#at least i did some dishes and cleaned my room a bit

[cursedbunniii]

i dont wanna do anything -_-

[possum-tooth]

feeling very accomplished tn

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

i dont like taking surveys usually but if it lets me give some scathing remarks to my shitty landlords then boy give me enough space for a fucking novel i WILL tell them to get their heads out of their asses

[namjooningera]

Hii can I request any yandere JJK men with a reader whose on a hunger strike or refuses to be handfed by them? Ty ^.^

Yandere JJK react to y/n refusing them/not eating

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, (NEW) Sukuna (king ver of Sukuna)

AN: just reader being a lil bratty (real) also I just added Sukuna as a new character tehe. Tell me how it is 👀 however since he’s a yan I am making him softer towards y/n (but insaner towards other ppl yk?) also he’s a king in this one so

TW: starving, SLIGHT physical violence, threats, force feeding, tiniest bit of infantilization (gojo & Nanami)

Gojo:

No he won’t allow it.

He won’t allow you to act like a child and refuse to eat or drink. At this point he’s worried because you won’t do anything. Like a dead doll standing as still as possible to not be caught moving.

Nothing scares him. But you do.

So he took matters into his own hands and tied you up in a chair, hands to the armrests, legs to the feet of the chair, chest binded and rope littered all around the rest of your body tied to the helpless chair.

You screamed since you couldn’t kick, bit since you couldn’t hit, tried to refuse and refuse and he just didn’t know what to do. Seeing you hurt yourself, not eating as a protest to your involuntary stay, god it was torture to him. Like his own punishment.

At first he let it go. Tried to hand feed you your favorite snacks and placed a cup of cold water at your lips. And everytime you smacked it away from you. He watched your favorite snacks hit the floor and soil the carpet. The water spill and create a wet mess on the floor boards.

Why couldn’t you just be good and eat? Drink? Please stop refusing. At one point he almost started begging you. Hands at his chest, put together, eyes wide and sad, his mouth profusely spitting out begs and whines of how he just wanted you safe and healthy.

You didn’t listen.

You probably should’ve, or at least acknowledged his damn presence, because what he did next what’s unpredictable.

Tying you up in that chair and force feeding you. He made you your comfort food in hopes you’d actually want to eat it on your own. You didn’t. Which is fine. It just means he had to take extra precautions. His hand swirled the spoon of food around in the air, blowing raspberries as he said,

“Here comes the airplane!” As if you were some stupid child not wanting to eat your greens.

The spoon flew to your mouth but you moved your head to the side the only thing you could move, avoiding the spoon and it’s food.

His smile dropped just the tiniest bit but he continued his ministrations.

“Babe! Here comes the airplane Kay? Say ahh!” He announced once again in that awfully positive attitude, nudging the spoon at your lips, which you kept sewn shut.

“Come on babe, just open up~” but you didn’t, and he was getting impatient. “Babe?”

You didn’t look at him, didn’t dare open your mouth or even glance his way.

He snaps, grabbing your jaw and pinching your nose. You gasped, not being able to breathe, and without a second thought, that spoon of food was shoved into your mouth. He let go of your nose, and scooted his chair closer to yours.

“It’s good right? I added extra flavoring just for my girl. I know you like it that way.” He giggled, as if he didnt force the food down your damn throat.

“Here comes the choo choo train!” He whistled, and you realized that he enjoys babying you the way he does, even if it meant going against your will.

Geto:

This man does not play around either.

Coming home to you after a long day with what he calls “monkeys” just to see the untouched food still sitting on the table from when he made breakfast. He had brought take out- just to find out that you haven’t been eating in the first place.

He made that for you, took time out of his day to cook, make breakfast for you, the time where he’s normally busy. But alas, he cleans the dishes and runs up to your room and knocks on your door. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want him in he’ll come in anyway.

“I noticed you didn’t touch your plate. From this morning. It’s night now.”

Your stuffed into the sheets, messy covers over your body and head in your pillows. You don’t answer. You don’t think he deserves one.

“You haven’t eaten all week.”

He shuts the door behind him and storms towards you. It’s obvious that your silence is making him angry. Normally, you ignoring him doesn’t make him upset, he understands how you might feel…uneasy in this kind of situation. But hurting yourself? That’s not something he’ll allow or even tolerate.

He grabs the sheets and tugs them off of you, revealing your drained form. You groan and cover try to tug the sheets back to cover your body but he throws them to the floor and glared at you.

“You know why you’re so drained? It’s cause’ you won’t fucking eat.”

You don’t answer, you don’t want to answer. You just want the bed to swallow you whole, and the ground to open up so that you may fall into the abyss and disappear.

“I don’t want your fucking food.” You say, instead.

“Why not? Is it not to your liking?”

You grumble and glare up at him, finally lifting your face from the pillows.

“You’re not to my liking- Suguru I wanna go home-“ “enough!”

He cuts you off quickly, shutting you down almost immediately, which causes you to stuff your head back into the pillows.

He groans seeing this and slowly shuffled onto the bed with you. His mouth came down to your ear where he whispered

“If you don’t at least try to eat, I’ll make you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, you knew he wasn’t fibbing. You slowly got out of bed but he was quicker then you, pulling you out by your arm and sitting you up against the bed post.

He brought the takeout food and opened the bags of food on the bed, handing you a plate and utensil. You took it hesitantly and kept it on your lap. Not opening the food.

“Well?”

You shook your head. This was your way of protest, against him holding you captive, running a cult, being a damn curse user-

“You’re going to eat.” He demands, and you just shake your head and look to the side of you, away from him. You know he’ll force you- but you can’t help but refuse him anyway.

And without a second thought, he grabs the food then you, hoisting you into his lap without a single chance for you to fight back. One arm caging you in by your chest and arms, stopping any movement from you, the other bringing a spoon to your mouth.

“Eat, darling, or it’ll get worse from here.” A smile adoring his lips and licking the tips of your ear.

You finally take a bite of the food, his arm that basically were bruising your ribs to stop your movement finally unclenched around you and gave you a second to breathe.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now open up.”

Toji-

“Yer’ not eating your food.”

You’ve slumped down on the chair in front of him in the dining room, swirling around the water in your glass cup, the food in front of you untouched.

“I’m talking to you, doll.”

But you ignore him, watching the whirlpool or water in your cup, ignoring his very obvious angry presence.

“You haven’t eaten in days. You know what’s’ that gonna do to you? You’re gonna faint.”

You again ignore him and sigh, head resting on your hand that rested against the table.

“I’m talking to you.”

You don’t look up. You know it’s a lousy way to protest this invuluntary stay but you can’t think of anything else. He’s basically taken away any other form of protest you could ever possibly have, he’s controlling and fuck is he actually smart. His protectiveness on the kind of level where he made sure you could never fight back or hurt yourself in the process.

As your dazed, zoned out in your own thoughts, you don’t see him get out of his seat and grab you by your arm, forcing you up and off the seat and the floor.

“Didn’t yeah hear me?”

You wince at the fact your arm is being held above your head and you’re practically hanging from it.

“I heard you okay.. I’m not hungry.”

He huffs and puts you down. “Not hungry? It’s been days, doll. Days.”

You just shrug, rubbing your sore arm from being hanged up by it.

“If you don’t eat, I don’t mind feeding you like a baby bird. I’ll eat it up then force into your mouth with mine.”

“Y-you’re so crude, Toji..” You almost whine, disgusted by the thought.

“I’m not kidding.”

You sit back down at your seat, his eyes watching you pick up the fork and start to stab at your food.

“What did I say?”

“Okay okay.” You whine, finally sticking the fork in your mouth, making eye contact with him as you do, glaring at him.

“Tastes bad.” You whine.

“You little-“

Nanami-

Nanami is quite the patient man. You don’t want to get out of bed? Fine. You don’t want to shower? Fine. You don’t want to touch him? Fine. But you don’t want to eat or drink? That’s fucking pushing it.

When he first took you, he made sure you got all the proper nutrients you need, took care of your hygiene and made sure you were perfectly physically healthy.

He’s been putting down food at your nightstand for every meal, sometimes snacks in the middle of meals as well. He feeds you such a good amount that’s supposed to keep you full for every second of the day. Keep you satisfied. And pantries filled with your favorite snacks (the healthier versions, however), and a mini fridge with your favorite zero-sugar healthy drinks. With water, of course.

But you haven’t touched any.

He notices that every meal he puts down at your nightstand is untouched. You lay still in bed, so still he thinks you might be dead. Well you might be, with the absence of food eating at you.

And the pantry is untouched so is the mini fridge, and all the snacks he left for you in the middle of the days start to pile up.

At first he didn’t mind it. He got it, you might be nauseated or feel sick at the fact your away from home. That’s fine. He’ll give you time.

But then days go by.

And he just gets so worried about your health.

He encouraged you as much as he could but wouldn’t push it, he didn’t wanna scare you away. But at this point, it was just ridiculous. He watched from work, on his phone with the app that connected all his security cameras, watching as you hovered around the kitchen. He knew you were hungry. So why torture yourself?

At this point it was torturing him, not you. Well maybe that was the point to it. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like a terrible caregiver. He was supposed to take care of you and protect you as your lover- that’s the damn reason he took you in, in the first place. So why couldn’t you see that? Why couldn’t he help you?

But Nanami is a good man, with zero bad intentions. So he decides first he can try bribing you. He makes your favorite dishes, the smell wafting in your room and up your nose. He places it at your nightstand, with your favorite cold drink next to it. The perfect combo. He does this for a while. No matter how hard the food is to make, whatever bullshit combination he needed to construct, however simple or complicated, he made it.

