like that, you can’t help but squirm and wonder if you did something wrong. And yet, for some reason, you find it hot.

All you had to do while they were gone was stop by, water their plants, collect their mail, and make sure their house was in order. 

Which you did, perfectly, you might add. 

It just so happened that on the last night of house sitting, you were supposed to go to a party at your friend’s house to celebrate the end of senior year, but her parents came home early so she needed to move it. 

And you had the brilliant idea to use the giant, empty house at your disposal. 

Cue the music, lights, and drinks. 

“This is so nice of your neighbors to let us use their house!” Your best friend Wanda yells at you. 

You laugh, pretending not to have heard her over the bass, because they certainly did not. 

In fact, you think, you think they would be quite opposed to it. 

Agatha and Rio were quiet people; they didn’t like mess, especially in their house.

And this here, with Jimmy Woo throwing up in the bathroom and Natasha Romanoff knocking over a bottle of beer on the ground and two people making out in the pool, was as messy as it could get. 

You’re on your second wine cooler, feeling it start to hit, and you stumble around the living room, trying to assess the damage before the party is even over. 

It may have gotten more out of hand than you were intending it to. When you had told your mom what you were doing, you had mentioned having a few people over for pizza, and she had said that if it got out of hand, or if she heard about even one thing being out of place when Agatha and Rio got back, she would, and you quote, “ground your butt until you graduated from college.” 

You almost pointed out the irony of her wanting you to do something, but the moment you were going to, she threatened to not let you do anything for the next four years, but decided against it. 

“Here!” A bottle of beer is pressed into your hand and you turn to find Darcy Lewis standing there. Even though you shouldn’t, you take a swig and Wanda leaves to go find her boyfriend. “Cool party!” 

“Thanks!” You shout back and she giggles before taking your hand and leading you into the kitchen, where it’s a little quieter. You haven’t talked to Darcy that much, but she was in two of your classes and you know she’s going to MIT. 

“Got any summer plans?” She asks but she slurs the words. You laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever. “What?” 

You point at her, almost doubling over. “You’re so drunk!” 

She looks scandalized for a second, raises her hand to fix her glasses, and then becomes hysterical too. “So are you!” 

The next thing you know, Darcy and you are kissing. 

You’re not sure who started it, but her mouth is against yours and your tongue is in her mouth. 

You pull back, there’s some eye contact, and then the two of you crack up again and she goes outside to the patio. 

Drunken makeout accomplished and your head sufficiently spinning from the two and a half drinks now, you make it a mission to start cleaning up. 

You’ve collected half a trash bag full of cans when people start pouring out of the house, telling you to “stay in touch!” and “have fun at college!” and then it’s just you in the house. 

There’s still a lot to clean up, but you’re tired and sloshed, so you set an alarm on your phone for six in the morning so you can get up and tidy up the rest before Agatha and Rio get home. 

You pass out on the couch immediately. 

Which turns out to be a huge mistake, because when you finally wake up in the morning, your neighbors are sitting in the chairs across from the coffee table, both wearing matching displeased looks. 

You shoot up, scrambling into a sitting position, heart pounding. “What–” You furiously tap your phone to find out why the alarm didn’t go off, but it doesn’t turn on. 

Of course it died. 

Rio chuckles, leaning back and crossing a leg over the other, amused with your panic. “Care to explain what happened here last night, doll?” 

Your cheeks redden and you try to think of something that won’t get you in trouble because it seems like you are fucked. “I had some friends over,” you say, and it sounds pathetic even to your ears.

Agatha tuts and rests her elbows on her knees. “‘Some friends?’ Angel, have you seen what our house looks like?” 

You gulp and take a look around, dread sinking deeper into your stomach. The pieces of glass that no one picked up. All the cans and bottles you missed. A sweatshirt thrown onto the floor. Pizza crusts and plates scattered across the furniture. 

“I was going to clean it up, I swear,” you say, your throat suddenly really dry. 

“Oh, and,” Rio says, so cheerful for no reason. You can only imagine what she’s going to say, but she takes out her phone and taps the screen. You raise an eyebrow and she turns it to you. 

At first, you’re not really sure what you’re looking at, but then it becomes clear. 

It’s a recording of you and Darcy making out in their kitchen, the angle from somewhere on the counter. 

You lurch back on the couch. “You were spying on me?” You hiss, feeling violated.

Agatha rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Please, darling, this is our house, we can do whatever we want in it. Plus, we weren’t sure if we could trust such an immature, young thing like you and clearly, we couldn’t.” 

The jab about your age makes you angry. “I’m not that young and I’m not immature!” You say indignantly. 

“Making out like a slut with the first girl who gives you attention while drunk at a lame high school party?” Rio taunts, standing up and sliding next to you on the couch. You feel the pit in your stomach grow when Agatha does the same on the other side. You’re not sure who to look at. “Seems like something a childish brat would do.” 

“And now, we think there should be consequences,” Agatha coos, hand coming to brush a piece of your hair back behind your ear. Fear spikes through your veins. 

“Please don’t tell my mom! She can’t find out about this, I’ll be in so much trouble,” you beg and Agatha smirks. You jump when you feel Rio’s hand touch your thigh and you freeze when it slides up to the hem of your short skirt.

“So you don’t want us to tell your mom,” Rio muses, toying with the edge of the fabric. You have to bite back a moan and it becomes hard to breathe. “I guess that means we’ll have to punish you some other way for creating such a mess.” 

“What did you–” You have to stop to swallow roughly. “What did you have in mind?” 

Agatha hums lowly. “We need to make sure you learn your lesson, no matter how hard we have to beat it into you.” You whimper and pray that neither of them heard it. 

But of course they did.

Rio snickers and cups your pussy, all the air being punched out of your lungs. “God, she’s dripping, Aggie,” she says and your face burns hotter than it ever has. 

You shake your head, denying how much you actually want this, and try to clamp your legs close, but Agatha pries one open and Rio moves her fingers up and down your clothed slit. 

“We can always go next door and tell your mom,” Agatha warns and that’s all it takes to convince you. You turn to Rio, wrap your arms around her, and pull her in for a kiss. 

Immediately, Agatha yanks you back by your hair and Rio slaps you across the face. It’s not hard enough to seriously hurt, but the sting makes you gasp. 

“Bedroom, now,” Agatha barks and practically drags you off the couch and up the stairs, Rio practically cackling while she follows. 

You’re thrown onto the bed in the room that you may have snooped through a few times this week. Enough times to find all of their toys in their bedside drawer and imagine the women using them on each other. 

The same nightstand where Rio is heading toward now. You watch her saunter over, lips parting, but Agatha roughly grabs your chin and forces your mouth open with her thumb. 

“Don’t look at her,” she growls and leans down to whisper in your ear, “If you ever want us to stop, say purple.” 

The second you nod, she spits directly into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves your throat and Agatha slides two fingers inside your mouth to spread her saliva all over your tongue. You gag around them as she pushes them deeper and you feel tears pricking your eyes. She scrapes her nails against your tongue and you roll it up to flick at her fingers, not missing the way she bites her lip. 

And then she flips you over so your stomach is on the bed, hikes your skirt over your ass, and spanks you. The impact reverberates through your body and the sound echoes throughout the room.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“A young thing like you shouldn’t be using such dirty language,” Agatha tsks and slaps you again. “That’s for kissing that whore in our kitchen.” 

Again. 

“That’s for leaving a mess all over our house.” 

Again. 

“That’s for proving us wrong when we thought we could trust you.” 

Again. 

“That’s for making us punish you the second we get back from our lovely vacation.” 

Again. 

“And that is for teasing us all those times at your house when you’d come downstairs dressed in barely anything. It’s like you wanted us to notice how desperate you were for us,” she snaps. 

You’ve dissolved into a moaning, sniveling puddle on their bed but the thought that you’ve been unknowingly turning this couple on makes you even hotter inside. 

Agatha reaches down to the crotch of your underwear and laughs meanly. “God, you’re so fucking wet, did being spanked like a slut turn you on?”

While you consider yourself a proud person, there’s absolutely no pride in the way you nod your head so hard it hurts. 

She tears your panties off and shoves two fingers in you without preamble. A loud sound rips out of your mouth and your body rocks forward with the force. She fucks you with a brutal pace and it’s exactly what you need, but then she pulls out and slaps you harder than before on the ass. You groan, absorbing the hit, and you feel yourself clench around nothing. 

You need her fingers back inside you, but she turns you back over and you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

Rio comes back into view with two pairs of fluffy handcuffs and a few other toys. “Get against the headboard,” she orders and you scramble to obey. She hands one pair to Agatha and they both make quick work of chaining one cuff to your wrist and the other to the bedside post. You give an experimental tug of both hands and while you can wiggle your arms and wrists comfortably, there’s no getting out. 

The two women come back around the bed to face you and you squirm under their direct attention. 

“What do you think we should do with our naughty little plaything?” Rio asks, tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek, eyes lighting up with possibilities. 

They fall into these roles so well and you can only imagine what it’s like when the two of them have sex. 

“I think we should fuck her until she can’t take anymore and she’s begging for us to stop,” Agatha muses with a smirk. Your breath catches at her idea. 

“I think the slut likes that sound of that,” Rio says and Agatha nods in agreement. “Maybe we hold the vibrator against her until she cries. What do you think, doll?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Whatever you want, please just touch me,” you beg. 

Agatha bends over to run a finger up your thigh, watching how you shake. “Be careful what you wish for, angel.” She crawls onto the bed so she’s kneeling in front of you and once again, pushes two fingers forcefully into your dripping pussy. She’s not gentle at all, curling her fingers and scraping her nails against your insides, but it’s perfect. 

You struggle against the handcuffs, wishing you could touch her, but Rio tuts, takes off her pants and underwear, and moves to straddle your stomach, blocking Agatha partially from your view. 

Your breath hitches as she pulls up the crop top from the party last night and lowers her wet cunt onto your abs and lightly grinds. Her head falls back and you think you could cum from the feeling of her against you like that.

And then she starts moving faster just as Agatha does, her fingers filling you and fucking you just how you need it, and Rio’s right hand comes to clasp around your throat. You throb around Agatha’s fingers and you had no idea that would be such a turn on for you. 

Agatha’s thumb presses down so hard on your clit that it almost hurts while she keeps her merciless pace and your hips start to buck against her fingers. Rio squeezes harder and the lightheadedness you feel only drags you closer to the edge. Her nails dig into your skin and you think you might die from how good it feels. 

“Are you going to cum for us?” Agatha asks from behind the woman riding your stomach faster. 

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, seeing Rio’s delighted face on top of you. 

And then Agatha pulls her fingers out of you and you whine loudly, only for her to slap your pussy hard. 

You can hear the wetness. 

And then you can hear buzzing. 

Agatha presses something against your clit and you almost jump out of your skin. 

It’s the vibrator and you’re guessing she turned it up to one of the highest settings. It’s so intense on you and you can’t help but cry out as it sends you straight into an orgasm. Being breathless from Rio’s hand around your throat only increases the pleasure and you’ve never felt anything like that before.

You expect some relief from the assault on your clit but it never comes. Agatha holds it against you while Rio slips a finger down to her own pussy to get more direct stimulation where she needs. The woman on top of you is beginning to fall apart and it only heightens your own sensitivity. 

The vibrations have your hips rolling and you quickly cum again, and this time, you try to close your legs or scooch up the bed to get it off, but Agatha doesn’t let you. 

She rakes her nails on your leg and then you feel her roughly bite your inner thigh. You gasp and your hips buck up, almost throwing Rio off. 

Rio finally takes her hand off your throat and bends down over you so she can suck marks into your collarbones as well. 

Both their mouths on you and the vibrations still on your clit throw you right over the edge again. 

This time, Agatha does move it away from you and you can finally breathe.

But not for long, because Agatha slides a finger back inside your sopping cunt and lazily fucks you. Rio’s panting on top of you and she finally buckles with pleasure as she cums for the first time. It’s the hottest thing ever, the way she tosses her head back and seizes up, small sounds falling out of her mouth.

Once Rio comes down from her high, she gets off you, smirking at the glistening wetness on your stomach. You gape down at them as she joins Agatha to watch her fuck you. 

And then your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back in your head when Rio pushes a finger into you too. 

Fuck. 

You have both of them inside you. 

They move in sync, dragging their fingers out and thrusting back into you at the same time, and you groan loudly. 

“How does it feel, angel?” Agatha says, voice thick and low. 

“Feels so good,” you babble, sweat breaking out on your forehead as you raise your hips to meet them. 

“Does our little slut need to cum over both our fingers?” Rio taunts. 

Your head falls to the side, blissed out with the feeling of them both curling and pressing on that spot inside you that you can rarely get to on your own. Your stomach is almost cramping and your arms are aching from pulling so hard on the cuffs. “Yes, please, fuck, wanna cum, so close.” 

And then they pull out of you at the same time like they planned it and you clench needily around nothing, your hips still undulating. 

“Wait, what, why?” You wail and they start laughing at you. “No, no, come on, please.” You pull at your restraints like that will do anything and Agatha harshly slaps the inside of your thigh where she bit you earlier, and it makes you jump. 

“Stop being a greedy little slut,” she scolds. Rio walks over and unlocks the handcuffs from you so you can sit up. “You already came twice. Maybe you’ll think twice about using our house for an orgy next time.” 

“It wasn’t an orgy!” You protest and Rio rolls her eyes and grabs your jaw roughly. 

“We don’t care if it was your fucking church group,” she snarls. “You made a mess and hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” 

You slouch, still feeling desperate. You can still feel both their hands in you, twisting and fucking you so well, and you don’t think you’re bound to forget that anytime soon. 

“Well, angel, did you learn your lesson?” Agatha presses and you petulantly nod. 

Not exactly beating their young and immature allegations anytime soon. Who cares though. 

“You better get home before your mom starts to worry and thinks we’re torturing you,” Rio says, playful glint in her eye.

“Cause that would be so far from the truth,” you mutter and Agatha swats your leg again. 

“Get out of here,” she says. “Maybe next time we go out of town, we can see if you were actually paying attention.” 

All you know is that next time they leave, you’re going to throw an even bigger party. 