And yet you didn’t eat it.

He tried buying you material things, giving you extra little privileges like time in the garden or extra TV time, but you don’t even use them. You don’t even care.

And he can tell that you would, if you had the strength to. But you don’t, you’re weak. Probably because you’ve gotten so weak. But your hoping, your begging, that maybe he’ll see your weak body and finally get you some help. Maybe he’ll realize this is hurting not helping you, and he’ll let you go. You know the Nanami you’ve always known is deep down beneath the insecurity of his yandere self. You just need to find it right?

He got home that night. Late. His mind buzzed with work, eyes tired and body sore from constantly staying in his office chair, clicking the keyboard and staring at a screen. He’s been looking into a job for jujutsu sorcerers- but he thinks that’ll take too much time away from you.

He dragged his body into the house, closing the door behind him and quietly yelling out, “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

He hoped you’d flock to the door and he’d feel your warmth- but obviously that was just a dream to him and you never did so. Staying hidden away in the your room or wherever you were.

He decided to prepare a late dinner for the both of you, hoping some time together could encourage you to eat.

He dragged his body to your room. He just needed you, needed your warmth, your kindness, your loving presence and any kind of physical and emotional attention you could give him.

But as he opens the door to your room, he sees the breakfast he left on your. NIght stand, still left untouched.

“Sweetheart. This has gone too long. I respect all your decisions, and that you might be upset with me, but I need you to eat.”

Your wrapped up in the sheets, ignoring him, face stuffed in your white pillows.

“Honey, dear. Please, look at me.”

You can hear the desperation in his voice, the almost begging in his timid voice that almost makes you choke.

You look up at him, soft dead eyes staring up at his concerned ones.

“I made your favorite meal again. I know you don’t want to eat, but can you at least come sit at the table with me?”

You know this is his soft way of trying to convince you. And you also know that he wants you to sit at the table so he can feel like you two are an actual couple not one from hell.

You get up, which makes him sigh of relief. Thinking that you’re giving him a chance. Obviously, that’s not your idea, but you’ll let him think so.

He gently takes your hand, leading you downstairs to the dining table. You see he decorated, putting candles on the table, brought out the fancy silverware and china, the wine glasses and table cloths that matched the fabric of the silk pillows on the cushioned chairs.

“Sit, my love.” He pulls your chair for you, with a gentle smile. You can see the relief in his eyes when you sit, and he pushes you in.

You’d be flustered by such a gentlemanly move if it wasn’t for the situation you were currently in.

He sits in front of you and pops open the white wine, the insanely expansive white wine, pouring some in both of your glasses, he raised his up to yours, in which you ignored, and he clinked his glass with yours.

“Ready to try? I simply perfected the recipe-“

You place a spoonful of food in your mouth, before spitting it out right at him, shocking him and making yourself laugh for the first time in so long.

You soiled his expensive blouse, the shock of your behavior making him spill his wine, his eyes wide and looking down at his ruined blouse, then to you, then to the spilled wine, then to you.

You just giggle, smirking in victory at his dazed response and how you won’t let yourself be pushed around by him.

But what you don’t expect, is for this extremely caring gentlemanly man to slam down the cloth from on his thighs down at the table, getting up as he unloosed his tie.

“I’m done.”

And your smile drops in a way that makes you realize you won. He’ll let you go, he’s finally done with you he’s gonna let you go-

“If you want to act like a child I will simply treat you like one, until you can behave like an adult.”

Your eyebrow raises at that. What? Wait what?

He throws his tie off his neck, grabbing your hands and tying them up. You try to fight him off you but he’s strong, he didn’t even try.

He leaves, and your relieved, a little scared that he left you tied but at least the mad man is gone. But then he comes back with a toddlers seat. A fucking child booster seat.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he meant. “N-no no way! I’m not sitting in that- I won’t even fit-“

“You know I bought this.. I bought this hoping our first child could use it..” he sighs. “But I guess you can be the test drive..”

“N-no! Your crazy! Your insane! I won’t even fit in it I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice.” He cuts you off. “I’m tired of watching my love kill themselves off just because you’re upset. You can be upset just don’t hurt yourself.”

He places the child’s booster seat next to you, at the table.

“You either eat, or fucking sit here and I’ll feed you. Well? Do you want a baby bottle too?”

Sukuna:

Catching the eye of someone so murderous and evil is just the most hell filled unfortunate thing that can happen to you.

And it did.

You found yourself being coddled and “loved” by a monster. He’s pure evil, and you’re his. There’s no denying it. You’re the chosen one.

As his maids touch up your hair, give you a manicure, clean your face of the tears and blood from biting your lips, you stare at them with desperation in your eyes.

Save me.

You think, but they won’t. They’re loyal.

Sure, Sukuna hasn’t done anything actually bad to you, but he’s locked you up, like a princess in a tower. You hope that your prince in shining armor will save you, that he’ll come running with his horse and sword, armor and shield in hand.

But he never does. And if he did, you’d never know because Sukuna probably killed him before he even got a chance to get a glimpse of your pearly eyes.

A maid brushes your hair. You think. He’s taken away all your forms of protest.

When you stopped taking care of yourself, that was fine, he ordered his maids to wash your hair and clean your body, do your skincare and paint your nails. Even go as far as to brush your damn teeth.

They’d use expensive amounts of creams and moisturizers, the kind even the bourgeoisie couldn’t afford. Perfumes from across the land and hair oils from different kingdoms.

All these things, just for you.

When you didn’t want to get out of bed, see the sun, he made sure you were made to get that vitamin D every morning, a small stroll before and after breakfast in the garden, with of course, the guards watching you.

He pampered you, without even being there. Made sure you were healthily entertained with your favorite books and games, all your devices you humans use to take up time. He even brought a festival worth of people to greet you when he took- when you came. Circuses, fire crackers, acrobats, all those to welcome you into his palace.

And you took it all with a grain of rice.

You didn’t want to be here, you didn’t mean to pique his interest. But you did. And now your stuck. You even heard the townspeople whisper of how the man who forced everyone on their knees to worship him is now worshiping you. A mere boring human.

So you decided to find your own way to protest, something he can’t force you to do or make other people do for you.

Eat.

You sat at the large dining table, him on the long other side, watching as he ate, watching him with no love or adoration in your eyes. While he would hold the stars for you. He’d bring them down for you if you asked.

“Well? Is it not to your liking?” You hear him slur from his side of the table.

“No.” You know this is dangerous. The cruel king, he could have your head.

“What’s not to your liking? I’ll have it changed.”

You shove the plate away from you. “It’s all bad, I don’t wanna eat.”

Maybe you should’ve used different words, different wording to your protest because Sukuna simply didn’t understand it was a form of protest.

“It’s that terrible? Very well. Servants, carry the chef who decided to cook my woman this rechid food and have him publicly executed.”

Your eyes widen with dismay and shock and you look at him. “What? Executed?”

“What? What did you expect, woman? Anyone who feeds my soon to be queen something not up to par, they shall be ridden with shame. With, or without their head.”

He says it with such a nonchalant attitude, as if he isn’t talking about death.

“I-I no. It’s not bad, actyally. Hah. I just meant.. I wasn’t hungry.” You try to solve this mess you accidentally dragged others into.

“Your dramatic show of disgust was simply because you aren’t… hungry?”

He looks at you almost confused, the big plates of foods surrounding him. He had a surplus of hunger, the kind of hunger only you can satisfy.

“I… I apologize.” You think about giving up on your plan, you don’t want to drag people into this, have them hurt because of you. “I just.. actually prefer your food.” You lie.

“My food?” He smirks. The maids and servants look around in fear, some even annoyance, expecting your head to fly off and blood to soil the floors after you basically asked to share food-his food, with you.

“Very well then. You may sit close and satisfy your belly with my food.”

He pats the seat close to him, different from the seat your sitting at now, far from Sukuna. Everyone stares at you with bewildered shock, that the cruel Sukuna is willingly sharing his meal with you, that he hasn’t offed you or anyone else in his vicinity for your request.

You waddle over to him, sitting next to him, and he watches you try a piece of meat, lamb, off one of his large family plates, as if asking for your approval, to see if you like it.

You hum, the food is actually prepared amazingly well, a lot better then the streets of the poor sides of town you had to buy your meat from.

He nods at you, and continues to finish his meal as well, practically clawing and savagely ripping apart the food at his hands, like some animal.

Everyone’s always been afraid of the way he eats, as if he’s ripping apart someone’s flesh and bones, but to you it’s kind of pathetic. Like a little puppy and its chew toy, slobbering over its bone. Instead of saying this however (which he’d have your head for), you go for taking a small folded table cloth napkin and wipe the blood from the flesh of his food off his cheek, cleaning off the smeared gore that he doesn’t seem to notice.

He looks down at you, huffing as a sign of appreciation at your small sign of affection, and you look back up at him with the same look.

You hate this cruel man, the man who’s killed hundreds and hurt people and hurt you. Who stole you.

But as you look up at him, the folded napkin in your hand still poking at his dirtied cheek, you can’t help but think that perhaps the cruel king and the prince in shining armor are the same person.

And that’s Sukuna for y’all 😈😈🔥 guys why did I accidentally make his fluffy what

[thedensworld]

Logical Project | C.Sc

Genre: fluff, humour, backstreet au

Summary: Illogical project dismissed! Now, Seungcheol had to face a new problem, Jiyeon and Jeonghan.

Read the first part here

Tomorrow is my first day working at a new place! Wish me luck (and won't get any treatment like Y/n)

“That’s it?” Seungcheol’s voice cut through the silence, snapping you out of the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head. You blinked up at him, taken aback by the question. That’s it? What else was there to say when someone just confessed their feelings out of nowhere?

Do a cartwheel?

Definitely not.

“Do you… want to come inside?” The words slipped out before you could stop yourself.

Wait, what? Panic flared in your chest. You mentally slapped yourself. Why did you say that? You glanced back at your apartment, suddenly remembering the chaotic mess you’d left behind. The dishes were still piled up in the sink, and cooking equipment was strewn across the kitchen counter from your failed attempt to make breakfast earlier. The last thing Seungcheol needed to see after baring his soul was the state of your post-breakdown kitchen.

“I—I mean,” you stammered, desperate to recover from your blunder. “We could go to a nearby café instead… Or—if you’re more comfortable—we can talk in my… living room?” You cringed inwardly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realized you’d just invited him inside again. Twice. As if you were trying to send some sort of signal.

Get it together, Y/N.

“Sure,” Seungcheol replied with a casual nod, as if you hadn’t just awkwardly fumbled your way through an invitation to your personal space. He didn’t look the least bit phased by your internal meltdown.

“Uh—great!” You cleared your throat, feeling your face flush. What kind of person invites their boss—well, former boss—into their messy apartment right after he drops a confession like that?

You spun around and led the way back into the building, too afraid to turn around and see the expression on his face. You could only imagine what he must be thinking. Maybe he was silently judging the disarray of your life, or worse—contemplating running for the hills before he got dragged into your chaos.

Is this really okay? you wondered as you fumbled with your keys, forcing yourself to unlock the door to your apartment. When the door swung open, you hesitated, peering into the living room as if expecting to find an even bigger mess than you remembered.

“So… I didn’t exactly get around to cleaning up,” you mumbled as a way of apology. Seungcheol stepped in beside you, taking in the sight of scattered notebooks and the remnants of an unfinished dinner on the coffee table.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone light, as if you’d just invited him into a pristine penthouse suite instead of an apartment that looked like a mild hurricane had swept through. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure even the couch is giving me a look of judgment right now.”

He chuckled—a deep, genuine sound that took you by surprise. “Well, if the couch starts talking, then I’ll be worried.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it, and you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. This entire situation was surreal. Here you were, standing in your barely-presentable living room with the Choi Seungcheol, exchanging banter like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Let’s just… sit,” you suggested weakly, gesturing to the slightly cluttered couch.

You both settled down, the cushions sinking under the weight of unspoken words. Seungcheol leaned back, glancing around your place before his gaze landed on you.

“So… what now?” he asked softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the intensity in his gaze. “I don’t know,” you murmured honestly. “I didn’t really… expect any of this.”

Seungcheol smiled slightly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his expression. “Me neither.”

You both lapsed into silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. The awkwardness from earlier hadn’t entirely disappeared, but now there was something else—something tentative and hopeful—hovering between you.

No, maybe inviting him in wasn't a good idea after all.

*

Your clothes were neatly pressed, your hair smelled faintly of some overpriced conditioner that probably didn’t work any better than regular shampoo, and your smile? Absolutely radiant. You practically glowed as you approached the front entrance of the towering office building.

This was it. You were back in the workforce, and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to ruin your mood today.

You swiped your shiny new ID card through the scanner and watched the security gate slide open with a satisfying click. Ah, that sound.

You flashed the security guard a broad smile, even though he looked slightly alarmed by your level of enthusiasm so early in the morning. With a cheerful nod, you made your way to the elevator and squeezed inside with the rush-hour crowd.

As more people piled in, you found yourself gradually nudged to the back of the elevator, squished up against the corner like a sardine in a tin can. You stood there, beaming, as someone’s elbow jabbed into your side, and another person’s backpack thumped against your shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, you told yourself. I’m working again! I have a job! I have an income!

The elevator finally reached your floor, and you stepped out with a polite nod to everyone else crammed in the space. Walking into the office with your head held high, you approached the reception area and introduced yourself.

“Everyone, please meet Ji Y/N,” Mr. Kim, your supervisor, motioning toward you with a grand flourish that felt a bit too theatrical. “She’ll be joining us as the new staff.”

You turned to the team, offering them your best smile and a small wave. A few people returned the gesture, while others exchanged knowing looks.

“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m excited to work with everyone,” you said brightly, trying not to sound too eager. But for some reason, the room was oddly quiet.

Just then, Mr. Kim cleared his throat and continued, “Oh, and, uh, a quick note: I think it’s fair to mention that Ms. Ji is… well, she’s related to our CEO.”

A murmur of recognition rippled through the group, and you suddenly found yourself at the center of what felt like a mini gossip fest.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, you chanted internally, feeling your earlier excitement waver. You blinked at Mr. Kim, a polite, confused smile plastered on your face as you struggled to process what he’d just said.

“Related?” someone whispered. “Isn’t that a bit of an understatement?”

“She’s the CEO’s sister,” another voice added helpfully.

Well, that’s one way to let the cat out of the bag.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded more like a strangled cough. “Yes, well… It’s not really—”

But the damage was done. The team’s expressions shifted from curious to knowing, and a few eyebrows arched in interest.

“So, you’re our boss’s little sister, huh?” one of them asked, his tone light but laced with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Must be nice to have connections,” someone else muttered, though it was low enough that you could pretend not to hear it.

You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound defensive or self-deprecating.

“Um, yeah,” you managed awkwardly, shooting a glance at Mr. Kim, who looked like he was one second away from shrinking into the carpet. “I just… I’m really looking forward to contributing and learning, and—”

“—and working for your brother?” another voice teased, and you nearly groaned out loud.

You swallowed hard, keeping that tight smile in place as you nodded. “Exactly! Working… like, all of you. Just… like you all are.”

Mr. Kim let out a nervous chuckle. “Alright, everyone. Let’s welcome Ms. Ji and give her some space to settle in. I’m sure she’s eager to get started.”

As you turned to follow Mr. Kim to your desk, you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment. You took a deep breath, pasting your earlier smile back on. So what if they know? It doesn’t matter! You’re here to work, and that’s what matters!

*

You stepped out of the office building with a small sigh of relief. It had been a long day—no, scratch that—an agonizingly long day of trying to prove yourself to people who were convinced you were only there because of your brother.

Your gaze landed on the sleek black car parked discreetly at the end of the street. The sight of it made you smile, if only for a moment, before you quickened your pace and slipped into the passenger seat.

As soon as the door closed, you sank back into the leather seat, letting out a dramatic sigh. Seungcheol glanced over from the driver’s seat, his expression a mix of amusement and concern as he watched you pout.

“You look absolutely exhausted,” he remarked softly. His eyes traced your features—the drooping eyelids, the slight frown, the way your lips were pressed into a tight line. All in stark contrast to the cheerful, lively voice note you’d sent him that morning, declaring how excited you were for your first official day on the job.

“Drive before my brother sees your car.” Your voice came out grumbly, the weariness apparent as you glanced around.

Seungcheol chuckled softly. “Alright, princess,” he murmured, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips as he turned the ignition.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he pulled out into the street, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between you.

“Bad day?” he asked gently, not pushing, just offering you a chance to vent if you needed to.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest like a sulking child. “More like an ‘everybody’s-still-staring-at-me-like-I’m-a-spoiled-brat-who-got-hired-because-of-my-brother’ day.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow,“I’m sure you did great,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You always do.”

You gave him a sideways glance, your lips twitching slightly. “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. CEO. You don’t have to deal with your brother’s employees eyeing you like you’re about to break into a spoiled tantrum every time you say something.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “True, but I do know how hard you work, Y/N. You don’t need to prove yourself to them. They’ll see it eventually.”

His confidence in you was touching, but it only made you sigh. “Yeah, well, it’d be a lot easier if a certain someone hadn’t barged into the office, grinning like a Cheshire cat and announcing to everyone that I was his precious little sister.”

Seungcheol’s grin widened as he glanced at you again. “Jeonghan really said that?”

“Basically, yes,” you muttered, the memory of your brother’s teasing smile flashing through your mind. “He might as well have held up a giant banner saying, ‘She’s here because of me, everyone!’”

Seungcheol snickered, shaking his head slightly. “Your brother does have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Understatement of the century,” you grumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips now.

Silence settled between you, a comfortable one this time. The kind that only came when you were with someone who knew you well enough not to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter.

It had been like this between you and Seungcheol ever since he’d shown up at your apartment that night and confessed—awkward and unexpected, but somehow, so undeniably right. From there, things had developed naturally. Texts became calls, calls became late-night coffee runs, and soon, he was sneaking you out for lunches and dinners, or showing up at your place just to talk.

But your brother? He still had no idea. And considering how protective Jeonghan was, he’d probably lock you in a tower if he knew you were dating his best friend.

“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol’s voice broke through your thoughts, his eyes glancing at you with that familiar, gentle look that always made your heart flutter.

“Just… us,” you admitted quietly, resting your head against the seat as you looked at him. “I like this. Being with you like this. Even if we have to keep it a secret.”

Seungcheol’s gaze softened, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he turned down a quieter road, away from the main streets. “I like it too. More than I thought I would, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t expect to like sneaking around with me?”

“Not exactly what I meant,” he replied with a laugh. “But I didn’t expect to feel this… happy. With you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his hair fell softly over his forehead, the way his jaw tightened slightly whenever he was thinking hard about something.

“Cheol…” you began, but the words died in your throat. What were you supposed to say? That you were falling for him? That you’d fallen long before he’d confessed? That the thought of him made everything else bearable?