[pathologicalreid]

next of kin | S.R.

disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: actually might be gn! but i'm too scared to say it is. death, orphan-ing, funerals, child custody issues, blood, general cm violence, like actually an abhorrent amount of death. sorry i killed your parents for the sake of my fanfiction can we still be friends? word count: 3.33k a/n: this is the fic that this post is about. i am in fact my own worst enemy. i hope y'all like it actually genuinely i am most definitely overthinking this. if your name is maya im sorry that sucks.

“What did your parents say?” Spencer asked, walking into the conference room that the local precinct had offered to you.

You had been staring blankly at your phone since you got off the call with your mother, “Uh, they said thanks, but no thanks.”

The uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach as soon as you found out the team was being called to your hometown, and you had been nauseous ever since you found out the UnSub’s pattern.

Married couples with an older child who had moved out and a younger child who was still at home.

Your little sister was a surprise, you had incorrectly assumed your parents were done having kids.

Until today, you wouldn’t have traded Maya for the world, but now you sat in fear of your family being targeted by a serial killer. Hotch had offered them a protective detail, but they declined. Self-righteous as they were, they told you it wouldn’t feel right for them to accept help that couldn’t be offered to everyone.

Clenching your jaw, you stood at the table, “I’ll go by later and check in on them.”

Spencer had met your family twice by now. Last Christmas he had tagged along to meet them and celebrate with your family before the two of you spent New Year’s with his mom. Then, while your sister was on Spring Break, they flew out to Virginia, and you and Spencer had shown your family around Quantico and the District.

Maya had loved Spencer, partially because you loved him, but mostly because of his magic tricks.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked, stepping up next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back.

You sighed and shook your head, “No, not if you’re needed here.” You reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling softly, “Thank you for offering, Spence.”

He nodded affirmatively, “If you change your mind,” he offered. Gently, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before the two of you returned to the rest of the team.

The fact that your parents lived only five minutes from the police station gave you some relief, but you still felt tightly wound. Everyone had noticed. You just needed this case to be over.

The porch lights were on when you got there, and you used your house key – which you had never taken off of your keychain - to open the front door. “Hey, kiddo,” your dad greeted from the couch. A peek into the kitchen showed you that your mom was wiping down the counters. It all felt so eerily normal.

It was dark by the time you had gotten there. Maya was already asleep, but you tip-toed into her room anyway and kissed her goodnight before going back downstairs. Once you had hugged both of your parents and told them you loved them, you made your way back to the police precinct.

By nearly three in the morning, there was no new information, and the team was starting to consider calling it a night until the police chief got a call.

“We just got a call. Lady reported shouts coming from her neighbor’s house at 86 Meadowbrook,” he informed you, putting his hands on his hips and looking around at the team.

None of them even spared him a returning glance, everyone’s eyes were on you.

Blinking rapidly, you nodded assuredly, “I have to go get Maya.” You didn’t even recognize your voice even as you said it. It couldn’t have been your voice. That was the rasp of someone far away from you.

All of the other voices around you were muffled, you couldn’t hear what people were telling you, let alone understand them.

Maya. Maya. Maya.

Brown eyes. There they were, right in front of your face. “Let’s go get her,” Spencer whispered.

You had been speaking out loud. Repeating your sister’s name like a prayer without even realizing it.

Hotch let you go with them, but he made it abundantly clear to you – and the rest of the team – that you weren’t working this case anymore.

Surrounded by reverent voices in an SUV, JJ drove while Spencer stayed in the back with you. He held your hand tightly in his.

The house was closed off with police tape. Bright yellow plastic fluttered in the wind as you watched your team and other emergency personnel enter and exit. At your insistence, Spencer went in to get Maya, it felt like it had been hours before he walked out, carrying her in his arms.

Carefully, he brought her to you, and you pulled her close to your chest, blocking her eyesight as two body bags were brought out of the house.

You didn’t hear anything after that. You just let yourself be moved to wherever you needed to be, holding your kid sister as she cried for your parents.

They had to take their bodies to the hospital even though they were already gone, and you needed to be the one to confirm their identities. Spencer stayed with Maya while you were busy. She had cried herself to the point of exhaustion, you were grateful that she was sleeping, and then you felt cruel.

By sunrise, she was still asleep, and you had been set up in that same conference room from earlier. Sitting across from you was a social worker, a representative of the state. Your lips had parted in shock as you looked at her, “What do you mean they denied my request?”

In an attempt to be helpful, JJ worked with you to file an emergency request for custody of Maya, and the case worker had just told you that the request was denied. “The state doesn’t believe your request is valid,” she told you.

Your mouth went dry, “I don’t…” you glanced over at your little sister. “Our parents were murdered last night, and they won’t let me take custody of my sister?” You asked indignantly, peering at the social worker. It wasn’t her fault, somewhere in your grief-ridden brain you knew that, but you couldn’t help the feeling that she was somehow your enemy.

“They don’t believe you can provide her with a stable living environment,” the social worker, Brittany, explained.

Narrowing your eyes, you responded, “A stable living environment like a foster home? I’m her sister. We’re family – the only family each other has left.” You stood up, excusing yourself for a moment before walking out of the precinct. Once you were outside, you promptly hurled into the bushes.

That was how he found you, to the side of the building with your hair haphazardly moved out of your face, dry heaving into the shrubbery. Gently, Spencer placed a hand on your back before starting to rub small circles on your back, “You should eat something, love.”

You just shook your head in response, you weren’t hungry. “They won’t let me take her,” you whispered morosely, straightening up, you kept your back facing him.

“What?” He asked, his hand abruptly stopping its movement on your back.

Taking a deep breath and sitting on the curb, you looked up at Spencer. “The state thinks I’m not stable enough to take her in,” you said, resting your chin in your hands.

Your boyfriend crouched down so that he could sit next to you, “Are you going to challenge it?”

“Of course I am,” you cried. “But what happens to her in the interim, Spence? She gets placed with whatever foster home here and I go back to Virginia? I see her when the family court resolves this in two years?”

Treading carefully, Spencer cleared his throat, “What are you going to do?”

Defeated, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m…” your voice trailed off. “My parents are dead, Spencer,” you murmured softly, tears welling in your eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, “I know, darling. I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you whispered, leaning gently into him.

Spencer turned to kiss your temple, “It’s a good thing you’re not alone then. I’m not going anywhere.” He waited for a moment before continuing, “Give me something to do. Give me a job to take off of your shoulders.”

In the end, you let Spencer take over funeral planning. He thanked you for trusting him before the both of you went back into the precinct.

You had just hung up with a family lawyer who had offered to take your case, letting your phone drop to the floor, you let your arms hang at your side. Someone had taken Maya to get breakfast while you spoke with the lawyer.

At the sound of the phone falling to the floor, Spencer stepped into the conference room, letting the door click shut before him. “Hey, what did he say?”

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you took in a deep breath, “Um, he said he’d be willing to take the case if I could put together a case plan to present before the judge.”

Before that phone call, you didn’t know what a case plan was, you could’ve gone your whole life without knowing what a case plan was.

“I need a year-long plan for how I’m going to prepare to have Maya in my custody, but he said a year is the best he can do,” you said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of you. “A year?” You whispered aimlessly, “I’m not waiting a fucking year to take custody of her. I have to take her home, Spence. I have to.” It wasn’t your intention to snipe at him, but you felt like you couldn’t help yourself.

The events of the last twelve hours threatened to take you down, but you had to stay strong for Maya.  

Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at Spencer, “Why is it that every time I convince myself that it’s going to be okay, I get tossed to the ground again?” You asked him.

Maybe because you weren’t fully convinced. Maybe it was because it had only been seven hours. You needed to remind yourself of that.

“She’s a ward of the state?” Spencer asked for clarification, holding you tightly.

Nodding absentmindedly, you rested your head on his shoulder as he swayed gently. “She can stay with me until after the funeral, and after that, she has to go with the social worker.”

The sad look on Spencer’s face told you that he was running out of ideas, and you were coming to the very same conclusion. “We could get married,” he offered.

“Stop, Spence,” you said, shaking your head. You couldn’t believe this was where he was going.

He shrugged helplessly, “I’m serious, Y/N. If we get married, they might think we’re stable, as a couple. They might give us custody.”

Your shoulders slumped, “I don’t want to get married just to get custody of my sister.” It certainly wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Spencer, just not like this.

He nodded understandingly, “I know, but I’m just saying. If that’s what it takes, then I’ll do it.” Placing a comforting hand on your knee, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. “Do you have any ideas?” He asked you carefully.

Looking through the blinds of the conference room, you saw the rest of the team coming back to the precinct. Setting your jaw, you nodded, “I might.”

Opening the door, you had Maya go in with Spencer while you approached your Unit Chief. “Hey,” Hotch said, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. “How are you holding up?” He pulled you away from the people, wanting to give you privacy.

This wasn’t fair, they were still working on an active case. A case that was disturbingly close to you, and yet, you felt you were out of options. “I need a favor,” you blurted to him, wringing your hands. Your nervous energy made it impossible for you to stay still.

Hotch nodded, “What do you need?” He asked, studying your composure with the eye of a profiler.

You took a deep breath, “I was… I need you to call in a favor with someone. Anyone, really. The state won’t let me take custody of Maya, but I can’t let her become a ward of the state. Not when I’m right here, ready, willing, and able to take her.”

“Okay,” he responded, not even pausing to think about it.

Taken aback, you looked at him curiously, “I- that’s it? I had groveling prepared.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly as if he was trying to tell you it wasn’t necessary. “You’ve been a part of this team for years and not once have you ever asked for anything in return for everything you do for everyone else. This is the least I can do,” he told you.

You couldn’t help it. Overwhelmed, you tackled Hotch in a bear hug, “Thank you.” Your voice was low, “Thank you so much.”

Succinctly, Hotch hugged you back before you pulled away, “I’ll go make some calls.”

It was the smell.

The smell that you’d sensed countless times before on the job, the metallic tang of the blood. It should’ve been mostly dried by now – you supposed you were more susceptible to the scent, considering it was your parent’s blood, but it put you on high alert.

Emily had brought you by so that you could pack a bag for Maya, but you found yourself stuck on the landing. To one side, there was your childhood bedroom and Maya’s room. On the other side, there was your parent’s room.

“Y/N?” Emily called your name from downstairs, “Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, but you bit your tongue, scanning the house you had grown up in. “This doesn’t belong here,” you told her, glancing behind you as she made her way up the staircase.

You didn’t have gloves, so instead you pointed at the figurine that was resting on the bookshelves, a little bear facing in the direction of your parent’s bedroom door. “This is in the wrong spot?”

Nodding, your eyes followed the ceramic bear as Emily picked it up with a gloved hand. “It’s mine, it should be in my room,” you informed her. Your parents never changed anything about your childhood bedroom, not since you moved out. “It was like it was watching them,” you thought aloud.

“Do you think the UnSub did it?” She asked you gently, her voice was low but steady.

Blinking rapidly, you kept your eyes focused on the figurine, “Little Bear,” you murmured, “They called her Little Bear.”

Emily shook her head in confusion, dark hair swaying as her head moved. “Who was called Little Bear?”

Dropping the bag you had packed to the floor, you buried your face in your hands, “I should’ve seen it sooner.” The victimology, it all suddenly made sense to you. “When I was a kid, there was a family like mine. A brother who was in his twenties when his parents had another baby, a girl. They called her Little Bear.”

Realization dawned on Emily’s dark features, “Like this bear?”

You picked up the bag and started making your way back down the stairs. “Their mother made those figurines. The parents died in a fire two weeks ago – they left everything to the younger sister. It was all over the news. God, I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

“Hey,” Emily said sympathetically, “You had other things going on. None of this was your fault.” Her voice was stern, harsher than you’d ever heard her, as she pulled out her phone and called the team.

Your teammate drove, passing the police station on the way to drop you off. They left for the takedown, and you felt yourself floating into the precinct. Maya was waiting in the conference room for you, watching cartoons on someone’s laptop.

Kneeling in front of your little sister, you tapped the space bar, pausing the video. “Hey, kiddo,” you whispered, reaching over, and smoothing her hair away from her face. “How are you feeling?”

She had cried herself to sleep earlier, and you felt like you hadn’t been around enough. Maya sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, they were red, but not teary. “I miss mommy,” she told you, pouting slightly.

You nodded gently, moving to sit next to her before you pulled her into your lap. At six years old, she was all gangly limbs, just starting to grow into her own person. Just old enough to understand death, “I know, baby. I miss them too.”

“They wouldn’t lemme go home,” she continued, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I wanted Thumper,” she whined, sounding younger than she was.

Looking up at the light, you silently begged for your tears to go away. “I got him for you,” you told her, reaching into your bag and producing the small stuffed bunny that you had given her as a baby.

You savored the way her eyes lit up as she grabbed the stuffed animal from you.

“So, you and Thumper are gonna come to stay with me in Virginia. Do you remember going there? You said you liked it?” You kept smoothing her hair back as she held her toy.

She was silent for a moment, “Will Spencer be there?” She asked quietly.

Smiling slightly, you nodded, “He and I live together, so he’ll be there with us.” Slowly, you started rocking back and forth, trying to soothe the both of you simultaneously.

“As long as he doesn’t pull money out of my ear,” she answered succinctly, shutting her eyes as she leaned up against you.

There was approximately an hour before you watched the team return to the precinct, slowly, you laid Maya down on the couch before walking out. “It was a clean shoot,” you heard Rossi tell Morgan, and one look at the rest of them told you everything you needed to know.

The team went back to the hotel, and Spencer filled you in on the funeral arrangements he had made on your behalf. You were about to try to get some sleep when Hotch approached you and told you he needed to speak to you.

“I called a good friend of mine on your behalf, and he gave me some information. We were able to work out a plan,” he told you, sitting across from you in the hotel lobby.

You were about to tell him that a case plan wouldn’t work, but he held his hand out, telling you to wait.

He nodded before he kept going, “He was able to file an emergency request to grant you temporary custody of Maya, and it was granted.”

You felt sick to your stomach, “She’s mine?”

“Temporarily, you’ll have to take care of some formalities back in Virginia, but you have full custody of her,” he informed you. “You’re being granted family leave, and I’ve encouraged Reid to apply for it as well,” Hotch told you, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I am… I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through this but thank you for coming to me when you needed the help.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your head still whirling with the information that you had just been given. Stumbling, you walked back to your hotel room that you were sharing with Spencer and Maya.

The funeral was planned, the custody issue was solved, all there was left to do was…

“Baby?” Spencer said softly as you swung open the door, “Everyone else took Maya to get ice cream, I figured it couldn’t-“ his voice broke off at your first sob.

Everything you had held in came bursting out, all of the grief and stress and exhaustion nearly knocked your legs out from underneath you.

But Spencer was there to catch you.

part two

[sturnmeovr]

Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader - Plan B

Your white sheets drape loosely around Matt’s waist, daring to fall each time he pumps himself in and out of you at a steady pace, going so deep he teases your cervix each time. Low, raspy grunts escape his lips with every snap of his hips, one hand glued to your waistline, not letting you squirm out from his grip one bit while the other dangerously thumbs at your clit. “Ahh! — Matt,” you croak out, your eyes low from the little ball of pleasure building up in your stomach, “I can’t — Fuck!”

You hadn’t had a senseless hook up in months, you were too focused on work and isolating yourself, you had no time for distractions. You didn’t know how you got in this position – pinned underneath your obnoxiously rude and loud upstairs neighbor whom you’ve hated up until twenty minutes ago when he was forcing his tongue in your mouth and clawing at every article of clothing you had on. 

His blue orbs suck you in much like a heavy current. His bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he stares down at you with a gruff expression sewn deep into his face. He was so focused on making those sweet, sacred moans roll off the tip of your tongue, he almost failed to respond. Too busy fucking you into a mindless state, studying the way your face contorted in pleasure with each thrust. It was all due to him. His mouth gapes open as your eyes roll back, "all that — Mph! — shit you were talking," he manages to get out all while plowing into your sopping cunt, "now you can't — take it, huh?"

Wetness drips from your arousal at the sound of his voice, so deep and husky like he had been holding back his groans. Your wet pussy spits out squelching sounds adding to the mixture of your heavenly moans and Matt’s thighs slapping against yours as he rams himself in and out of you. The sex sounds are so satisfying, you both find yourselves leaning in, foreheads pressed together just to watch how his cock glides in and out of your wet cunt with such ease. You look up at Matt, his eyes already fixated on your face, “look at you," he coos before pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips, "y’almost there for me, sweet girl?”

That euphoric feeling you had been chasing the last twenty minutes finally reaches its boiling point, sending you over the edge and making your legs shake in an uncontrollable manner. A loud mewl erupts from your lungs and your body goes limp, collapsing onto the memory foam bed beneath you as you moan out, “oh my – god!” You cling onto the bedsheets for dear life, digging your nails deep as he fucks your thru your orgasm, his thumb still working tight circles around your small bundle of nerves.

“Fuckk — y’pussy squeezing me so tight,” he drags out, his eyes clenching shut as your walls convulse around his thick shaft, the feeling becoming too much for him to handle. Matt gives you one final thrust, burying his cock so deep, your entrance sits around the base of him as he spills his full load into you, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum he shoots out. As much as he’d love to stay buried as deep as he could be in the best pussy he’s ever had, the realization quickly sweeps over his mind. Not only did he have his bitchy downstairs neighbor that he couldn’t fucking stand under his complete control, cumming so hard on his cock she was shaking, but he just came in her. He fucking came in her.

Matt tries not to let the awkward silence take over the mood. Letting exhaustion take over his body, he collapses on top of you. Your heart thumps in your chest as he presses a light sloppy kiss to your collarbone, almost like it's an apology. “Fuck, sorry. I’ll uh –,” he breathes out, his nostrils flaring in an attempt to catch his breath, “I’ll insta cart plan b.”

Meanwhile, all you could think about was his cum dripping out of your pussy and onto the silky, freshly washed bed sheets below you. That asshole better buy you a plan b.

Introducing Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader

wc - 713

♡‧₊˚ New au incoming 🫣👀 ofc im still doing babydaddy!Chris, just miss writing about Matt 🥰 Let me know what you guys think?! Also want to say thank you @sweetshuga, @strnilolover & @chrislilcumslvt for their second opinions. This probably would've sat in my drafts forever if it wasn't for them lol

Posting the intro next!

Tags - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @sweetshuga @loveparqdise @emely9274 @frickin-bats @delusional-4-fake-people @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 @thepubeburgler @shadowthesim @immy08 @trevorsgodmother @watercolorskyy @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @luvr4miya @strnilolover

© M00NL1GHTS1VT - please do noy copy my work

[darkmatilda]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: following a certain unsettling experience, you and your husband choose to move to a quiet yet incredibly boring town. in his absence on a business trip, you discover an unexpected source of intrigue and diversion in one of your neighbors — spencer.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!reader, cheating (but not really lol), unreliable narrative, violence, attempted murder, inspired by taylor swift's song "fortnight", mention of sex but without a detailed description, nothing in this story is as it seems so read carefully until the end, reader has some backstory because it's necessary to the plot, reader has some disturbing thoughts, just to clarify, i don’t consider her character to be good or a role model. if you’re hesitating whether to read this story, it might be better if you skip it, lol.

𝐚/𝐧: it's kind of an experiment and I'm curious if you'll like it :3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.5k

“Finally…our bedroom.” Richard opened the door to the room with a chivalrous gesture, bowing slightly as he let you enter first. Before stepping inside, you glanced at his face without much enthusiasm. He seemed genuinely happy. It didn’t surprise you. He loved beautiful things, and this house you’d just moved into was exactly that. “I’ve always wanted one like this. Spacious, white. A huge bed. What do you think, darling?”

Your husband’s lips gently brushed against the skin of your shoulder as he stood a step behind you. The tender gesture stirred no emotions in you—just like this bedroom. Or the house in general.

“Why do we need such a big bed if I’ll be sleeping in it alone?” you asked, unable to hold back the bitterness in your voice.

Richard sighed and took a step back. Your words had pulled him out of his own cinematic fantasy—the one he’d been living in since morning. In that fantasy, you were a perfectly happy couple embarking on an unquestionably bright chapter of your lives, and you were his perfectly normal wife.

“It’s just two weeks. A fortnight, as my grandfather used to say. I’ve gone on much longer business trips before.”

“Well, I wasn’t in a completely unfamiliar place then, where I don’t know anyone.”

He tilted his head, clearly reluctant to revisit this topic yet again.

“You won’t be alone. Sarah will be coming by every day, remember? I asked her to take care of you.”

“You hired her,” you corrected.

“Fine, I hired her. She desperately needed a job, and I needed someone to keep an eye on you. Does the fact that she’ll be paid for it really change anything?”

Countless words pressed against your lips. Yet suddenly, you lost all interest in the argument, in the situation as a whole. You said nothing.

Richard studied your face closely, noticing that sudden, dangerous absence in your expression—a telltale sign with you. His lips tightened with concern. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

“Could that be her?” he wondered aloud, heading downstairs to let the guest in.

You followed him mindlessly down the stairs, like a shadow. You weren’t entirely sure why. Everything in your existence felt just like this—dictated by someone else or some mysterious force, a whisper lurking at the back of your mind. Never fully justified.

It turned out it wasn’t Sarah. Standing at the door of your new home was a couple.

“Hi there,” said a young woman with a romantic figure and a cascade of black curls. A natural blush on her cheeks softened her sharp features, adding a touch of charm. “We live in the house across the street. We stopped by to welcome our new neighbors.”

“And to apologize for barging in right after you arrived, not giving you any time to settle in,” added the man standing a step behind her, clearly towering over her in height. He looked down at his companion with a faint, probably unconscious smile, and from that alone, you knew they were either married or a long-standing couple. “Someone was a little too eager to meet you.”

She elbowed him, barely stifling a laugh.

 “I’m Vanessa. And this is my smug and sarcastic husband, Spencer.”

“We weren’t expecting visitors,” you spoke up before Richard, standing in front of you, could say a word.

There was an unintentional sharpness to your tone—you didn’t want to host anyone. For one, you had just arrived. Your belongings from the previous house had been unpacked by the moving company, but you hadn’t gone shopping yet. There wasn’t any coffee to offer, and you weren’t even sure if the coffee maker was plugged in. More importantly, you hadn’t yet adjusted to the new place yourself and didn’t want to let strangers in until you did.

Vanessa parted her lips, clearly surprised by the edge in your voice.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” your husband cut in quickly, turning to the woman with an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, you’re not bothering us at all. Actually, we’re glad you stopped by. It’ll be nice to get to know someone in the area, especially for my wife. I’ll be leaving on a business trip soon, and I don’t want her getting bored. Richard, by the way,” he added, extending a hand.

She had very small hands, round like a child’s, but in their own way, charming. Her wedding ring was simple and looked cheaper than yours. The thought flitted through your mind, as did the observation that Spencer had very elegant hands—slim with long fingers—unlike your husband’s. You had an odd habit of paying unsettlingly close attention to people’s hands.

Despite the protest in your gaze, Richard invited them inside.

Vanessa walked in first. They didn’t touch, but there was an unmistakable closeness in all their movements, as if they were two halves of one of those matching necklaces best friends wear in school. It caught your attention for some reason. You knew that you and Richard didn’t share that kind of grace. People didn’t immediately assume you were married when they saw you together. Sometimes they thought you were father and daughter, even though he was only thirteen years older than you and looked young, well-kept. But it probably had more to do with the way you walked cautiously at his side, always slightly withdrawn, as if seeking protection.

“Oh, it immediately reminded me of our house when we first moved in,” Vanessa sighed nostalgically, turning to her husband. The four of you had walked into the kitchen, where the table and countertops were spotless and empty, as if taken straight from a photo in a modern interior design magazine. “It used to look like this too, but then Spencer converted the living room and kitchen into the second and third library. Apparently, one isn’t enough for him.”

“My wife reads a lot too,” Richard chimed in. There was something strange about his tone, a faint, undefined emotion—maybe jealousy, but not entirely. Jealousy over the lightness and ease in their interactions, how their relationship seemed perfect at first glance. Unlike his.

Spencer looked at you, as if seeking confirmation of that statement.

You pursed your lips. The last time you’d read something was…six weeks ago, at best. Books hadn’t brought you joy in a long time, though there was a time when you devoured them relentlessly.

“It’s true,” you admitted stiffly. “I read constantly. One book after another."

When you lied, your voice sounded mechanical, like a robot. Recently, though, all your words carried that same rigid tone, even when you were being entirely truthful, so no one noticed when you veered away from the truth. It was, in a way, convenient. The new neighbor opened his mouth to speak. If he had asked what kinds of books you enjoyed, you would have said something absurd, like The Bible Trilogy or something equally ridiculous. Nothing else came to your foggy mind.

However, he was cut off by Richard, who quickly turned to both of them with a question about their professions. They looked young, about your age. You hadn’t expected them to have impressive careers, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. Vanessa turned out to be a surgeon, and Spencer was a criminal profiler.

Although the lines of his face were arranged in a way that was undeniably pleasant to look at, and his irises carried a warm hue, there was an undeniable sharpness in them. You could feel it, that piercing quality, whenever his gaze landed on you.

You tuned out when Richard started boring them with stories about his work as an engineer. His favorite topic—pride. You just wanted them to leave, even though nothing in their behavior really irritated you. Their love, however, bored you. You had some private aversion to happy relationships, and with the typical jealousy of a gloomy wife, you always wrote them off as doomed. Probably because of betrayal.

“And you, what do you do?” At some point, Spencer interrupted your husband’s monologue, tilting his head toward you. Vanessa, who had been patiently listening, seemed to perk up a little, her gaze now on you.

Richard swallowed, and you saw and heard it.

“She’s not working at the moment,” he said cautiously. Vanessa’s eyes involuntarily dropped to your stomach, but Richard quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. We don’t have children yet. It’s just... it’s about some... health issues.”

A very creative way to convey that not long ago your wife had a nervous breakdown. So severe that you decided to buy a new house in a new neighborhood, hoping it would somehow improve her condition.

Vanessa’s eyes brightened, as if apologizing for bringing up the topic at all.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, it’s kind of like my Spence. He’s on leave for health reasons too. I made him take it; I honestly think it’s better to take a break and rest than push yourself to the limit later on.”

“But it’s nothing serious,” her husband quickly reassured. “Just migraines. Two weeks, and I’ll be back at work.”

You apologized to them without a hint of feigned remorse. Muttering something under your breath about not feeling well, but in reality, you simply didn’t want to continue this pointless conversation. As you walked away, you could feel Richard’s unwavering gaze on your back. He had never been angry at you for your behavior. He cared deeply, truly. More than anger, you sensed a certain disappointment in his demeanor. In his ideal world with his ideal wife, you stood by his side, holding him by the waist, entertaining everyone with some anecdote from exotic corners of the world, sparking bursts of laughter.

You lay down on the bed, in the cold sheets of the enormous bed. Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself floating on the surface of the endless ocean. There was nothing around you to focus your gaze on. In a way, it was a dream more terrifying than one where a shark would chase you. When you woke up, the sun was setting.

For a while, you lay still, but eventually, you got up and descended the stairs. It wasn’t out of desire, but rather some internal compulsion you had to fulfill. Otherwise, something would happen. You weren’t sure what. Your steps were slow, barely audible. At the top of the stairs, you heard Sarah’s voice coming from the kitchen. The rest of the way, you moved like a born detective, a secret agent, hiding by the entrance, opposite the white (like everything else in this house) wooden cubby under the stairs.

You heard Sarah’s voice again, a faint sound of vegetables being chopped in the background. They must have been preparing dinner together.

"Don’t worry," she said, her voice gentle. "When you leave, I’ll stop by every day to check on her. Are you sure that moving away was really the right solution?"

Richard sighed before answering.

"Well, that’s what the psychologist recommended. He said that a break from the big city and some peace is the best thing I can offer her in this crisis."He paused for a moment, then added, "Thank you for doing this, Sarah. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but my work...This project is incredibly important…"

Sarah was your sister, whom your husband had hired as something like domestic help. She cleaned and made sure you didn’t get the idea of taking a bath with a toaster plugged in under your arm. By the way, they were fucking behind your back. You knew about it and did nothing about it.

The reasons were mixing in your head, but the most important one was probably that without Richard, you would have nothing. Money, a house, the possibility of spending most days sweetly doing nothing. Besides, you didn’t really feel bothered by it. For most of the time, where he stuck his dick was absolutely indifferent to you, even if it was your sister. For the rest, you wanted to slit both of their throats.

But we all have our own inner battles, right?

You walked into the kitchen, and they fell silent immediately.