Before you could find the right words, Seungcheol slowed the car to a stop. You glanced outside and realized he’d pulled over to a small, quiet park. There was no one else around—just the two of you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I know it’s not easy, keeping this from Jeonghan. But I promise, when the time’s right, we’ll tell him.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around your bag. “And what if he doesn’t accept it?”

Seungcheol’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll keep fighting for us until he does.”

His words hung in the air between you, the weight of them sinking into your heart and settling there.

You smiled then, a real smile this time, and leaned over, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Alright, Mr. Choi. Let’s see how long we can keep this up before my brother catches on.”

Seungcheol chuckled, his hand reaching over to take yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Challenge accepted, princess.”

*

Seungcheol looked up from his computer screen when his office door swung open without warning. He leaned back in his chair, watching as Jiyeon stormed inside, her steps frantic, shoulders tense. It wasn’t hard to guess who had set her off like this. With a subtle sigh, he shifted his attention fully to her.

“Jiyeon,” he greeted her, his voice calm in contrast to the energy she was emitting. “You look... restless.”

“Restless?” she snapped, stopping right in front of his desk. “More like infuriated!”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, not looking particularly surprised. “I’m guessing this has something to do with Jeonghan?”

Jiyeon’s mouth opened and closed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief flashing across her face. “He just canceled our lunch date—again. No warning, no apology, just a brief message saying he’s busy.” She took a deep breath, and for a moment, Seungcheol thought she might scream. “He’s always busy, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, the corners of his lips lifting into an amused smile. “What did you expect? It’s Jeonghan we’re talking about.”

“Not this!” Jiyeon exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s been two years, Seungcheol. Two years since we got engaged, and not once has he shown even a shred of genuine interest in me. "

Seungcheol listened to Jiyeon ranting on and on about Jeonghan, but he couldn’t help his mind from drifting elsewhere. He kept nodding at the right moments, offering occasional comments when she paused for breath, but a part of him was completely distracted.

“I thought things would change after the accident, you know?” Jiyeon’s voice was strained, on the verge of breaking.

Seungcheol blinked, his gaze refocusing on her face. “Jeonghan… he’s always been good at playing his part, hasn’t he?”

Jiyeon stared at him, her lips tightening. “You’re making it sound like a game, Seungcheol.”

“It’s not a game,” he said softly. “But you know how Jeonghan is. He compartmentalizes things. This engagement was always about business for him, nothing more.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Business… Everything in our lives seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. He watched her, a faint furrow forming between his brows. He could see how much the engagement weighed on her, the toll it had taken over the past two years.

Part of him wanted to offer her some comfort, to give her some sort of answer that could make this all easier. But another part—the one that had become more prominent ever since he confessed to you—kept whispering something else. Something selfish.

If Jiyeon and Jeonghan finally called it quits… It would benefit him, wouldn’t it?

It would give Seungcheol the space to focus on his relationship with you without constantly looking over his shoulder.

Because if anyone found out about you and him… Well, the repercussions wouldn’t be small. He knew that better than anyone.

“Why do you keep putting yourself through this?” he asked, his voice softer now, a touch of genuine concern in it. “If it’s hurting you this much, why not just call off the engagement?”

Jiyeon’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Seungcheol knew she was scrutinizing him, searching for any ulterior motives. He kept his expression open, neutral, but inside, his thoughts were spinning.

Did this make him a terrible person? Maybe. But then, wasn’t it Jeonghan’s fault for treating Jiyeon like a mere business obligation in the first place? And wasn’t it Jiyeon’s fault for allowing herself to be strung along like this?

And wasn’t it his right to be a little selfish, after everything?

“Call it off?” Jiyeon echoed, her voice small and disbelieving. “You’ve never been this supportive of me calling it off before. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Seungcheol watched her, feeling the weight of the question. He should have expected this; Jiyeon was sharp—sharper than people often gave her credit for.

He took a deep breath and offered her a small, wry smile. “People change. Perspectives change. You’re my cousin, Jiyeon, and if this engagement is making you miserable, I don’t see the point of dragging it out.”

Jiyeon’s gaze narrowed further, suspicion glimmering in her eyes. “You’ve never cared this much about my happiness before, Seungcheol.”

Ouch. He had to give it to her—she didn’t hold back when she sensed something was off. But Seungcheol didn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugged lightly.

“Maybe I’ve just gotten soft.” He tilted his head slightly, letting a hint of a smile touch his lips. “Or maybe I’ve started to realize how pointless it is to force people to stay in places they don’t belong.”

Jiyeon continued to stare at him, her gaze calculating. “Are you… seeing someone?”

The question hit him harder than he expected, but he managed to keep his face composed.

“Jiyeon, my personal life isn’t what’s important right now.”

“Oh, it is important if you’re seeing someone, and that’s why you’re pushing me to call off my engagement,” she pressed, voice lower now, more intense. “If this is about someone else, then I deserve to know.”

Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head slowly. “It’s not about me,” he murmured. “It’s about you. And what you want, Jiyeon. Jeonghan’s my friend, but you’re also my family. I don’t want you stuck in something that’s not going anywhere, no matter what’s happening in my life.”

There was a flicker of something in Jiyeon’s eyes—hesitation, maybe. Uncertainty. She held his gaze for a long, tense moment, then finally exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a headache. “But I’m not done with this conversation.”

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I didn’t expect you to be.”

*

You sat across from Jeonghan at the bustling barbecue joint, poking at the sizzling meat on the grill with a pout. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when he texted you about dinner. You’d envisioned fine dining, A5 Wagyu steak, and maybe a glass of an expensive, aged wine. It would have been a perfect way to celebrate one month of officially working at your brother’s company.

Instead, here you were, in a casual barbecue restaurant with loud chatter all around, the smell of grilled meat clinging to your clothes. Though, you had to admit—maybe reluctantly—the food did look good. And Jeonghan had been thoughtful enough to order all your favorites.

“Eat up,” he said, flipping a piece of pork belly onto your plate. “You’ve lost weight.”

You shrugged, choosing to ignore his comment. Of course, you had. You’d been strict about your diet lately. You didn’t want to show up in front of Seungcheol looking like a stuffed dumpling on a random day. But that didn’t mean you were going to deny yourself a good meal tonight. If nothing else, you’d at least get something out of this dinner.

Jeonghan glanced at you, probably noticing your half-hearted expression. “I heard you’ve been doing well at work,” he said, his tone light but watchful.

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a look. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

He smiled, unbothered. “Of course. I had to make sure my little sister wasn’t causing trouble for the marketing team.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a bite of the pork belly. Despite your initial annoyance, you couldn’t help but appreciate his support.

“Everything good with you and Jiyeon?” you asked suddenly, steering the conversation away from yourself. It had been months since you last saw Jiyeon ever since the car accident.

Jeonghan’s shoulders tensed slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah… we’re good.”

His words were casual, but you noticed the way his gaze dropped to the grill, avoiding yours. You tilted your head, watching him intently. “The feelings still the same?” you pressed gently, knowing you were treading on delicate ground.

Jeonghan took a deep breath, lifting his eyes slowly. His lips twitched, a shadow of his usual confident smirk appearing and then disappearing just as quickly.

He looked up, meeting your gaze squarely. “Jiyeon’s… pretty,” he said, almost to himself. “She’s smart, driven. She’d make a great partner for anyone.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. He glanced down at his hands, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just… there’s something inside me that stops me from falling for her. And I can’t put it into words.”

The frustration in his voice was palpable. It made your chest ache for him, this man who’d always been so sure of himself, now struggling to grasp his own emotions.

“It’s alright, Jeonghan,” you murmured, your voice soft, comforting. “You don’t have to force yourself to feel something that isn’t there.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond, his eyes drifting away as if searching for answers in the smoke curling up from the grill. The silence between you was heavy, filled with words unspoken and pain unaddressed. He’d been there for Jiyeon, done everything a good fiancé would do. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was only playing the role of a fiancé—not really living it.

And as you sat there, you couldn’t help but think back to Seungcheol’s words from earlier that day.

“If Jeonghan and Jiyeon finally decide to call it off… it wouldn’t be the end of the world, you know?”

You hadn’t understood what he meant at the time. But now, looking at Jeonghan’s weary expression, the way he forced himself to be the person Jiyeon needed, you began to see it.

Maybe, just maybe, calling it off would be the best thing—for everyone involved. Including Seungcheol, who’d seemed a little too relieved at the thought of the engagement ending.

You shook your head, trying to push away the unsettling thought. No, it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about what Seungcheol and you might gain. It was about your brother’s happiness.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the grill. The meat was starting to char at the edges, and you quickly flipped it over, frowning at the burnt bits.

Maybe Seungcheol was right. Maybe some things weren’t meant to be fixed, but to be set free.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Jeonghan to let go of the life he thought he was supposed to live… and find one where he could finally be happy.

*

Jeonghan removed his engagement ring and placed it on the table in front of Jiyeon’s parents. The sound of the metal touching the wooden surface seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. Jiyeon’s parents stared at the ring, disbelief etched across their faces as they looked back and forth between their daughter and Jeonghan. Jiyeon remained silent beside him, her gaze fixed on the table as if she could avoid the weight of the moment entirely.

Before her parents could voice their outrage, Jiyeon took off her own ring and set it beside his, an unspoken affirmation that this decision had been made together. The rings, once symbols of a future they were supposed to build, now lay side by side, abandoned.