The next two days felt almost fairy-tale-like, as if every time the sun set, creatures straight out of folklore surrounded your house, camping outside the windows. Richard, by your side, became a kind of magical amulet—a form of protection against them all. His departure would be like violently ripping that amulet from your neck, leaving you exposed to danger.

You were getting used to the new house. For a moment, you felt so alive, so present, that you even started questioning whether bringing the porcelain dinner set from the old place had been a good idea. For a solid fifteen minutes, you told Richard how you thought it was too elegant, too plain. Too much of a match for the rest of the decor, all designed in the same style.

He listened, a smile on his face, happy that your thoughts weren’t drifting into strange, distant realms. And when you were done, he whisked you away to buy a new dinner set with cobalt floral patterns. You felt good.

The next day, he left for his two-week business trip—a fortnight, as he called it.

The first day was lonely; you wandered aimlessly through the vast new house. The next two days seemed not to exist at all.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Someone’s presence loomed just behind you as you lay face down on the bed, your face buried in the pillow. “You can’t spend your days like this. It’s not helping, really. You need to… you need to try doing something,” Sarah explained. She pulled the blanket off your body, like a mother waking a child for school.

You didn’t respond.

“Come downstairs. It’s already afternoon, and I bet you haven’t eaten anything, right? Honestly, I don’t even want to ask how long it’s been.”

And I bet you spread your legs for my husband, right? The thought pushed itself to your lips, but opening your mouth felt like too much effort. After about fifteen minutes of her continued talking, you let her drag you downstairs. You sat in a chair at the table, where you had a clear view of the neighbors’ house and driveway. It was almost identical to yours—white, two stories tall, with a mailbox planted near the road that stretched through the neighborhood. The only thing that set it apart was a trail of pink roses climbing along its white fence.

Sarah began preparing a meal. She was always an excellent cook. She had a thing for Asian cuisine—hearty soups with intense aromas.

You ate in silence. Sarah asked if you had called Richard, but you dismissed it with a snort. After that, she said nothing more and started cleaning up after the meal without a word. You kept your absent gaze fixed on the neighbors' driveway when suddenly a car appeared there. Spencer got out, wearing a polo shirt, and went to the trunk to pull out, as it turned out, bags of groceries.

He had no idea you were watching him, though if he had good eyesight, he could have seen your face in the window across the street. The entire conversation with him and his wife filled your mind again. You remembered that Vanessa worked as a surgeon almost all day, while he spent his days alone at home. Just like you and Richard. Did he feel romantically lonely, or abandoned like a dog that’s loved but you want to kick every time it pees on the carpet? The kind of dog that gets shown in family pictures but is asked to get off the bed and not lick you because it disgusts you?

You were curious if they had sex. He and Vanessa. She was probably tired when she got back and didn’t feel like it. Did he accept that, or secretly bring someone home when she wasn’t around? He seemed to love her, but that didn’t mean he could deny his human needs. Maybe he missed intimacy. You probably did too, but you didn’t want it from Richard. In bed, he was too proper, like a porn actor following a script.

"Maybe you can help me?" Sarah asked, washing dishes at the sink. Lost in thought, you didn’t even hear the sound of the running water.

Spencer came inside.

"That's why Richard hired you," you reminded her coldly.

"It’s not about that," she sighed. "I don’t know, maybe it’s just my opinion, but doing nothing drives people into even deeper depression. Believe me, you’d feel better if you had something to focus on. I don’t know, a job, a child, responsibilities. A goal." She paused for a moment, placing the dishes on the shelf. Her hands touched your new porcelain. You were planning to throw it out once she left. "Okay, maybe I’ll sound harsh, but... are you really not coping?"

"Do you think I'm pretending?"

"No," she added quickly, with real concern. "I don't think so, it's just... you know, I just remembered. When you were a child, you were like this too. Our parents gave us chores, and you didn't do your part. You used to drift off somewhere with your thoughts...you were a bit lazy.”

A strange hum filled your head as you returned to your body, the kitchen was filled with darkness, and your cheek rested on the kitchen table. Only after a moment did you realize that Sarah must have left hours ago, and you, unable to move, had fallen asleep in the same spot where you had been sitting. Your body was stiff, and you didn't want to move it to avoid pain or numbness.

When you opened your eyes again, the morning sun gently caressed your face.

A certain sense of unreality gently embraced your body, kissing every part of it. For a moment, you lay there—or rather, sat—with your head resting on the table, your gaze fixed on the view outside the window. The neighbor's house, the pink roses, the driveway. The mailbox, to which Spencer approached with a sleepy step, dressed in a loose T-shirt and gray checkered pants. Even from afar, you could see his brown hair was messy, which only added a charm to his already quite handsome face.

Without much thought, as if guided by some higher command in a system you physically couldn't resist, you sprang to your feet and stepped outside. You were still wearing a flowing white nightgown that reached just halfway up your thigh, with lace trimming. Though it was spring, the mornings were cold, but you didn't feel it, just as you didn't feel the roughness of the concrete driveway beneath your bare feet.

"Hey, neighbor!" you shouted at him, approaching your mailbox. You acted as it felt so natural to you, as if you did this every morning just like him. You glanced inside; there was only a newspaper.

Spencer furrowed his brow in surprise, but waved, a brief, uncertain smile appeared on his lips. You shoved the newspaper under your arm without even looking at the headline and crossed the street to approach him. You felt both more alive than ever before and fleeting, as if the breeze could blow you away at any moment, and you would become nothing more than a cloud of dust just before his face.

“Morning,” he greeted aloud, crossing his arms, one of them holding a newspaper against his chest. For a moment, he stared at you, lost in thought, before finally shaking his head. “I’ll admit, I’m... a little surprised to see you. I thought you and Richard had both left, I didn’t see you around…”

“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling well,” you waved your hand dismissively. Your tone was light, not as tense as it had been the first, and last, time you’d spoken with him. He seemed to notice the difference, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied your face.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” he expressed, his concern sounding sincere and kind.

“Definitely. I’m just a little bored now. Not much to do in the new house, new neighborhood,” you added with an ironic undertone that only you could catch. As if you were even trying to do anything. You remembered Sarah’s words while doing the dishes.

Spencer, however, couldn’t know you were lying, and in a way, you believed your own words. He gave a short chuckle.

“I get that all too well. The doctor recommended I take a break from mental work, and I have no idea what I could do,” he said. “Vanessa comes home late during the week, and she just collapses. I guess I’ll have to push through until the weekend.”

You laughed, not because his words amused you, but because it confirmed your earlier theory. They weren’t having sex. There was no chance of it.

“Ah, poor things. The both of us, I mean,” you sighed. “Well, since you can’t work mentally, I suppose you’ll have to spend your time physically. In some pleasant way.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the best,” he responded.

A silence fell between you. You didn’t know what else to say to keep the conversation going. Why did you even want to keep it going so much? Was it a lack of male attention, or something else? Spencer’s gaze briefly flickered toward his house, likely signaling that he wanted to go back inside but didn’t know how to show it. But suddenly, his eyes dropped, and his lips parted in surprise.

“Y-your foot…”

A pool of blood stretched out beneath you, on his driveway. Surprised, you let out a stifled cry, not feeling any pain and having no idea where it came from. Spencer snapped out of his shock, his head swiveling side to side as a sense of control began to settle into his movements.

"You’re barefoot, you must have stepped on something, a sharp stone or glass," he reasoned logically, eyeing your feet. Then, he sighed. "Damm… there’s quite a bit of it... a-are you okay?"

"A little dizzy," you groaned.

The sight of blood always made you lightheaded.

He quickly rushed to you, making sure you wouldn’t fall. One of his hands, slender with long fingers—something you had once noticed—rested on the small of your back, and you could feel it through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“C-could you take me to my house...?” you asked, slipping further into his arms. “I need to lie down... I don’t like... I don’t like blood...”

“Of course...”

And though his house was much closer, he followed your request. The fact that you were disturbed by the sight of blood, rather than the actual loss of it, seemed to calm him a bit. He tried to guide you, draping his arm around you, but soon realized it was pointless. He froze for a moment, uncertain. Then he sighed and lifted you in his arms, supporting you beneath the knees.

"Thank you so much... neighbor," you mumbled into his chest.

A moment later, you were half-sitting, half-lying on a chair in the kitchen, while he pulled one to sit across from you. Small bloodstains from your foot marked his gray pants, but he seemed completely unfazed by it. You weren't sure if there was a first aid kit at home, so he told you to wait and went to your bathroom to fetch it.

With a focused expression and his lower lip slightly protruding, he began treating your wound. He seemed to have experience in this. You didn't feel any pain at all; you were focused only on a few things. On your stretched-out leg, resting on his lap, and what was between your legs, revealed by the short nightgown. 

You never slept in lingerie.

You carefully analyzed his face, wondering if he noticed it.

Maybe not, because he was too focused. Maybe he did, but he was trying to play the gentleman.

You pretended to let out a short groan of pain to draw his attention. His gaze lovingly fell on you... and then it landed right there. He quickly looked away, the corner of your mouth trembled.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Spencer,' you said. “My foot, actually. Is it something serious?”

He swallowed, though your limb was already fully bandaged and dressed, he didn’t take his eyes off it. As if he were afraid to look elsewhere.

“‘N-no,’ he replied hoarsely, nervously. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of it, then straightened his head. His gaze held so much awkwardness. And you were absolutely sure that there was also some degree of desire in it. ‘It’s… it’s a shallow wound, it just bled a bit heavily. I disinfected it… there’s probably no need to go to the hospital… unless… unless you feel like you need to, of course, that depends on you.’”

“There’s no need,” you reassured him with a brief nod. In contrast to him, your voice was calm, refined. You straightened up in your seat and reached out, brushing your fingers against his forearm. He flinched. “How can I repay you?”

"Repay?" he repeated, with confusion. Then your eyes met, and if he had been standing, he would likely have taken a step back, pushed away by everything that was in your gaze. He swallowed again. "You don’t have to repay me, it’s... just a neighborly favor. And I... I need to get going."

He fought with himself, but if he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t have allowed you to touch his forearm like that, running your nails along it. Suddenly, as if struck by an electric shock, he jumped up from the chair, your injured leg dropping to the floor. You wanted to scoff, but held yourself back. At first, you watched him leave the kitchen, then you turned your gaze toward the window, where he soon appeared, heading toward the house. His steps were slow, suspiciously slow.

A sense of triumph filled your body as you slowly rose from the chair, standing on your healthy leg. You waited, watching, until he turned.

You slipped the sleeve of your nightgown off your shoulder. 

He didn’t turn around, though he stopped.

You slipped another one. 

He stood still, his shoulders moving up and down.

The nightgown slipped down along your body. 

He chose that exact moment to glance back toward your window, toward you. You saw his eyes widen, his gaze unsure of where to land. For a long, intense moment, you simply stared at each other.

Until he finally moved, gave in, and returned to your house.

*

Well, in a similar manner, the following days unfolded.

Every morning, you waited by the window like a ghost. Spencer, like a good neighbor, would approach the mailbox, pull out the newspaper, and pretend to examine the front page. But in reality, he was just waiting to catch a glimpse of you in the window of your house. You didn't need to give him hand signals, wave, or call out. You simply hobbled to your bedroom, knowing the front door was unlocked.

And after a moment, he would join you.

Your bodies collided with the bedding. Always in the same wild way, impatient and thirsty for the closeness of another person. His hand slid between your legs, a short moment later, caressed your lips, brushing against your lower lip, gently tugging at it. It was like an intense memory, suddenly haunting you in the middle of, say, a store aisle, pulling from you an involuntary gasp, even though weeks or even years had passed since that moment.

Those moments when you were together were that wonderful memory. The act itself, and the moments after, when you lay curled up facing each other. The rest of the days, the hours between your next meeting, were like that store aisle with shelves full of milk with various fat contents. Being among them, all you could do was return, return with your thoughts.

That Friday, you were sitting with your knees resting on his chest.

Your finger traced a path from his collarbones down to his lower abdomen and back again, and Spencer watched your movements, his lips slightly curled in amused curiosity.

"What are you thinking about?" he wanted to know.

He reached for your loose hair, gently pushing it over your back to see you better. To see all of you.

"Do you feel guilty for cheating on your wife?" you asked. "The beautiful, loving Vanessa? With your sick neighbor?"

Spencer was silent for a long moment, though he did not look away. If he had, it would have carried some shame, some guilt. But he didn’t.

“Desire is like a whirlpool that takes you down, with no possibility of return. Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary " he quoted softly, instead of directly answering the question.

"A guy who quotes classic literature after having sex with me," you chuckled. "Now, that's a first. But how does this relate to my question?"

"It relates in this way," he replied, "that desire is not something I have control over. It's a force that strikes unexpectedly, and although a person is often aware of the consequences it brings, they can't resist it. And I desire you."

"So you mean to say that cheating on your wife isn't your fault? Because you had no control over it?"

"Of course, it's my fault. And every sin is something a person eventually regrets, that's just how it goes. But I'm not there yet. I'm still too dazzled and enchanted by you. So, to answer your question, no, I don't feel guilty. Not yet. What about you?"

A strange feeling filled your body as you listened to his words, compliments, and devotion. It was as if you were swaying to the delicate sounds of some magical music, played live by a brilliant composer. Instead of answering, you returned to tracing the same path on his skin, starting from his neck and moving downward.

He inhaled sharply. This time, you did it with your lips.

Both of you, fully dressed, walked down the stairs. You wanted him by your side all day and night, but you couldn't have him. Not only because he had to go home in the evening when his wife was returning from work. He had other duties too, like grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning; he couldn’t devote all his time to you.

Your hand rested in his, but then you stopped suddenly, alarmed by a sound. A car pulling into the driveway.

"It must be Sarah," you thought right away. You had spent much longer in bed that day than usual, completely unaware that it was already afternoon and your sister was coming over to check on you. Spencer straightened up, surprised, and before he could say anything, you pushed him toward the cupboard under the stairs. You hadn’t had a chance to look in there yet, but it seemed like the best hiding spot. "Get in there, quickly...!"

Barely had the cupboard door closed when Sarah entered. She was holding a paper bag with groceries, nearly dropping it when she saw you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“This is my house.”

“Shit, right,” she sighed, nodding. “Sorry, I just always found you in bed at this time, and… never mind. It’s good to see you on your feet. Want to help me cook?”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the kitchen. She moved through the house as if it were hers. Slowly, you followed her, wondering how to signal Spencer to cautiously leave the cupboard and return to his place. Though maybe that would be too risky? The cupboard door was visible from where Sarah was chopping vegetables for dinner; she would have to turn her back. Better for him to stay there until she left.

Actually, he didn’t even need to hide. You could just tell her that he came by to borrow something, like normal neighbors do. But just the thought of hiding him sent a pleasant shiver of excitement down your back. You entered the kitchen, watching your sister in silence.

“How’s your leg?” she asked over her shoulder, putting the newly purchased groceries into the fridge. “I see you’re walking normally again.”

“I take very careful steps and try not to put too much weight on it,” you replied, slipping further into the room.

You weren’t sure how to act; your gaze kept drifting behind her to the cupboard under the stairs, where Spencer was hiding. 

Sarah seemed to be watching you more closely whenever she wasn’t chopping or stirring something. She probably sensed that something was off, even if she couldn’t pinpoint what.

A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour. Meals prepared by your sister were never the quick kind.

“Fuck,” she suddenly exclaimed, her words preceded by the sharp sound of shattering glass. She had dropped one of the plates—the ones you and Richard had bought right after moving into this house. She glanced around the kitchen as steam billowed out of the pot on the stove. “Do you have a dustpan or something?”

You opened your mouth but said nothing. The truth was, you didn’t know. You didn’t cook or clean; you spent your days in the bedroom or by the window, waiting for Spencer.

Sarah caught herself, realizing how pointless her question was.

“Wait, Richard mentioned the previous owners didn’t clear everything out of the cupboard,” she said suddenly, pointing toward the very place in question.

Your entire body tensed.

Before you could react, shake yourself out of it, or get a grip on the situation, she was already opening the door. You stood frozen, your eyes wide, bracing yourself for her surprised scream when she stumbled across a strange man inside.

You felt odd, like you were waiting for a carnival vendor to hand you a stick of cotton candy. Like…excited, rather than terrified at the prospect of your secret being exposed.

Sarah returned holding a dustpan.

“See? It was there. They really did leave a lot of stuff behind. Richard needs to check it out when he gets back,” she said, pausing abruptly to scrutinize your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You only shook your head, unable to say a word.

The moment Sarah drove away, you practically sprinted to the cupboard.

Spencer burst into laughter at the sight of your astonished expression.

“God, you have no idea how scared I was when she came in. But I hid behind the door, and she didn’t even notice me,” he explained, placing a hand on his chest as if only now beginning to process what had just happened.

A moment later, you threw your head back, laughing uncontrollably. And as you let yourself sink into the hysteria, you pressed your lips to his, pushing him back against one of the walls. He drew in a surprised breath, momentarily breaking the kiss, but quickly dove back into it.

There was always a certain urgency in the way he treated you. As if he truly believed this might be the last time you’d see each other. The pace he set felt like a challenge, one you were determined to meet.

You allowed yourself a brief moment of respite, tilting your head back in satisfaction, as one of his fingers began tracing circles around your nipple. His entire hand slipped under the thin fabric of your nightgown, the other was sliding up from the opposite side. Oh, it was marvelous. The darkness that enveloped the cupboard contrasted with a single, narrow beam of light streaming through the slightly ajar door.

He knelt before you, your knees softening, buckling more and more with every passing moment.

You didn’t even need to close your eyes to feel consumed by that sensation. It seemed as though there was only one, specific point on your body, and the rest of you barely existed—like oxygen molecules in the air around you, invisible and undetectable to others, and even to yourself.

You let out a moan, not sweet, but more of a scream, cutting through the space.

At that moment, your gaze once again fell on that one illuminated strip in the dark room, a strange glow reflecting light off itself. The axe head, resting against one of the walls, much like you in that moment. Except that it was more stable and upright, its back not arching backward.

Well, it didn’t have a back, but you get the metaphor.

*

On weekends, Vanessa didn't work.

Spencer hadn't visited you for a while.

You spent those two days with your cheek pressed against the kitchen counter, watching your neighbor water the flowers. The thick roses with pink buds, their color matching the flush of effort on her cheeks as she gripped the heavy watering can. She wore tight black pants and a t-shirt, the complete opposite of your airy shirt. On a daily basis, you didn't wear anything else. Why would you? It was comfortable and provided easy access. All you had to do was slip your hand underneath.

Sarah noticed the deterioration in your condition and told you to call Richard. She probably hoped that hearing his voice would act as a cure for you. You didn’t need him; you had your own. You had your own miraculous move-on drug. It worked reliably, the only downside being that its effects were temporary.

The long-awaited Monday had come again, and you were afraid Spencer wouldn’t show up. But he did, as usual, holding a freshly retrieved newspaper from the mailbox. He always forgot to take it with him afterward, and a pile had already started to accumulate in your bedroom. Later, on Friday, you were lying naked in bed. You reached for one of them and tried to make a paper airplane, but you couldn’t remember how.

Spencer sat on the bed, the blanket wrapped around his hips, leaving his chest exposed.

"Show me," he asked, extending his hand towards you.

You followed the command, lying on your side with your head resting on your hand, watching his movements. He looked down, focused, his hair falling over his forehead. It was longer than Richard's hair, and you liked it, along with the untamed nature that always accompanied it. You would wish he never came back from that business trip. His plane could crash somewhere in the ocean or in the jungle, where he would be torn apart by wild animals.

Vanessa wasn't an obstacle, you imagined yourself approaching her from behind while she was watering the flowers. Then it would be just the two of you. You could never leave the house, never leave that bed.

"Ta-da," Spencer said, throwing the finished paper airplane so it rolled across the bedroom like a car on a circular racetrack.

You laughed, a sense of carefree joy filling you.

"I feel like a child again," you sighed, lying on your back. "Like I can dream again."

After a moment, Spencer joined you, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder and closely watching your profile.

"Don't you have any dreams?" he asked, surprised.

You paused for a moment. Yes, you had one. It involved stopping time, literally grabbing the hands of the universe’s clock and holding them in place. Right there, in that very moment. But out loud, you decided to say something else.

"I used to dream of moving to Florida. But I don't know if that even qualifies as a dream. A dream should be something out of our reach, or something that can’t be fulfilled. Something we can think about with excitement every night before going to sleep. And I, well, theoretically, I could move there. What about you, do you have any dreams?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment.

"By the way you put it, I guess I don’t. I’d like to buy a new car, but it’s not something I think about with excitement before bed," he said with a short chuckle, but suddenly his amusement faded, his unreadable gaze fixed on you. You turned your face towards him, gently studying his features with your fingers, starting from his lips. A short sigh escaped them. "Then… I think about you."

You kissed him gently, as if slipping a pill onto your tongue. Again, I thought of all those damned seconds, slipping away like the air from a punctured balloon. Like life, from a dying person. You wished there was a way to seal that hole or perform CPR so that the man could still survive. To make time stand still.

Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. The landline phone, sitting on the cabinet by Spencer’s side—well, actually, Richard’s side—rang.

You didn’t want to answer it, so you asked him to reach for it and hang up the call. But then it rang again, the sound felt like a personalized version of a spiked boot, kicking your head.

"Give it to me," you said with surrender, taking the phone from Spencer. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe. Everything okay? You haven't said a word," Richard's voice came through on the other end, sounding lighter. Like he was well-rested. Well, he had the chance, being far away from his fucked-up wife. Or maybe he just masturbated at the thought of Sarah, and it put him in such a good mood.

You glanced sideways at Spencer, signaling that it was your husband. For a moment, he didn’t move, but after a while, a somewhat arrogant expression appeared on his face, and you were curious about what it meant.

"You know I don’t like talking on the phone," you replied briefly.

Spencer positioned himself in front of your bent legs, gently spreading them apart.

"I know, but... I was still worried. Although, Sarah also called me saying you were feeling better." His lips touched the inner part of your thigh, you closed your eyes. Your breath had to stay steady. "Well, then she called again, saying that you were feeling bad again. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe you’ll tell me, hm? Have you settled in the area? Have you even talked to the neighbors at least once?"

You pulled the phone away from yourself, inhaling sharply as his tongue found its place exactly where it should.

"Spencer Reid, you absolute sadist," you said almost silently.

He laughed, his breath tickling you.

"Babe?" Your husband's voice came through louder.

You pressed the phone back to your ear.

"Hm? What were you asking? I can't talk right now," you said, sliding one hand into his hair, gently gliding it through the strands. At one point, your fingers tightened on them as the rest of your body tensed.

"Okay, fine," he said, not even sounding disappointed, more like he was tired of the conversation. And likewise. You wanted him to hang up already—his presence, even though miles away, filled you with a palpable disgust. "Oh, but one more thing. I hope you'll be happy."

Impatiently, you rolled your eyes, and at the same time, a moan slipped from your lips. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Richard remained silent—he must have heard it, but probably took it as a sign of curiosity toward his words.

The silence on the other end was almost theatrical.

 "I’m coming back sooner," he finally declared. "We finished the project much quicker than we planned..."

You shot up to a sitting position, and Spencer jumped back from you, startled.

 "When?" you managed to force out, the word laced with pure fear.

"Well, my flight is booked for today’s evening in my time zone..."

You hung up. An indescribable pain spread across your chest, as if someone had shoved a sharp instrument into it and left it there.

"What's going on? What happened?" Spencer asked, concern filling his voice as he moved closer to you, gently cupping your cheek.

You usually loved his touch; normally, you would close your eyes and surrender to the gesture. But you couldn’t. The realization that it was all going to end—that it was going to end tomorrow—made you push his hand away. For a moment, you stared into space, trying to steady your breath, but you couldn’t. It seemed like it would stay like this forever.

"I think it's time for you to leave," you said, your voice showing no emotion.

Maybe if he had sensed the despair in it, heard it crack, he would have stayed. But no, your command was cold, and it made him dress quickly and leave the bedroom almost immediately. You buried your hands in your hair, a high-pitched sound escaping your lips as you tore one of the newspapers into shreds.

Then you tore another one. And then all of them, into really small pieces, among which you curled up like a paralyzed person, lying still for the rest of the day and night. You remembered all the last beautiful days, your conversations with Spencer. Dreams of a plane crashing in the jungle.

Luckily, Sarah didn't visit you that day; she would have found you in a very strange state. First, in absolute disarray. Then, around four in the morning, wide awake like a junkie. Walking around the house, up and down the stairs, through the kitchen, even the bathroom, thinking and planning. What could you do? What was left for you?

You baked a cake. Your sister was right when she said that, as a child, you neglected all the chores your parents gave you. You never learned to cook, you only knew how to make the simplest chocolate cake.

The hands of the clock. To grab them and stop them. So that Richard would never come back, and Spencer could stay with you forever.

You sat at the kitchen table, even though it was Saturday. Spencer didn’t check the mailbox; he usually slept in on weekends. In fact, for the first time, you didn’t even wait for him.

You waited until Vanessa, as usual, began watering the roses by the fence.

And then, you went to the cupboard to get the axe.

Even then, you remained in your nightgown. The same one you wore when her husband had bandaged your foot. When it all began. A woman in lace, gripping an axe almost bigger than she was, what an unusual sight in a suburban neighborhood so calm.

At first, Vanessa didn’t even notice you approach, and when she did, she didn’t stop watering the flowers. She simply raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Meanwhile, your head was filled with a buzzing sound. You became increasingly aware of the weight of the axe in your hand. And then, the quiet, mundane neighborhood was pierced by a woman's scream.

*

Sarah found him smoking a cigarette outside the psychiatric hospital, inhaling the smoke so deeply as if he hoped it would give him lung cancer immediately. The sight surprised her.

"You smoke?" she asked, immediately realizing how stupid the question was. What did it matter whether he smoked? She probably would too if she found herself in such a situation.

Richard flicked the ash.

"I started again," he replied briefly.

For a moment, they stood in silence, struggling to find words in such a situation. Sarah stared at her shoes, still unable to grasp it all. Her own sister had tried to kill their neighbor, an entirely innocent woman, while she was watering flowers in front of her house. Because of... oh, that was probably the strangest part of it all. And it was what decided that instead of a cell, she ended up in a hospital under close observation.

She had convinced herself that, in her husband's absence, she had started an affair with her neighbor. And that led her to attempt to get rid of his wife.

"Did you see her?" she asked.

Richard shook his head in denial. He seemed exhausted, as though he had aged at least ten years. And had endured a series of life tragedies, including a war.

"I don't even know if I can," he replied, making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He suddenly took a deep breath, his exhale trembling. "Do you know what the police found at our house? A cake. She baked it for me, supposedly as a welcome, even left a note with my name on it. She stuffed it with rat poison, do you understand that? She wanted to kill me. She wanted to kill me too."

Sarah was speechless. She covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers trembling, unable to control them for quite some time. They stood in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say, as she tried to recall the past two weeks. She analyzed her sister's behavior, only now realizing how twisted it had been. She had thought she was suffering from loneliness, not from... all this madness in her mind.

“Richard,” she managed to say his name carefully. The question she wanted to ask wasn’t particularly polite, but she had to know. “Why... why didn’t you send her anywhere after her last breakdown? To a hospital where they could take care of her?”

“Would I have to tell my parents that my wife ended up in a psychiatric ward?” he replied, voice low.

“Maybe now you wouldn’t have to tell them she tried to murder someone,” she snapped, a surge of anger rising within her towards him.

He rubbed his face, still holding the cigarette in his hand.

“Damn it, Sarah, I’m sorry... you’re right, God, I know you’re right. I regret so much that I did nothing back then, didn’t react... I... I fooled myself, thinking it would pass. That we’d move and it would get better,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

He tried to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away. For a long time, she had the feeling that her sister’s husband was trying to get closer to her in some way. He wasn’t pushy or disgusting, nothing like that. If he had been, she wouldn’t have accepted his offer to work for them at their house. But sometimes, she had the impression that during their conversations, he tried to flirt with her. For birthdays and holidays, he gave her expensive gifts, occasionally touching her briefly, but quickly pulling away when he noticed her gaze. Sarah had been with the same girl for three years, the one she was planning to propose to. Besides, she would never do that to her sister.

“Sarah,” he said, pleading. “Sarah, what am I supposed to do?”

Well, this wasn’t something she could advise on. Maybe no one could. However, she didn’t want to leave him hanging, without a conclusion, without reflection, before she went inside to see her sister for the first time since that incident. She looked at the barely glowing cigarette in his hand.