“I realized that I’m not ready to settle,” Jeonghan said, his voice steady but soft. He looked directly at Jiyeon’s father. “My priority right now is my sister. I don’t want to keep hurting Jiyeon by holding on to something I can’t fully commit to.”

Jiyeon’s father, a man usually composed and measured, narrowed his eyes. “And you’re prepared for the consequences of this?” he asked, voice low with an edge of warning.

Jeonghan met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes, I’ve thought it through. I’m aware of what this means for both our families, and I’m sorry for how this will affect our businesses. But it’s the right thing to do.”

A heavy silence settled in the room. Jiyeon’s mother let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, while her father’s stern expression remained unchanged. They knew what Jeonghan was referring to—the contracts and collaborations between the two families that would likely dissolve now that the engagement was off. But none of it mattered anymore. Not when Jiyeon’s empty gaze mirrored Jeonghan’s.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, offering a small, remorseful smile. “I apologize once again,” he murmured, bowing his head. It was a gesture not just of respect, but of finality.

The drive home felt like a blur. The city lights outside the car window blended into a sea of color as he navigated through Seoul’s busy streets. He should’ve felt lighter, relieved even. But all he felt was a hollow emptiness, a void where expectations and duty used to reside.

When he finally stepped into the house, he was greeted by the quiet stillness that came with being alone. The maid offered a polite smile and a nod before retreating, leaving him in the large, empty living room. His eyes wandered to the framed family photo on the wall—the one taken two days before everything changed.

A little you, perched on your father’s lap, smiling brightly at the camera. His younger self stood beside your mother, his expression carefree, with no trace of the weight he’d eventually carry. That picture captured a moment frozen in time—before the car accident that took your parents, before the responsibilities of the family business fell on his shoulders.

He’d been so young, barely an adult himself. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared for the endless days and sleepless nights that followed, learning how to run a business while grieving. But he had to be ready. For you, for the legacy left behind. He pushed himself harder than anyone could imagine, hoping that if he tried hard enough, he’d find happiness at the end of it all.

But it never came. He never found it.

Until you came back to Seoul after graduation.

You’d breezed into his life like a whirlwind, bringing color and laughter back into a world that had been gray for too long. Your presence reminded him of what it felt like to be happy again. He cherished seeing you smile, watching you rediscover life with the kind of enthusiasm he’d long since buried.

Then he saw you, smiling at Seungcheol at the Heidos Group Anniversary. It was the first time he noticed that familiar spark in your eyes. The same one you’d had back in college, when he’d shown you a photo of his roommate and you’d teased him with a mischievous grin.

“Wow, you have a handsome friend. Why don’t you introduce us?” you’d joked.

He remembered the look on his face back then—the way he’d sworn he’d never let you two meet. Your crush on Seungcheol was a topic he never took lightly, though he’d played it off as an overprotective brother act. He hated it, seeing that giddy, admiring look on your face, even if he’d never said a word.

And then, he watched you grow up, choosing paths that always seemed to lead back to Seungcheol—whether it was working at Heidos Food or insisting on attending the same events. When you’d finally landed a job at Heidos Food, the excitement in your voice had made his chest tighten with something close to fear.

“The time has come,” he’d thought bitterly.

Jeonghan knew he couldn’t stop you. He couldn’t stand in the way of fate, no matter how much he wanted to. Because if there was anyone who could give you the kind of love and happiness he couldn’t, it was Seungcheol.

The day when he saw Seungcheol’s car parked in front of your house, he realized he’d been right all along. He’d sensed that whatever it was between you and Seungcheol was finally unfolding, blooming into something he couldn’t control.

And now, as he stood in the dimly lit hallway of his house, staring at that old family photo, he felt a strange sense of peace. Letting go of Jiyeon, refusing to force himself into a life he didn’t want, had been the right decision.

Because he couldn’t stand to see you unhappy. And if Seungcheol could bring you joy, then everything—letting go of his engagement, enduring the aftermath—would be worth it.

Jeonghan turned away from the photo, his gaze lingering on the empty, silent house. Yes, he thought, his heart aching but resolute. Letting go was never easy, but some things needed to be set free so that something new could begin.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to start letting go of the life he thought he should lead… and find one where he could finally just be.

*

The early morning light peeked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Seungcheol shifted slightly, careful not to wake you as he looked down at the sight that had become his favorite—your peaceful face resting against his chest, hair slightly mussed from sleep.

You’d stayed the night, and now, as he watched the rise and fall of your breathing, he couldn’t help but smile. This moment, the quiet intimacy of waking up with you in his arms, felt almost too perfect to be real. He’d often catch himself wondering how he got lucky enough to have you here, tangled up with him in sheets that were no longer cold and empty.

Slowly, as if sensing his gaze, your eyes fluttered open. You blinked, squinting against the morning light before looking up at him, a small pout forming on your lips.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shifted, stretching slightly but not moving away from his hold. “Morning… I should probably get going, though,” you mumbled, glancing around as if remembering where you were. “I don’t have any clothes here.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t need to rush off so soon. The lady who cleans the house brought over a bunch of women’s clothes the other day. Said she thought they might come in handy.”

Your eyes widened a fraction. “Wait, seriously? Why would she do that?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet room. “I might have mentioned something about a ‘guest’ staying over occasionally. Ever since then, she’s been pampering me with questions and insisting on stocking up on things.”

You groaned softly, burying your face back into his chest. “Seungcheol…”

“What?” He pretended to look offended, though his grin only widened. “I didn’t exactly ask her to do it, but I have to say, she’s been very thoughtful.”

“Still… it’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

He let out a low hum, running his fingers gently through your hair. “I like it,” he admitted softly. “I like having you around. Everything just… feels better when you’re here.”

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes, a softness and sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. He was serious. Everything was better with you.

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay for breakfast, but I’m going home after that.”

“Deal,” he agreed easily, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before you finally untangled yourself from his arms.

A little while later, you were sitting across from Seungcheol at his kitchen table, the two of you sharing a simple breakfast. Despite the everyday setting, something about it felt special. The clink of utensils against plates, the smell of coffee filling the air—it was a scene you could get used to.

Seungcheol watched you from over his cup, unable to stop the smile that crept onto his face. Eating breakfast alone was something he’d grown accustomed to, but with you here, everything was different. The eggs tasted richer, the toast more buttery, and even the morning sunlight seemed warmer.

“I could get used to this,” he mused aloud, his voice light but with a hint of something deeper.

You glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast. Mornings. Everything,” he said, leaning back slightly as he took in the sight of you. “When you’re here, the food tastes better, the air feels fresher… even the cold water in the shower isn’t as bad.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Such a sweet talker, Seungcheol.”

“I’m serious,” he murmured, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You make everything better.”

Your cheeks warmed at the intensity of his gaze, but before you could respond, he was already standing up and gathering the empty dishes. You moved to help, but he waved you off.

“Stay. I’ll do the dishes,” he said firmly.

“You cooked,” you protested. “It’s only fair I help.”

He hesitated, then sighed, relenting. “Alright, fine. But I’m drying.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm at the sink. You washed, and he dried, his presence close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Every so often, his arm would brush against yours, sending tiny sparks up your skin.

It was just the two of you, sharing a simple, quiet moment in his kitchen. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Seungcheol’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You squealed softly in surprise, your soapy hands hovering awkwardly over the sink as you turned your head to look at him.

“Seungcheol, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“I just… needed to hold you for a second,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. His hands splayed across your stomach, holding you close as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “You’re always so busy, and I just wanted a bit more of you before you go.”

Your heart melted at his words. He sounded almost childlike, his usual confident demeanor slipping away to reveal the vulnerability underneath.

You turned slightly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

His gaze softened, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, lingering, as if he was savoring every second. You sighed against his mouth, your hands reaching up to wind around his neck.

One kiss turned into another, then another, each one deeper than the last. The dishes were forgotten, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the fridge and the ragged breaths you both shared.

“Seungcheol…” you breathed out as his mouth trailed down your jaw, leaving a hot path of kisses along your neck. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, trapping you in place as he pulled you closer.

But before things could go any further, the front door swung open.

You both froze, heads snapping toward the sound. Footsteps echoed through the hallway, drawing closer. Panic seized you, your heart racing as you looked up at Seungcheol with wide eyes.

“Who could that be?” you whispered frantically.

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered, releasing you and stepping back hastily.

The footsteps stopped, and a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Jiyeon?” Seungcheol blurted out, his voice a mixture of shock and confusion.

Jiyeon’s eyes widened as she took in the scene—your flushed face, Seungcheol’s disheveled hair, the obvious tension lingering in the air.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Uh… hi?” you offered weakly, your voice sounding embarrassingly small.

Jiyeon raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you with a knowing smirk. “Did I… interrupt something?”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, scrambling to regain his composure. “What are you doing here?”

Jiyeon shrugged casually. “I came to talk. But it seems like you’re… busy.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and you could see the teasing smile threatening to break through.

Seungcheol let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Let’s… talk.”

You shifted awkwardly, glancing at Seungcheol. “I should probably—”

“No,” Seungcheol interrupted firmly, taking your hand. “Stay. Whatever she has to say, she can say it in front of you.”

Jiyeon’s smirk widened. “Well, this should be interesting,” she murmured, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the situation a bit too much.

As Seungcheol’s grip on your hand tightened, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever was coming, you’d face it together.

*

The brunch spot you’d chosen was a cozy little café downtown, known for its long queues on weekends. You glanced around nervously, feeling a bit guilty for dragging Seungcheol out here on a Sunday morning. He’d already spent the night taking care of you, and now he was stuck in line with you, waiting for pastries and coffee.