“Be grateful that woman survived,” she finally replied.

The cigarette butt fell to the ground, and she stepped on it with her shoe.

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella

[earlysunshines]

downstairs neighbor

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: in which you party so often that you get another complaint, but this time it's from a very pretty girl that really has you considering shutting the whole function down.

warnings: alcohol and weed mentioned ; readers an asshole at first but danielle is danielle so reader goes through a whole crisis ; yeah they're adorable, basically black cat and golden retriever trope sorry not sorry ; anything else i didn't mention ; not proofread

a/n: get it because usually it's the upstairs neighbor but i'm quirky so its not... ok nvm ill delete my account i gues ... anyways FIRST DANI FIC UNDER 10K! guys im so in love with her i need to be put into an asylum do u see these pics of her LOOK AT HERR!!! i need to die like rn

danielle has settled in quite alright into her new university. she's moved in with one of her close friends from high school, decorated her side of the room, and all of her professors are oddly sweet--much better than the professors from her old school.

she makes it to the first friday of the semester, deciding to settle in and watch a movie, maybe call her mom and dad later if she doesn't doze off. but when she hears muffled music and disturbing footsteps from downstairs, she pauses the show she's two minutes into and gets out of her bed.

hanni's on the other side of the room completely slumped, her headphones peeking out from the blanket sprawled on top of her with no care in the world as to what is happening downstairs. danielle purses her lips before getting out of bed and slipping the university sweatshirts over her tank top.

she looks back over at hanni, who’s still sleeping, before heading out into the living room area, past the kitchen, and out the door.

when she reaches the floor below, she follows the noise, it gets louder as she steps through the corridors, and then she stops in front of what she suspects is the source of all this disruption before knocking on the door—no response.

“hm.” she mumbles, knocking again in a little pattern—still no response.

before she can knock again, her fist in the air ready to hammer a little harder on the door, it opens.

a girl—probably her age—answers it, eyes narrowed at danielle. she’s slightly taller, but still, danielle feels a little small with how scrutinizing she checks her out. 

“did kazuha invite you? yujin? or was it jungwon?” the girl looks at her with raised brows, expecting an answer with a slightly bothered look. it seems like danielle had interrupted their little… event? whatever event it was, did they really need to have house music being blasted so loudly?

danielle rubs her thumb against her pointer finger, trying to steady her nerves. “oh, no, i um… wasn’t invited,” she says, her voice wavering slightly. the words sound even more pathetic out loud than they did in her head, but there’s no taking them back now. she pushes on, though it feels like her confidence is slipping away with every syllable. “i was just wondering if—well, if you could turn the music down? my roommate is sleeping and it’s just… really disturbing.”

the girl in front of her snickers, a look of disbelief crossing her face as she sizes danielle up. it’s clear she finds the request ridiculous, and danielle feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“you know what, this isn’t even my party—hey y/n! come out here!” the girl calls over her shoulder, her tone dismissive as she waves danielle off like she’s someone else’s problem now.

you hear your name being called, and with a sigh, you push yourself up from the couch. the group you were sitting with whines in protest as you leave, but you roll your eyes—they’re all drunk, their complaints nothing more than the amplified nonsense of intoxicated minds.

“what is it, yunjin?” you call out, rubbing your eyes as you approach the entrance, the taste of the cheap beer sakura handed you earlier lingering unpleasantly on your tongue. “what—”

the words die in your throat as you spot the girl standing just inside the doorway. she’s probably, no, definitely new here—new to the party, new to the scene. you’ve never seen someone that makes you stop in your tracks like this. her long eyelashes flutter as she looks up at you, her big brown eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and something else you can’t quite place. she’s dressed in baggy sweats and an oversized university sweater, the logo stretched across her chest in signature block letters. there’s an air of innocence about her, something that feels out of place amidst the environment both of you are in right now.

you take her in, noting how pretty she is—adorable, if you’re going to be honest with yourself. she looks like a lost puppy, especially with those pleading eyes and the subtle bite of her lip—

you push the thought aside, telling yourself it doesn’t matter. you’re just here to deal with whatever minor inconvenience yunjin has decided to dump on you.

“who are you?”

“um, my name is danielle, i live right above.” she has an accent, something strong and similar to that girl yunjin’s been bickering with – was it lily? no, bangchan? hell no, she hates him and his little group. ah, hanni that short girl that came complaining during your second party of freshman year, yunjin still brings her up. 

“right, what do you want?” you ask, sensing yunjin’s departure when you feel her brush against your shoulder. “is there a problem or?”

“well, yeah, kind of…” she’s actually adorable, especially when she avoids your eye contact like that. “it’s kind of loud, you know. i was wondering if you could turn down the volume a bit? there’s a lot of thumping i can hear from above, i can’t imagine how it must be for the downstairs neighbors…”

“you must be new.”

“sorry?”

“you’ll get used to it.” you say simply, poking the inside of your cheek before starting to close the door. “i recommend a pair of some good noise cancelling headphones—and a signature study spot. see you around danielle.”

you feel a strange pang of guilt, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable twisting in your chest. you’ve done this before—brushed off people’s complaints, shut the door on them without a second thought. but there’s something about her that makes you hesitate, something that tugs at you. maybe it’s the way she looked at you, those big brown eyes wide with a mix of hope and desperation, like she was really counting on you to help. you give her one more glance, catching that puppy-dog expression that makes your resolve waver for just a second. but then, before you can think twice, you close the door on her, shutting out the sight of her pleading face.

–

danielle spends the whole night tossing and turning, the faint vibration of the music seeping through the ground and into her restless mind. it’s not loud enough to keep her fully awake, but just persistent enough to keep her from finding any real rest. she considers going back downstairs, maybe trying to have a proper conversation, coming to some kind of compromise. but every time she thinks about it, the memory of how things ended—the snickers, the dismissive attitude—fills her with embarrassment, making her shrink back into her bed.

the next morning, she’s awake before the sun, the lingering fatigue making her body feel heavy and sluggish. still, she forces herself out of bed, the need to talk to someone—anyone—pushing her into action. with a deep breath, she reaches over and starts shaking hanni awake, the clock not even close to ten a.m. on a weekend. hanni groans in protest, burrowing deeper into the blankets, but danielle is relentless, her fingers poking at hanni’s sides until her sleepy roommate finally stirs, blinking up at her with bleary eyes.

“what the hell man? the sun is still rising!”

“what do you know about the downstairs neighbor?”

“w-what?” hanni mumbles, rubbing her eyes as she turns to lay on her back and squint at her roommate. “y/n? is this about her?”

“the girl directly below us—taller, mean, arrogant, tattoo on her arm and wrist, kind of pretty, nice lips, and jawline… ugh! her!”

“that’s y/n, but you’re reaching with the whole kind of pretty part. petty? yeah, more accurate.”

“last night i went down and asked her to–”

“you went to her place? to do what, complain?” 

“yes!” hanni shuts her eyes and sinks her head deeper into the pillow, sighing softly again. her roommate is new, she can’t be harsh, and plus, it’s danielle. 

“dani… the ra is literally in love with her, and y/n uses that so she can party and get high in her fuckass living room.”

“what?”

“danielle, mo dani, please listen.” hanni sits up, blinking hard as she reaches out ot put a hand on her friends shoulder. “you’ll get used to it, you can use my old headphones and i’ll show you my favorite cafe.”

“you’re just going to let this slide?”

“well until y/n stops flirting with jiyoung; there’s nothing we can really do other than cope every friday—and sometimes saturday—night.” hanni explains, flopping onto the bed and returning to fetal position. “can you put the blanket over me, please? i’m tired and cold… please.”

danielle frowns before covering her roommates body with her weighted blanket, sighing before she returns to her bed, laying down and recollecting all her memories from the night before–of you.

—

you’re late. of course you’re late on the second week of classes, as if last weeks twenty minute surprise appearance wasn’t humbling enough. 

as you rush out of your apartment, you’re met with jiyoung standing right by the exit, as if she’s been waiting for you—she probably has. this has happened at least once a week last year. she greets you with her signature smile and a small piece of chocolate, a gesture that would be sweet if you weren’t in such a hurry. you force a smile and mumble a quick thanks, but you know what’s coming next. the compliments, the small talk, the forced out, cliché lines she always uses. it’s all part of her routine, but you really don’t have the time for it today. you need to get to class.

fifteen minutes later, you’re finally free from jiyoung’s conversation, but you’re also running dangerously late. again. you sprint across campus, your heart pounding in your chest as you mentally prepare for the inevitable stares and the professor’s disapproving remarks.

when you finally reach the classroom, you throw the door open a little too forcefully. the room falls silent as heads turn to face you, the sudden interruption catching everyone’s attention. you freeze for a second, cringing at yourself when you’re caught in the spotlight, before the professor’s voice cuts through the silence.

“late on the second week? what was it, kim… no, yang…” he trails off, squinting at you as if trying to remember your name.

you clear your throat, feeling your face heat up. “l/n, l/n y/n,” you correct him, trying to keep your voice steady.

“well, you’re lucky i’ve just started the lecture. please hurry and take a seat, you’ve already made quite the impression.”

“sorry, sir,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you scan the room for an empty seat. most of the rows are full, and the weight of all those eyes on you makes your skin prickle with discomfort.

finally, you spot an open seat in the fourth row from the top, right at the edge. you hurry over and drop your bag beside the chair, quickly unzipping it to pull out your laptop. your hands move with practiced speed, signing in and opening a page for notes before setting your bag on the empty seat next to you. you look up, hoping to catch up on what you’ve missed so far. 

and that’s when you see her.

danielle. she’s sitting just two seats away from you, her gaze locked on yours the moment you look up. her big brown eyes, framed by those impossibly long lashes, are full of recognition—and something else you can’t quite place, and why are they sparkling? your jaw tenses as you force yourself to look away, zipping up your bag with a little more force than necessary. three seats. that’s all that separates you from the girl who showed up at your doorstep last friday, the one you dismissed without a second thought. and now here she is, sitting way too close for comfort, her presence making the air around you feel heavier.

of course you blindly chose the spot next to her. the new girl who filed a complaint, only to have the door shut on her. it’s just your luck.

you catch her in your peripheral staring at you for a few more seconds before she redirects her attention towards the professor. you let out a breath of relief, now you just have to get through the next hour and fifty minutes near the cute girl you were an ass to.

–

as soon as the class ends, you’re out the door without sparing a glance at danielle. she watches you hurry out, noticing how you started packing up your things five minutes before class was even dismissed. it’s like you couldn’t wait to get away.

you make your way to the engineering building, where you know your roommate yunjin’s class ended a bit earlier. when you spot her in the lobby, you walk up with a bothered look on your face.

“good morning…?” yunjin greets you, her smirk showing she’s amused by your expression.

“you won’t believe who’s in my sociology class,” you say, still reeling from the encounter.

“everyone takes sociology, even the finance freaks,” she replies, shrugging as if it’s not a big deal.

“nevermind.” you roll your eyes, scoffing. “whatever, let’s grab a bite. i’m hungry.”

“you always are,” yunjin chuckles, stepping beside you.

the two of you end up at your favorite local thai place, sharing a large bowl of fried rice. it’s a familiar routine—since freshman year, you’ve known one bowl is more than enough to satisfy both of you. the memory of that first time, half-drunk and thinking the portions would be small, makes you smile despite your lingering annoyance.

as you chew on your second bite, glancing at a notification on your phone, yunjin’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “so, who’s in your sociology class?”

“danielle,” you reply, not looking up from your phone.

“who?”

“the girl from friday.”

yunjin frowns, trying to recall. “at our party? there wasn’t anyone i didn’t know–”

“no, no. the girl you made me deal with. she knocked on the door—big eyes, long lashes.”

“oh, her,” yunjin hums, finally understanding. “what about her?”

“i closed the door on her that night after she complained or whatever. i didn’t think much of it, but then i was late to class because jiyoung wanted to talk to me, and i picked a random spot… turns out it was three fucking seats away from her—danielle.”

yunjin laughs, thankfully before she can take another bite of rice. “seriously?”

“shut up.”

“that’s hilarious. you think she’s going to give you shit?”

“i mean,” you poke at your rice, hesitating, “she doesn’t seem like she will…”

but even as you say it, the thought nags at you. danielle doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge—polite and sweet even when you were being arrogant—almost too good to be true. she looks like she belongs in a fairy tale, with her princess-like appearance and demeanor. meanwhile, you feel like the ugly villain in her story, lurking under the bridge, ready to cast a spell or something like that. the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it seems.

“then you’ll be fine, you were fine shutting the door on her anyway.”

you were fine, but that version of you was under the influence of cheap beer and too focused on going back to your conversation than dealing with someone’s complaint—even if it were from danielle.

“i guess.”

–

the next time you host a party, the volume’s turned down by two notches. you tell yourself it’s because yunjin’s been saying “huh?” to you more often, but deep down, you know that’s not the real reason.

you’ve also decided to stick with one can of beer instead of three. even yujin seemed surprised when you declined the second. 

these parties used to be at jake’s place, but he argued they should be at yours since the ra is madly in love with you, and your place is slightly bigger. you were against it at first, but socializing never hurt, and it made you happy to see others happy. you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the occasional expensive drink that someone brought when their paycheck had been a bit fatter that week.

now, you’re leaning against the counter while minji rummages through a cupboard, searching for spare plastic cups. you take a sip from your sprite—the second can of the night, and surprisingly, neither has been alcoholic (you don’t count the bitter can of beer, it’s only five percent alcohol). yunjin’s voice cuts through the music just loud enough for you to hear, “you think that girl will show up again? give you shit?”

“i’d hope not.” you pretend it’s a truthful statement, your tone firm, a little snarky, and a bit confident, but there’s a small part of you that hopes she does. you catch yourself imagining her showing up in her oversized sleepwear again, her eyes wide, her voice so soft and sweet it makes your chest tighten a little. 

“and if she does?”

“i’ll shut her out again.”

“and if you show up late, then sit three seats away from her again?”

“ignorance.” you sip on your sprite again, licking your lips to savor something that actually satisfies your tastebuds. 

“you’re good at that.”

“aw, thanks.” you say bitterly, hearing yunjin snicker as she tears open a new pack of red plastic cups. “asshat.”

your orange-haired roommate leans against the counter across from you, then says, “i think jungwon brought penjamin.” his infamous pen, the one you took way too many hits of last time that it had you seeing the stars. 

“not again, i don’t trust myself.”

she laughs at you again, “i don’t trust you either, let’s stick with a hit or two instead of five.”

“and you need to stick with a few drinks instead of passing out on the floor again. you’re lucky you were leaning against the couch.”

“womp womp.” you can’t believe her, what an idiot.

“say that again when you wake up with your legs in the fucking blinds, or something. i still don’t know how you don’t have liver damage, and doesn’t that affect your performance on the court?”

“conditioned to drink and score three’s.”

“whatever.” you sigh, then hear a few knocks from the door.

yunjin raises her brows, then chuckles, “hey, it’s your lovergirl.”

“she’s not my— ugh. be right back.” 

lovergirl, yunjin is going to wake up upside down in her closet if she keeps it up. there’s no chance that she’s attracted to you in the slightest, not with your first impressions. the thought makes you a little dissapointed, but you shake your head, you’re being ridiculous again. 

you shake the thought away, forcing yourself to focus getting to your door and not tripping on the shoe that had been blindlessly kicked off. there’s a quiet anticipation simmering beneath your calm exterior as the music gets more faint in your ears. you tell yourself you’re being stupid, but the truth is harder to ignore—there’s a part of you that wants her to be at the door, even if it’s just to scold you again.

you open the door, and there she is—miss lovergirl herself.

“another party?” she asks, her tone light, almost teasing.

“are you going to tell me to shut the whole thing down? still haven't invested in headphones, have you?”

“actually, i wasn’t going to—the shutting down part, i have headphones being delivered tomorrow.” she replies, smiling. maybe your brows furrow, just a little. “but the music is a little quieter, that i noticed, so maybe my efforts did pay off.” she pauses, then adds, “anyway, my roommate told me there’s no getting through to you about these parties. so, i came here to give you this.” 

she holds out a keychain with a cardholder attached, and you see a picture inside—a photo of you and your little brother at your high school graduation. he’s about twelve in the picture, braces on and cheeks still chubby. it’s one of your favorite photos, and your eyes widen as you take it from her slowly, almost carefully.

“where’d you get this?” you ask, voice a bit more cautious than you intended.

“you dropped it under your seat last lecture. seemed like you were in such a rush to leave, or to avoid me…?” she tilts her head, batting those impossibly long lashes.

you realize she’s not in her sleepwear this time. she’s dressed in everyday clothes—a zip-up over a fitted white shirt, jeans, and some well-worn sneakers. a nike cap sits snugly on her head, her long, wavy hair flowing down in a way that makes you look twice. she’s wearing light makeup, and it strikes you for the first time how nice her lips are, and—

“um, thanks,” you mutter.

“it’s no problem.”

“are you going to ask me to turn the volume down now?” 

she shakes her head, adjusting the backpack slipping down her shoulder. “no, but i'd appreciate it. you’ve already made baby steps.”

if it had been anyone else saying that, you’d have rolled your eyes, maybe even scoffed in their face. but there’s something about the way danielle says it—so genuinely, so kindly—that catches you off guard. you’re used to sharp words and snide remarks, not this… breath of fresh air, this three a.m. glass of water in the form of a person.

“right, okay,” you manage to say.

“well, i'll get going then. my roommate’s friend is coming over to watch a movie with us, so we’d appreciate it if you could maybe turn it down. but, that’s up to you, mate.” 

“oh, okay, yeah.” you feel like you’re melting into a puddle. what is going on with you? “i’ll see what i can do.”

“night then.”

“night?”

she walks off, your eyes follow her until she reacehs the end of the hall. it was the most casual encounter you’ve ever had in a bit, and yet, it felt like so much more. 

–

haerin sits back, watching without a word as hanni and minji bicker over the remote, their voices rising slightly above the hum of the tv. hanni has her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a scowl forming when minji suggests yet another sappy romance. haerin half expects them to start wrestling for control, but just before the tension hits a breaking point, the sound of the door lock twisting stops them. both heads turn to see danielle stepping inside, her hand raised in a small wave, a polite smile on her lips.

“sorry i’m late,” danielle apologizes.

“you’re good,” hanni replies, running her fingers through her hair to fix it. “movie time? can you choose, please…”

“yeah! let me get changed first, okay?”

“okay, okay, but hurry or else minji’s gonna have my limbs cut off or something. and we both know haerin would rather watch than save either of us.” hanni jokes, drawing a chuckle from haerin and a playful glare from minji. 

a few minutes later, danielle is back in an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. she drops herself right between hanni and minji, effectively acting as a buffer. she grabs the remote, settling under the blanket as her legs casually stretch across hanni's lap.

“where were you, by the way?” hanni asks, feeling danielle’s legs settle more comfortably over her own. “if the bus was late, you could’ve called.”

“my bus came early. i just stopped by y/n’s,” danielle replies casually.

minji’s head snaps toward danielle so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t get whiplash. haerin even lets out a small gasp of “what?”

“y/n? you mean l/n y/n?” minji echoes, her tone filled with disbelief. “you went to her place?”

danielle nods. “she dropped something in the class we have together, so i returned it.”

“and she didn’t bite your head off?” minji asks, eyes wide. “you’re really something, danielle.”

danielle just laughs softly, her fingers scrolling through the endless netflix catalog in search of a movie they all might actually agree on. she seems unfazed by the shock that mentioning your name has caused, a slight smile playing on her lips. she can’t quite understand the big deal. you’ve been… normal, for the most part—pretty normal, actually, in the three times she’s spoken to you.

“she’s really not that bad,” danielle shrugs, finally stopping on a rom-com that catches her eye. “i can fix her.”

“you can what?” hanni swivels her head toward danielle, eyes wide in disbelief.

“what?” danielle grins. “she doesn’t bite.”

“well, her friend yunjin does,” hanni mutters, thinking back to the group project from hell with yunjin, who’d spent every meeting hungover and useless. “she’s probably just like the people she hangs out with.”

“no, i bet she’s nicer deep down.”

“you’re too pure for this world,” minji murmurs, feeling danielle’s head lean on her shoulder. “she’s got a bad reputation, you know.”

“well, she turned the volume down for us,” danielle insists.

“she did?” hanni raises an eyebrow, surprised.

“yeah, just before i visited her. i told her we’d be having a movie night and said i’d appreciate it if she toned it down a bit. now we can barely feel the bass.”

hanni thinks for a moment. maybe the music is a bit quieter, but she’s gotten so used to it, she barely notices the difference. minji and haerin, on the other hand, don't deal with the noise often—haerin lives with her parents, and minji’s dorm is on the other wing.

danielle presses play, and the conversation shifts. they all settle in, pushing the topic of you, the downstairs neighbor, out of their minds as they focus on the opening scenes of the movie.

hanni leans into haerin, a smile on her lips as her legs tangle with danielle’s. “you’re so interesting, man,” she mutters, half-amused, half-bewildered.

–

there aren't any assigned seats—it's university, for crying out loud. still, you find yourself three seats away from danielle again, like last time, pretending not to notice her as you settle in, determined not to drop anything today. you set your things down carefully, opening up your laptop and pulling out your ipad, keeping your eyes firmly on the screen.

out of the corner of her eye, danielle watches you fumble with the apple pen, spinning it between your ring and middle finger. she sees it slip from your grip and clatter to the floor beside you. you let out a soft sigh, standing to retrieve it, making your way down two rows. when you straighten up and head back, you catch danielle trying to hide a smile, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, a little defensive.

“your pen-spinning skills,” danielle says, turning fully toward you with that same amused smile. “slippery fingers?”

“shouldn’t you be reviewing before the lecture?”

“i usually get here fifteen minutes early,” she replies, still grinning. “i’ve already done that.”

“whatever.” you drop back into your seat, tapping away at your keyboard as the professor approaches the front, fiddling with the hdmi cable. you open your notes app, trying to ignore the way danielle’s laughter still lingers in the air.

“you know i don’t bite, right?” her voice breaks your focus.

“what?”

she nods at the empty seats between you. “you’re sitting pretty far… come sit next to me.”

“i’m not getting up. my stuff’s already out.”

danielle rolls her eyes, moving the desk platform in front of her as she stands, gathering her things without a second thought, and before you know it, she’s dropping into the seat beside you. you weren’t expecting that—her choosing to sit next to you so boldly. but there she is, right next to you, with that grin stretching across her face as she adjusts her notebook.

“there, lazy bum,” she teases, her tone light, eyes flicking back to the professor as he sets up the projection.

you find yourself staring, caught off guard by how close she is. she smells sweet—like cherries, with a mix of amber and jasmine. you quickly shift your gaze back to your laptop, opening your calendar and planner and, almost instinctively, the tab with the jacket you’ve been eyeing for weeks.

when you steal another glance at danielle, she’s put on a pair of glasses. stupid, adorable glasses that make her look even cuter—something you didn’t think was possible. 

you can’t help the small grin that creeps onto your face as you focus back on the slides on the big screen, but your mind is still partially with her, sitting beside you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

—

for the next month, sociology becomes your favorite class—not because of the subject, but because it means you get almost two hours near danielle. she’s just as sweet as she looks, always greeting you with a warm smile and tossing out casual small talk that somehow feels more personal every time. she compliments you now and then, little things like “your hair looks nice today” or “i like your shoes,” which leaves you more flustered than you’d care to admit. soon enough, it's routine—you both leave class together, walking side by side until you reach the main lobby of the science building. danielle always waves goodbye with that bright smile, her eyes sparkling, even when the sky is overcast. you smile back, feeling a little bashful, but somehow, it feels right.

sometimes, you even meet up at the entrance of your little dorm complex to head to class together. danielle's just a floor above, so you run into her in the elevator sometimes too. there’s something about her—something so effortlessly charming and magnetic. it’s like she’s a light, and you’re a moth, drawn into her presence without even realizing it.

what you don’t realize is that jiyoung, your ra, has noticed these little interactions. she catches glimpses now and then, her curiosity piqued.

after another class ends, you wave goodbye to danielle, planning to meet up with yunjin, but before you can leave, jiyoung intercepts you. 

"hey, didn’t see you this morning,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes narrowing slightly. “i haven’t been seeing you around as much, actually."

"oh, yeah… i’ve been…” you start, your gaze flicking past her to danielle, who’s almost out of the building. jiyoung looks in the same direction to see danielle as well, her brows furrow just a bit. you continue, “um, spending more time with this girl in my sociology class."

"right, danielle? she’s on the floor above you, right?”

“yeah…”

“hm,” jiyoung murmurs, more to herself than to you. “you’ve been spending a lot of time with her, haven’t you?”

“i mean, yeah. she’s nice and—why does it matter?”

“you’re not into her, are you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a punch you didn’t see coming. you stare at jiyoung like she’s lost her mind. “w-what? n-no, no, she’s just— you know, we’re friends. we’re friendly.”

“nothing more, right?”

“i mean, no, but even if it were… why does it matter to you?”

jiyoung’s gaze drops to the floor, and she mumbles, “i don’t know? i mean, you said you didn’t even want to date.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling in frustration. “look, i’ve got to meet up with yunjin. i’ll see you around, okay?”

you turn to leave, but jiyoung’s soft scoff stops you in your tracks. she hesitates for a moment before speaking again.

“by the way,” she says, her tone light but pointed. you turn your head slightly, just enough for her to see the edge of your expression. “you can’t party this weekend. there’s been an increase in complaints.”

you pivot to face her fully, opening your mouth to argue but then closing it again. you bite the inside of your lip, letting the frustration simmer before you finally nod, muttering a resigned, “fine.”

jiyoung watches you, her expression unreadable, as you walk away, but you don’t look back. the weekend suddenly feels a lot quieter than you planned.

—

even if you’d wanted to party, it wouldn't have been an option. yunjin’s gone home for the weekend to help her sister, and you’re stuck in your dorm, feeling sicker than you’ve ever felt.

the day started off fine, just a light headache that you shrugged off. but somewhere between the gym and a quick grocery run, everything went downhill. by the time you made it back to your place, it felt like your body had been run over by a truck. your head throbbed, every limb ached, and a wave of dizziness nearly had you collapsing against the wall as soon as you stepped inside.

you barely made it to the kitchen, dropping the paper bag of groceries onto the counter before stumbling toward your bedroom. the cold hit you like a slap to the face, making you shiver uncontrollably. you rummaged through your closet for the thickest sweatshirt and sweatpants you could find, pulling them on with shaky hands. 

you didn’t even think to check your temperature; the pounding in your head and the chills wracking your body were enough to know you were in trouble. grabbing two ibuprofen from the drawer, you swallowed them dry with a couple of forced gulps of water, then collapsed onto your bed. 

you pulled the covers around you, but they did little to stop the violent shivers. your teeth chattered, and you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as if that would somehow keep the cold at bay. every breath felt heavy, every blink longer than the last, until finally, exhaustion pulled you under.

—

the music is noticeably quieter these days, sparing your hearing and everyone else a floor above or below you. really, it’s all danielle's doing. she's somehow found your weakness—those soft, pleading eyes and that gentle voice asking you to turn it down. it’s a saturday night, and normally she’d hear the faint beats of charli xcx or troye sivan vibrating up through the floor, but tonight there’s nothing. 

danielle seems to be the only one in her shared dorm—and probably the whole building—who feels unsettled by the lack of music. the silence is almost unnerving. 

“finally, i can take a nap without those headphones on,” hanni sighs, dropping face-first onto her bed like a log. 

danielle, leaning against her bedframe, bites her lip. “don’t you think it’s weird though? no party tonight?”

“weird? dani, this is a miracle,” hanni mumbles, already half-asleep. “it’s been months since she hasn’t partied, and that was only because we were all gone during summer break.”

but as hanni's breathing evens out and she drifts off, danielle’s frown deepens. it is weird. you’ve never missed a saturday night. she doesn’t even have your number to text and check if everything’s alright.

minutes pass, and her mind races with possibilities—maybe you’re just tired, or busy with something else, or… sick? before she knows it, danielle is up and moving, driven by a strange concern she doesn’t fully understand. she tucks hanni in properly, pulling the blanket up over her instead of letting it dangle off the bed. 

once she's sure hanni is comfortable, she heads for the door, slipping on her slides and grabbing her key. she feels a small surge of determination as she steps into the hallway. if something’s wrong, she needs to know. danielle isn’t sure what she’ll find out, but she's already halfway down the hall, her feet carrying her to your place almost on their own.

she gets to your door quickly, fixing her hair because you’re somehow the only person who makes her feel the need to fuss over her appearance. 

danielle knocks twice, softly at first, just enough to be heard over normal conversation, but there's no answer. she waits, listening for any sound from inside, even from your orange-haired roommate—but nothing. she knocks again, a little louder this time, about the same level as when you party. still nothing. 

determined, she finally bangs on the door with all her might and shouts, "y/n! hello?" her voice echoes in the hallway, and a few curious heads peek out from behind their own doors, wondering what’s going on.

there's a long moment of silence before she hears a faint, “coming! coming...” it sounds like you, but groggier, almost as if the sound is muffled by the door between you two.

danielle waits, her heart pounding in her chest, until the door opens just a crack, and you peek out, looking utterly exhausted. 