“I’m sorry for making you wait around like this,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I know you probably had better things to do than—”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, cutting you off with a gentle nudge. “Stop apologizing. I’m happy to be here. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear, “I’d rather spend a few hours queuing with you than not see you at all.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, and you looked away, pretending to be overly interested in the menu board. “Still… I feel bad that I’ve been so busy. It’s like everyone at work just dumped all their projects on me.”

“Maybe you should start messing with their work,” he suggested with a cheeky grin.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “As tempting as that sounds, Jeonghan would not be happy about it.”

Seungcheol’s smile faltered a little at the mention of your brother. “Your brother needs to cut you some slack,” he muttered. “You’re doing more than enough for that company.”

“Speaking of which…” You glanced up at the counter where the bakery display was set up. “I think I should get more almond croissants. Just in case Jeonghan decides to visit my place.”

Seungcheol’s frown deepened. “He should stop visiting your place so often. Doesn’t he have anything else to do?”

You tried to stifle a laugh. “No, he only has me.”

“Ugh,” Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Right, I forgot. Your brother’s territorial complex. I don’t think he’s ready to share you yet.”

“Not at all,” you teased lightly. “Which is why you’re right—we should probably wait until our second anniversary to tell him, not the first.”

He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips despite his grumbling. “You’re going to make me wait even longer, huh?”

“Just a little bit,” you hummed, flashing him a playful smile.

It didn’t take much longer for the line to move forward, and soon enough, you were walking out with a bag full of fresh pastries and two cups of coffee. Seungcheol insisted on carrying everything, his hand lightly brushing yours every so often as you walked back to his car.

The ride back to your place was filled with easy chatter and laughter. Seungcheol had this way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, his presence so warm and comforting that you found yourself wishing you could stay with him all day. But you knew you couldn’t; there was still a mountain of work waiting for you at home.

When you finally reached your building, Seungcheol parked the car and turned to you, a small, reluctant smile on his face. “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have to,” you protested lightly, though you secretly loved that he was always so considerate.

“I want to,” he insisted. He carried the pastry bag and followed you to your door, his hand finding its way to your lower back as you fished for your keys.

The second you unlocked the door, Seungcheol pulled you into a gentle hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Promise me you’ll take breaks while working,” he murmured softly.

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I will,” you whispered, your arms tightening around him.

“And text me when you’re done, alright?” he added, tilting your face up so he could press a lingering kiss to your lips. “I want to know when I can steal you away again.”

You nodded, smiling against his mouth. “Okay, I’ll text you.”

But before you could say anything else, the door behind you swung open, startling both of you. You turned around, eyes widening in shock as you found yourself face-to-face with Jeonghan.

His gaze shifting between you and Seungcheol. His eyes narrowed, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he processed what he was seeing—his little sister standing on the doorstep with Seungcheol, lips a bit too swollen and hair a bit too messy to be innocent.

“What’s this?” Jeonghan demanded, his tone icy as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Care to explain?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Seungcheol beat you to it. He took a step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, as if shielding you from Jeonghan’s cold glare.

“I can explain,” Seungcheol said calmly. “I know this looks… unexpected, but I can assure you that everything is fine. We’re fine.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine?” he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “You’re standing outside my sister’s apartment looking like you’ve been making out for hours, and you’re telling me everything is fine?”

You winced, but Seungcheol remained unflinching. “Yes, because that’s exactly what happened.”

Your eyes widened at Seungcheol’s boldness. He shot you a quick, reassuring glance before turning back to face Jeonghan, his shoulders squared confidently.

“I like her,” Seungcheol stated firmly, his voice unwavering. “I’ve liked her for a long time. And I’d like to keep liking her—with your permission, of course.”

Jeonghan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Seungcheol’s directness. He glanced at you, his gaze softening slightly before he looked back at Seungcheol.

“You like her?” he echoed, as if testing the words on his tongue. “Since when?”

Seungcheol hesitated, his jaw clenching slightly. “Since… well, since before I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in his gaze, only a protective wariness. “And you,�� he turned to you, his voice softer now. “Is this what you want?”

You swallowed, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze squarely. “Yes. I want this,” you said quietly but firmly. “I want to be with him.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the tension almost palpable. Then, slowly, Jeonghan let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“Well… I guess I can’t really stop you,” he muttered, his lips quirking up in a reluctant smile. “But I swear, if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Seungcheol interrupted, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I promise, I won’t.”

Jeonghan eyed him for a long moment, then nodded, a small sigh escaping him. “Alright. But don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Seungcheol replied with a grin.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching up. He turned to you, his expression softening. “And you—don’t think this gets you out of our lunch plans tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, relief flooding through you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jeonghan shook his head, muttering something under his breath about troublesome siblings before stepping back inside. “Just… behave yourselves, okay?”

You nodded, smiling as you watched him retreat into the apartment.

Once the door clicked shut, Seungcheol let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned to you, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and amusement.

“Well, that went better than expected,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms again.

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning into his embrace. “Way better.”

“Now,” he whispered against your hair, “let’s finish that kiss properly, hmm?”

You laughed, tilting your head up to meet his lips again, this time with no interruptions, no worries—just the sweet, undeniable feeling of being exactly where you belonged.

*

It was well past midnight, and your living room was dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. Papers were strewn across the coffee table, along with empty coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich you’d forgotten about hours ago. You sat hunched over your work, typing furiously, as if sheer speed could somehow help you finish everything your colleagues had dumped on you.

Seungcheol sat quietly beside you on the couch, his presence a steadying comfort. He had come over a few hours ago after seeing your “busy” message and the growing bags under your eyes during your video call. You didn’t ask him to stay, but you didn’t have to—Seungcheol knew you too well to leave you alone on a night like this.

He glanced at you, his brows furrowing slightly in concern as you groaned softly and ran a hand through your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

“I swear, I won’t work there anymore—even in my next life,” you muttered under your breath, your eyes glued to the screen.

Seungcheol’s lips curled up into a small smile. He shifted closer, one arm wrapping around your waist as the other began to gently rub circles on your back. His touch was warm and soothing, slowly melting away some of the tension that had built up in your shoulders.

“You’ve been saying that for months, you know?” he teased softly, his hand moving up to trace comforting patterns across your tummy. “Yet here you are, still working your ass off.”

You sighed, leaning back against him slightly, grateful for his quiet support. “This is why I hate nepotism. It never works fairly! It’s either you become the evil one, or you get eviled.”

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “It’s unfair,” he agreed softly. “And I hate that you have to go through this. But you’re strong—you’ll get through it, like you always do.”

“Only because you’re here,” you murmured, turning your head to look at him. “You know, I could’ve accepted your offer to go back to Heidos, but…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “But I chose this. I chose to stay with my brother’s company. Maybe this is my karma—maybe I deserve all this headache and exhaustion for turning down your offer.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened, his gaze filled with nothing but love and understanding. He shifted slightly, cupping your cheek with one hand as he leaned in closer. “Hey, none of this is your fault,” he murmured gently. “You don’t deserve any of this stress. And just because you chose to help your brother doesn’t mean you have to keep suffering like this.”

Before you could respond, Seungcheol kissed you softly, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way. He pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours.

“I can make you feel better, though,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing as his thumb caressed your cheek. Then, without waiting for your answer, he kissed you again—deeper this time, slow and lingering, like he was trying to pour all his love and support into that one kiss.

You sighed into the kiss, your shoulders relaxing for the first time that night as you melted against him. All the stress, the exhaustion, and the frustration seemed to fade away, replaced by the warm comfort of being in Seungcheol’s arms.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips when you finally pulled away, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Seungcheol smiled, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. “You don’t have to worry about that, because I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here—for every late night, for every breakdown, for everything. I’m with you, always.”

And in that quiet, intimate moment, you knew—no matter how tough things got, no matter how much work was thrown your way, as long as you had Seungcheol by your side, you could get through anything.

The night stretched on, but with Seungcheol’s arms around you and his comforting presence beside you, the workload didn’t seem so daunting. You could finish it, you would finish it. And when you finally shut your laptop hours later, you curled up against Seungcheol’s chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

The last thing you heard before drifting off was his soft whisper in your ear.

“I love you.”

:)

[noveauskull]

Reader, jiyan and Geshu lin daughter bringing her boyfriend to meet their parents. OVERPROTECTIVE DADS ALERT❗❗❗

Jiyan & Geshu Lin With Your Daughter As Her Father(s)! (SFW)

"Mom, Dads, this is my boyfriend"

You watched your daughter introduce your two husbands, Geshu Lin and Jiyan, to her boyfriend that you had already heard about a few days ago.

Naturally you had to be the calmer parent, cause you knew that Geshu Lin and Jiyan would be taking on the task of going bonkers over their daughter growing up so fast, to the point she has found someone to be with.

Even worse, your daughter could take inspiration from your love life, and might just date more than one boy! Now the anxiety really hits.

You glanced at both of your sides, on your right was Jiyan, and on your left was Geshu Lin. Both men sitting on each side of the couch with their eyes locking in with the younger male individual, they clearly were not pleased.

"He works as an intern at the hospital, aiming to be a nurse there, and his parents have respectable jobs too! His mom is a teacher and his dad is a lawyer! And he can play 3 instruments! Isn't he talented?"

Your daughter boasted over her boyfriend. You watched the young man blush at her words and scratch his nape, telling her to not shower him with too much praise over something he was simply born with.

You let out an awkward smile. You already knew the boy was a total sweetheart, he was respectful, and even offered to help you when you had to clean the dishes.