“y/n?”

“w-what, what...” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, and slightly slurred, like you’ve been asleep for days. "who— danielle? what are you doing here? there's no party," you mutter, breathing heavily like you’ve just run a mile. "you don’t have to… have to yell at me."

“i’m not here to yell at you, i never yell at you, silly," danielle says softly, a small smile on her face. "can i come in?”

you hum in agreement, and she pushes the door open further, stepping inside. 

the apartment is dimly lit, with only the glow from the streetlights outside and a small lamp in the living room. danielle’s eyes dart around—she’s never actually been inside before, just caught glimpses through the doorway during those parties. it’s surprisingly clean, smelling of lavender and fresh laundry instead of the stale beer or weed she expected. 

you stumble forward, catching yourself on the kitchen counter, your legs shaky and unsteady. 

danielle rushes over, her hand reaching for your arm. “are you okay?”

“y-yeah, i’m fine," you mumble, but your voice is rough, strained. 

she flicks on a light, and you wince, shielding your eyes with the back of your hand. danielle guides you to the couch, sitting you down gently. you slump back into the cushions, and she takes a closer look—your hair is stuck to your forehead, cheeks rosy, and there’s a dullness in your usually sharp eyes.

without thinking, she presses the back of her hand to your forehead, feeling the intense heat radiating from your skin. “you’re burning up,” she says softly, concern etched in her voice. “how long have you been like this?”

“i– i don’t know… i’m so tired…” you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“let’s get you to your bed,” danielle suggests. “can you show me?”

you nod weakly, and she helps you to your feet. you sway slightly, leaning heavily on her as she tries to steady you. you’re taller, heavier, and she’s not exactly built for this—but she does her best, slipping an arm around your waist to support you.

your head drops forward, and you breathe slowly against her shoulder. danielle's heart races as she feels the warmth of your breath, and when you look up, your faces are inches apart, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off you. her cheeks warm up, she wonders if your fever is contagious.

but she shakes it off, tightening her grip on you. “come on,” she whispers. “let’s get you to bed.”

you lead her to your room, and she’s a little surprised by how tidy it is. the walls are painted in soft, earthy tones, the furniture minimalistic and neatly arranged. polaroids and film photos cover the walls, snapshots of you and your friends, some of family, too. there’s a warmth to it, a sense of calm that she hadn’t expected. she notices a movie poster above your bed—something she doesn’t recognize. you collapse onto the bed immediately, curling up into a tight ball, yanking the nearest blanket over you with a groan.

danielle watches you for a moment, then quietly slips out of the room. you lie there, thoughts buzzing in your foggy mind. how did she know you were sick? why is she here? did she come just for you? did you forget something? but the craziest thought of all is that danielle is in your apartment, just the two of you. the realization sends a tiny thrill through your chest.

she returns a few minutes later, carrying a bowl, a bottle of medicine, and a thermometer. she sits beside you on the edge of the bed, nudging you over gently so you're lying flat on your back, your tired eyes meeting hers. she sets the bowl beside you and slides the thermometer into your mouth. you stare at her, feeling a bit dazed, and she offers a small, reassuring smile.

when it beeps, she pulls it out and checks the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. “you’ve got a fever, it’s pretty high,” she murmurs, setting the thermometer down and reaching for a water bottle. “i kind of went through your place to find this, i hope that’s okay.”

you nod weakly, letting her help you sit up on your elbows. she presses the bottle to your lips, and you sip slowly, a few drops spilling out and dribbling down your chin. you reach up, embarrassed, to wipe them away, but danielle just grins at you gently, wiping them with her sleeve.

she places the bottle down and dips her hand into the bowl. you lie back, too tired to care, hearing the soft sound of water being wrung out. then, without warning, she presses a cool, damp cloth to your forehead, and you wince at the sudden chill, a small whine escaping your lips. danielle clicks her tongue softly, using her thumb to swipe a stray drop of water away from the corner of your eye. 

“i know it’s cold, but it’ll help bring your fever down,” she explains gently.

you feel her hand slide down, and suddenly her fingers are wrapped around yours. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. you hum softly, the tension easing out of your body.

"is it okay if i stay for a bit?" she asks quietly. "i don't want you to be alone, but this is your place, after all."

“p-please,” you whisper, gripping her hand tighter, needing the comfort. “please stay.”

she smiles warmly, nodding, and you feel the weight of her presence, steady and calming, beside you. “i’ll stay close then,” she promises softly. “don’t worry.”

—

you wake up with a low groan, feeling like you’ve just been hit by a bus. every muscle in your body aches, and your head throbs just a bit. blinking against the dim light filtering through the blinds, you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you look around, trying to get your bearings. 

your gaze falls on the bowl of water beside the bed, with two rags soaking in it, and the thermometer resting on the edge. memories from before you passed out come flooding back, and your cheeks heat up at the thought of danielle sitting by your side, taking care of you. your heart does a little flip at the memory, and you shake your head, trying to steady your thoughts.

there’s no sign of her in your room. she’s not in your bed, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. honestly, if you had woken up to find her next to you, you’re pretty sure your heart would’ve just exploded right then and there. 

with a bit more urgency than necessary, you get up and make your way to the living room. your steps are quiet as you peek around the corner, and there she is, curled up on the couch. she’s asleep, head resting on a pillow, her zip-up hoodie pulled over her legs like a makeshift blanket. the sight tugs at something in your chest, a mix of guilt and gratitude. she stayed the whole night.

you hurry back to your room, grabbing another blanket from your bed, and return to her side. you drape it over her carefully, making sure not to wake her. danielle shifts slightly, mumbling something you can’t quite make out. her face softens in sleep, and you find yourself smiling without meaning to. 

the morning light slips through the blinds, casting a warm glow across her face, illuminating the soft curve of her cheek, the way her lashes fan out against her skin. she looks peaceful, so pretty in the soft light, and you let yourself enjoy the sight for just a moment longer than you probably should.

you let out a small sigh and decide to leave her be, tiptoeing away quietly. but as you move, you can’t help but glance back one last time, her serene expression etched into your memory. then, feeling a strange mix of comfort and nerves, you head to your room to get yourself ready.

— 

danielle wakes up only thirty minutes after you, sitting up a minute after she’s blinked herself awake. she sits up and catches you on the floor by the coffee table, knees drawn to your chest, a bowl of fruit and two pieces of toast in front of you. her vision clears, and she catches you popping a blueberry into your mouth, scrolling absently through your phone.

"good morning..." she mutters, stretching and rubbing her eyes.

you turn at the sound of her voice, surprised to see her up already. she's quicker at waking up than you; you would have stayed in bed for another ten minutes at least, but the pounding in your head forced you up earlier. "hey, i didn’t think you’d stay the whole night."

“i just wanted to make sure you were alright," she explains, moving to sit next to you, mirroring your posture, knees tucked in. "i checked in on you during the night to change the rag on your head and everything, seems like you’re back to normal.”

“you didn’t have to, danielle,” you say, feeling a wave of gratitude mixed with embarrassment.

“but i wanted to.” she shrugs lightly, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “how are you feeling?”

“i took two advils before brushing my teeth," you say with a small smile. "feeling pretty great now.”

“i’m glad. your fever was pretty high.”

“was it?” you raise an eyebrow, grabbing a piece of strawberry and popping it into your mouth.

“yeah.” she picks a piece of kiwi from the bowl and eats it. “i was worried.”

you turn your head, meeting her gaze directly. her eyes look a bit tired, her face bare of makeup, but she still looks good—so natural, so effortlessly beautiful. a thought crosses your mind: you owe her for this, for being so kind and caring when she didn’t have to be.

";ast night i didn’t hear any loud noises from downstairs," danielle continues, “there wasn’t a party going on, and i got a little concerned.”

you chuckle, setting your phone aside, resting your cheek against your knee. “so you came because… there wasn’t a party?”

“it was pretty suspicious,” she insists with a playful grin. “then you opened the door looking like you’d just fought a bear, stumbling around. it was kind of funny, and cute.”

her compliment catches you off guard. you turn away quickly, pretending to be more interested in the fruit than you are. "thank you, danielle," you mumble. "i owe you."

“it’s nothing,” she says softly. "as long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters." her words feel like a direct hit to your heart, it’s as if cupid had a gun instead of a bow and shot you right in the chest, making you feel strangely warm and fluttery inside.

“you’re so… hey, what about your roommate? isn't she wondering where you are?”

“oh, hanni,” danielle giggles, checking her phone for any messages but finding none. “she was passed out before i left last night. it's not even ten yet, so she’s probably still asleep.” she stands up, and you rise with her, feeling a slight pang of disappointment. “but i should go check on her, and fix myself up. i probably look like a mess right now.”

you look perfect. it almost lips right off your tongue, but you manage to shut your mouth.

you lead her to the door, wishing she could stay a bit longer, just a little while more. “of course,” you say, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “thank you again for everything.”

danielle places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it’s nothing,” she says warmly. “i’ll see you around.”

you open the door, watching her step outside, but she turns back, hesitating. before she can say anything else, you speak first. "hey, danielle?"

“yes?”

“are you free later?”

“i’m free all day,” she replies, though she adds, “but i might run errands with hanni.”

“right, well.” you play with your hair nervously. danielle tilts her head, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “you should come over tonight. i’ll cook you dinner—to repay you, of course.”

she chuckles, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “that’s quite intimate,” she teases. “is this your way of asking me out?”

“uh—” your heart races, but you nod, swallowing hard. “yes. and i'd hope your way of accepting is… coming over around six?”

danielle's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “i’ll see you then, as long as you’re not sick again.”

“i’d count on that if it meant having you take care of me again.”

she glances away, hiding a smile, and you catch sight of the tiny moles on her face. "you're really good at this," she says softly.

“i’m really not,” you admit, “but it’s you, so i thought i’d try a little harder.”

she rolls her eyes playfully, then steps closer and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. your skin heats up instantly, heart racing faster than before. she pulls back with a grin, waving as she says, “see you tonight, six p.m.!”

“see you…” you reply, still stunned as you watch her walk down the hall. she glances back twice, each time your smiles mirroring and growing wider.

you wonder if you should cut down on the weekly parties, maybe dedicate more time to being with her. but that might be getting ahead of yourself. for now, all you know is that you have to prepare the best dinner ever tonight—something that might just earn you another kiss, maybe on the lips this time.

[livwritessometimes]

I Will Never Make You Regret This—Regret Us

: Part 18 (Lando's Version)

: All’s well that ends well to end up with you!

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…

The night grew colder as Y/n stared out at the city. It had been minutes—hours, maybe. Time had lost its meaning for her these days. The cold reminded her of the last time she was here.

...

"Be my girlfriend," Lando repeated this time, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you serious?" Y/n questioned. If you had told her a month ago that the noisy neighbor from the floor above her, whom she hated with a passion, would be standing in front of her asking her to be his girlfriend, she would have laughed in your face.

"As serious as I'll ever be," Lando said, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"Yes," Y/n whispered, as she leaned in to close the gap between them.

...

The memory left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. It felt strange to think about him again. It had been a while since she thought of him as anything but hurt and betrayal.

The cold air nipped at her skin, but she didn't feel anything. It was as if she were trapped in the ghost of their past—so much so that she didn't hear the soft creak of the door or the footsteps that approached the secluded area where she stood, the one that offered the best view of the city.

"Y/n!" Called out the voice Y/n had been dreading as much as she had been longing to hear.

She whipped around to find none other than the boy she loved—the one who broke her heart, "Lando!" She said.

Time had stopped for the two, and for a moment, neither of them knew what to do. The weight of everything left unsaid was suffocating the both of them.

It was Lando who broke the silence first, his voice softer than she remembered. "I didn't think you'd be here," He said.

"Yeah, someone once told me it's a nice place to go to when you need a breather," Y/n shrugged as she turned back to look over the city.

Lando was at a lose for words. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't figure out where to begin.

"I hate myself," said Lando. He continued, "I hate myself for ever agreeing to that stupid dare. I hate myself for continuing with it, knowing that I had started to fall for you. I hate myself for thinking that calling off the dare would make things better. More than that, I hate myself for breaking your heart."

Y/n felt tears streaming down her face. She couldn't turn around and face him just yet, knowing that if she did, she would break down even more.

"I know that nothing I say or do can erase what has happened between us, and I don't deserve your forgiveness," Lando said, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "But I hope, someday, I can make things right between us," He finished.

"I've been thinking about this a lot...and I have looked at a few houses," Lando said.

Y/n felt her heart beat even faster in anticipation of what he was about to say.

"I am going to move out," Lando said. "Us living in the same apartment complex makes things even more difficult, and I've hurt you enough already. I don't want to cause any further pain beyond what I've already done," he continued.

Y/n felt torn; the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Taking her silence as an answer, Lando turned to make his way downstairs.

'I don't hate you," Said Y/n.

Lando stopped in his tracks, afraid that if he moved, he'd realize that he had just imagined this.

"In fact, somehow I can never bring myself to hate you," Y/n continued.

Lando's heart felt like it was about to combust—he definitely wasn't imagining this. Slowly turning around, he saw a teary-eyed Y/n looking back at him.

"What you did was an awful, awful thing to do, and I hate that because of it, I had to question the authenticity of everything that happened between us," Y/n said, wiping away the fresh tears that were falling.

"That being said...I don't want our story to end like this. I believe that there's more to our story, and I—I'm willing to take the risk, but I swear to god, Lando Norris, if you make me regret this, I will never ever forgive you. Ever. You hear me—" Y/n was cut off by Lando suddenly throwing himself at her.

"I promise I will never make you regret this—regret us," Lando said pulling her in tighter.

(3 months later)

…

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