Even better, he asked to bring home some of the dishes you cooked on your first meeting, you can't imagine your daughter being with any other guy than him, because you were already a hundred percent supportive of their relationship.

"A teacher, lawyer, and nurse? Your family must be very rich" Geshu Lin said, smiling at the boy, but for some reason, it didn't feel friendly at all.

"A-Ah yes, their jobs do help them earn a lot of money, especially when they've been doing those jobs for a long time" The boyfriend said, stuttering when he saw Geshu Lin's smile drop the moment he spoke.

"That's good then, at least our daughter has someone to buy her all the jewelry and clothes she wants" Jiyan nodded, however he wasn't smiling one bit.

"..."

The room went silent, all you did was take a small sip of the tea you prepared. Glancing at the two men beside you with their cold eyes glaring daggers onto the poor boy's head.

Before you knew it, it was only you and your daughter doing all the talking, the 3 men in the room barely had anything to say, but Geshu Lin and Jiyan seemed very calm, so you didn't do anything to disturb their thought process.

Once it was getting late, you bid your daughter's boyfriend goodbye, watching your daughter plant a kiss onto her boyfriend's cheek before he left as you closed the door.

"Well I think that went well" You said, smiling at your daughter who seemed very happy about today's performance.

"Yeah! Dads' were super chill about it too" The two of you laughed together, heading to the living room to watch TV.

What you two didn't realize though, was that the two men that were usually at home wasn't around, you were just too relieved to even notice that the two were outside the house, both standing beside your daughter's boyfriend.

"Make sure you treat my daughter very well, she doesn't like guys with no sense" Geshu Lin said, his arm wrapped around the boyfriend's neck, earning a nod from the boy who was awkwardly smiling at him.

"And don't forget to tell us everything you're doing with her, that includes where you are going, what you are eating, why are you going out with her, and when will you pick her up and drop her, don't leave any details either" Jiyan added, his arms crossed.

This continued on for an hour before they heard you calling for them, noticing that they haven't been around the house for a while.

And this is the nicest behavior the two gave towards the boyfriend, just know, if things ever goes south, the poor boy would definitely face his consequences if anything happened to their daughter.

-----

A/N: Hope this scenario was good enough! Ty for the request! 👐👐

[wonton4rang]

——————————————————————————

pairing: bnd x reader.

warnings: none, mentions of arguments, kissing in some parts, mentions of the members real names.

summary: how would bnd react to “we have to talk”

——————————————————————————

sungho; unless he knows he did something to make you feel sad or mad, he would be chill, leaving his coat in the hanger and walking to you with a little bit of confusion since you said this as soon as he went in the house after coming back from work. “sure, what is it about?” he would ask in the sweetest and softest voice, his eyes showing the way he worried about you. and you just couldn’t do that to him, so you finally came clean and explained it was only a joke to see his reaction, sungho would laugh and kiss your forehead, assuring you that the whole “we need to talk” situation didn’t scare him since couples need to communicate in order to last :’) best boyfie award winner right here.

riwoo; “we need to talk” chills ran through his body before he unglued his eyes from the tv screen and directed them to you, his orbs got glossy really quick and his voice trembled when he asked “is everything okay, baby?” it was late, at least 1 or 2 in the morning and there was riwoo binge watching the series you told him not to loose sleep for. yeah, in sanghyeok’s mind you guys were done. but you just laughed at his scared frame, making him gulp before looking confused as you just kept laughing, explaining how it was only a joke and that you didn’t mind him watching his serie anytime, he was going to be the one tired after all. he would be soooo relieved, because he couldn’t even think of loosing you.

jaehyun; he didn’t even registered it the first time, his mind taking its time to process everything and create a thousand scenarios where he did something and you left him for it. so when you snapped your fingers in front of his face, he just held you in his arms, kissing your lips right away, so soft and yet so passionate and rough, only him could kiss you like that. he would back you up to the wall when you didn’t push him away and kiss you a little longer before letting your lips go for a second, panting against them before looking for your eyes and saying “i don’t recall doing anything wrong but if i did, i’m sorry, baby. can you tell me what it was? i promise i’ll fix it” but when you said it was just a joke, he just got a little mad, because why would you put his heart through such a harsh time.

taesan; “we need to talk” he was sitting on his bed when you said this, noticing how woonhak left the room right after you talked and taesan directed his eyes to you, still cleaning that vinyl disc “about what, noona?” you closed the door behind you and then crossed your arms in front of your chest, dongmin confusingly looking at you before putting his disc back in place and finally standing up “is there something bothering you, love?” his hands held your arms to uncross them and pull you in for a small peck in your lips, “what did you wanna talk about? did they do anything to upset you?” , “w-what? no, the members are just fine” , “are you sure?” and you could tell that even though he was showing you that nonchalant attitude he was really worried, he would NEVER think wrongly about his members, which is why you couldn’t hold it and laughed, explaining it was just a joke before he rolled his eyes at you and put you on laundry duty with sungho as a “punishment” for making him worry.

leehan; “what do you think i did now?” and that alone would make you feel soooo offended, your eyes and mouth opening at the same time and before you could even say anything to defend yourself he kept going “I haven’t even been out lately, you have my phone most of the day because for some reason you don’t want to subscribe to youtube premium on yours, i made you breakfast, i took the garbage out, i did the dishes and took a bath after cleaning the living room and folding the clean clothes. I don’t know what I missed or what you think I did but I-“ you had to stop him before he kept ranting “it’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was just a joke” he arched his eyebrow at you as you added “but I didn’t know you did all that” leehan laughed this time and pull you over to sit on his lap in the couch “i did, between yesterday and today” and you couldn’t hold it just laughed while he kissed you, he was also a really good boyfie even when he liked to argue back.

woonhak; oh god please don’t do this to him omfg, he is nervous, screaming, trembling, tongue tied, shaking and paralyzed at the same time, he doesn’t know what he did, he doesn’t really think he did anything but you are his noona, his first girlfriend, you know better. so he could just sit there and look at you with his big eyes, sobbing every once in a while, waiting for you to talk and stop walking around in front of him. so when your eyes met he crumbled, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i don’t know what i did yet but i will fix it, it won’t happen again. i love you so much, y/n. please forgive me” and the way his voice sounded broke your heart, immediately leaving the joke behind when you held his face and softly kissed his lips, assuring him that he didn’t do anything wrong and apologizing for the joke that took the wrong turn.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 1: Sunsettias.

[ masterlist ] || [ part 2 ]

🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯

⌞Forest of Color: ⌝

⌞A salad made from fresh fruit and vegetables. Blanch the Grainfruit, chop the other ingredients, drizzle over the sauce, then stir until evenly mixed. Extremely simple to make, but even more importantly, it's so healthy that no matter how much you eat, you won't feel stressed!⌝

You stared at the in-game meal right in front of you, it was a late friday night and you were wasting the hours away curiously reading and looking through the official page that contained all of the food and drinks that could be found in your comfort game, Genshin Impact.

As a student in the culinary course and a rather enthusiastic foodie, one of the factors you always looked for when playing or finding a certain game or watching a particular show was their cuisine!

Just staring at the delicious looking, not-real, food always got your appetite running. Part of your little hobby was trying to even recreate certain dishes like those foodtubers did in youtube! Right now while mentally eating the pixelated dish in your mind, you were also picking the next food you'd try to recreate.

'Perhaps I should pick from star rail, none of the food here has picked my fancy. .' you thought to yourself while leaning back on your chair and making a point to stroke your chin with a thoughtful expression. 'Ah! how about the Mondstadt hash browns, I could even try to make Razor's variant dish!'

Snapping your fingers you immediately went to the kitchens, mentally patting yourself on the back for going grocery shopping the day before. So like usual, in the comfort of your own apartment, you began to cook, then eat and clean up, before retiring to your bedroom, dozing off with a full stomach and a lazy smile.

Z z z. . .

"Huh?" You swat at your face before sneezing, immediately standing up as you felt something tickling your face, what fell from your face and onto your lap was a pristine white feather.

Immediately standing up, finding yourself out of bed, no, out of your own room and seemingly not even in your fucking city as you started at the environment before you. Lush, verdant grass that swayed with the winds. Birds chirping as they flew high and above your form, some scattering the same feathers that made you sneeze.

A wave of fear and confusion washed over you, you were afraid as you began to realize this wasn't a dream when you ran, and ran, and tripped. Part of your pajama pants had been ruined and vaguely you can feel the blood dripped down on your leg from your fresh injury.

Wincing you stand up, not bothering to look as it as you cried out, wondering, where the hell were you?

. . .

It probably took you a few hours to get your bearings, sitting by a tree as you hugged your knees and contemplated your existence, did you screw with some God or Rich Asshole and they decided to kidnap you and dump you in the middle of nowhere as revenge?

Nah, you were antisocial, so screwing with some rich guy was highly unlike with your lack of a social life. You bit your nails, was it God? "At least give me a sign of where I am!" you shout frustrated as you pulled at your locks.

"Ouch!" Wincing, you rubbed the top part of your head as something fell on it, the perpetrator was round, yellow and orange in color. Your eyes widened, silently grabbing it as you ignored the now dulling pain in your head. .

It was plump, fragrant. .

you bit it.

It tasted sweet.

you ignored the juice that dribbled down you chin as you nodded, yes, this was how you imagined Sunsettia's would taste like base on it's description.

you blinked, jaw dropping.

Sunsettias. .

fuck you were in Teyvat, basically Genshin Impact.

A part of you felt like you were screwed, considering how all of your worldly possessions were gone, and you were here in nothing but your pockets. One hand went to pat the pockets of your pajamas. .

Eyes lighting up as you felt something, pulling that item out, you were speechless as your hand simply held an old expired coupon for some ramen. . .

screwed it is then.

🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯

I need to find a banner to use for the series, also also although I put in Baker, the reader will also make dishes, both from in-game and in real lifeee so if you want a particular dish featured in a future chapter, add the recommended dish in my ASKS so it can be a surprise for other readers! Please also add information about that dish since I may most likely not be familiar with themm

[ghxstlike]

you shut my mouth (and buckle my knees)

pairing: mike schmidt/gn!reader

content: reader is michael's next door neighbor, mike is so awkward, mike has social anxiety & is bad at words, reader is so oblivious, reader is 19 & mike is 20/21, reader has daddy issues, fluff, this takes place before the events in the movie, no use of y/n.

summary: mike’s been avoiding you recently, and you automatically think he’s mad at you. when babysitting abby, she tells you the truth about his feelings about you.

author's note: the title is a lyric from ‘i want to be with you’ by chloe moriondo! also!! the fnaf movie is AMAZING and it’s one of my favorite movies now. this is cross posted on ao3!! enjoy :)

he’s never this quiet.

he’s always somewhat quiet, yeah, but not deathly silent. and he usually doesn’t avoid you, either.

being a babysitter is something you never expected when you moved into the house right next mike’s. you moved in about a year ago with your mom, due to her divorce with your dad. your dad wasn’t the greatest man, nor the best dad. he never left, but he was never involved in your life. so, your mom was pretty much a single mom. your mom wanted to move far away from your dad, landing up in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

a few days after moving in, your mom introduced you to mike and his little sister abby. the first time you’ve ever seen mike was…awkward, to say the least. you could tell mike wasn’t very comfortable in the conversation at first, with the way he swung back and forth on his heels. you, on the other hand, couldn’t focus with the most hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life standing in front of you. you loved the shade of brown his eyes were, they reminded you of a beautiful forest in the fall, late at night.

mike voiced to you both about how his recent babysitter wasn’t returning his calls and wasn’t showing up, so you stepped up to be abby’s new babysitter. you’re glad you did, since now you’re able to do fun things during the day and not sit in your room reading some lame book. you don’t get paid much, but that was the least of your worries.

now, you’re in the kitchen cleaning dishes. it was about 8 pm, so abby was already fast asleep. you and abby baked cookies and there was already a huge mess. in the middle of mixing the wet and dry ingredients together to make a dough, abby pinched up a bit of flour and threw it at you. you looked up at her with an exaggerated gasp and a hand over your heart. to play with her little charade, you grabbed a tiny bit and threw in her direction. the fight of throwing flour between the two of you suddenly stopped as mike walked through the door. a feeling of guilt ran through your body when you realized what you’ve done, but there was still a huge smile on your face as you waved at him.

ever since then, he’s been sitting on the couch watching some sort of old cartoon. he usually stays in the kitchen with you, sitting at the table and talking about your day with abby. out of seemingly no where, mike stopped this routine. it bummed you out, obviously, but you didn’t want to force him to talk to you.

you sigh, grabbing the green and yellow sponge that was placed next to the sink. your mind began to wander, thinking about earlier that day. you feel terrible, but you just wanted abby to have a bit of fun. you shouldn’t have let it go that far.

you know how it feels to start something fun, and have it end up with your body filling with shame and embarrassment. especially at abby’s age. the last thing you want abby to feel is embarrassment from an adult. you also never wanted mike to be mad at you, but you have a slight feeling he already is.

you sigh again as you realize you haven’t apologized to mike about what he walked into. you bite your lip, turning around to see mike still sitting on the couch, eyes fixated on the TV.

you gently place the remainder of the dishes in the dishwasher, then quietly walk over to mike. you sit on the same couch as him, but on the other end of it. you look down at your lap, your eyes tracing the all the lines in your palm. after a few moments of being silent yourself, you speak up.

“mike?” you say in a hushed voice. his response was almost immediate.

he hums, eyes flicking to you and back at the screen. “yeah?”

his flat, low voice always made you feel warm inside. making your heart and stomach flutter with butterflies. but this time, the warmth that his voice brings goes directly down to your stomach, twisting it with anxiety. his whole presence made you feel giddy, like you were in high school with a newly founded crush. you swallow thickly before you speak again.

“i just wanted to apologize for earlier.” you pause, trying to find the right words to say and not mess this up. you want mike to speak to you, you want mike to spend time with you, you just miss him. “i-i shouldn’t have let it get that far.” you murmur.

mike doesn’t say anything at first, he just looks over at you again and nods. “you’re good.”

your stomach churns at his dry response. you nod at him, wiping your clammy hands on your jean-clad knees. “i should get going,” you say under your breath. again, mike doesn’t respond. he just watches you walk to the door, putting on your shoes in a hurry.

mike runs a hand through his curly hair, trying to figure out what he wants to say. he wants to say something, atleast a goodnight, but nothing comes out. you were too busy tying up your shoes to notice his conflicting face.

you open the front door of mike’s home and look over your shoulder. “have a good night, mike.” you say with a smile. mike’s hand does a slight wave, not returning the smile. you shut the door quietly, feeling absolutely crushed.

one of mike’s hands run down his face, hating himself for not saying something before you left. he also hated the way his heart clenched as you looked so sad when you walked out the door. “god dammit.” he grumbled to himself.

days have passed from that night. mike is still avoiding you, and being extremely quiet around you. you know it’s just you he’s being quiet around, since you hear him arguing with abby when you enter his home in the afternoon. just the thought of mike being mad at you pains you to your core, so much so that you avoid him yourself. you feel absolutely terrible, but stirring the pot could make it worse.

mike obviously notices your recent behavior, but didn’t say anything about it. instead, he’d think about it deeply when he’s in bed late at night. for weeks, he’d sleep terribly, just staying up all night figuring out what to say to you to make things better. he misses talking to you, he misses hearing your beautiful laughter and how your eyes sparkle with life when you talk about your interests.

today wasn’t very eventful, it was rather peaceful. you and abby sat at the dinner table, drawing each other pictures and talking. you noticed a drawing she was finished with and picked it up. it seemed to be you, mike, and abby all holding hands in front of a house. you smile softly, glancing up at abby, who’s doodling away with a yellow crayon. you look back down at the artwork and notice a small detail between the drawing of you and mike.

“abs?” you call out, not looking up from the paper. you hear a quiet clank as abby set down her crayon.

“yes?” she looks up at you, a slight smile apparent on her face. you set down the paper and slide it over to her. she looks down at her art, then back up at you.

“what’s up with the heart between me and mike?” you question, your stomach filling with nerves.

abby shrugs, the smile on her face never faltering as she talks. “he likes you, duh.” she giggles.

you sit up straight as your eyes widen. “what?” you whisper. your mind is running wild with all sorts of thoughts- he likes you?

“mike talks about you all the time,” she explains, picking up the yellow crayon again. “i hear him talking to himself about how-”

“abby.”

both of your heads snap toward the front door. it’s mike, he seems angry; his face is a slight pink and his hand is tightly clutching onto his bookbag that’s slung over his shoulder. abby quickly gathers up all of her art supplies that were scattered across the table and flees to her room, giggling loudly. you watch her run, smiling at her cute antics.

you hear a chair being pulled out and see that mike is sitting across from you. the picture of the three of you remains. mike only glances at it and seems to wince with a clenched jaw. he doesn’t look happy at all. you bite the inside of your cheek, getting all wrapped up in your head about what mike is thinking.

abby clearly had a misunderstanding of what mike was actually feeling. she had to.

minutes pass, and not a single word is said. to save your embarrassment (and his), the chair under you screeches as you stand up. “i-i’ll leave,” you suddenly mumble. you don’t notice the way mike’s head snaps up, watching you start to make your way to the door.

mike calls out your name before you’re able to reach the door. “stay,” he pauses to clear his throat. “uh, please.”

you turn around to see mike staring at you with his eyebrows slightly raised. without hesitation or any word, you sit back down. “is everything okay?” your voice sounds so soft, it makes mike’s heart melt.

he nods quickly, scratching the back of his neck. you can see that one of mike’s legs are bouncing and you can see sweat build up on his forehead. he loosens his tie, which makes your whole body warm up. you could feel the warmth spread throughout your limbs, stopping at your toes and fingertips.

“you don’t look okay, a-are you sick?” you exclaim with a worried look on your face. mike shakes his head no, huffing out a laugh.

“no, i’m okay, promise.” a grin appears on his face, amused with your sudden worry. “i just- abby wasn’t lying.” he blurts out, his eyes not meeting yours. you seemed to have a confused expression, so he went further. “when she said i like you.”

oh.

“oh.”

mike looks back at you, seeing that you’re completely and utterly flustered. he was right, you don’t see him the way he sees you. he feels himself sweat more, “is there something wrong?”

“no! no, no,” you ramble, laughing awkwardly. “is that why you were avoiding me for weeks on end?” you ask, your voice getting into a higher pitch. mike nods silently, eagerly awaiting for your response.

now that you think about it, everytime that you were in close contact with mike, his whole body would tense up and his face would turn pink. you almost hit yourself for not noticing sooner. instead, you laugh quietly. one of mike’s eyebrows raise, looking at you with a confused expression.

“i thought you were mad at me.” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers.

mike’s expression softens, “why would i be mad at you?”

“the day where abby and i made a mess out of the kitchen with flour,” you replied with a shrug. “that was the day where you started avoiding me.”

mike’s mouth opened, then closed. he did this a few times before finally saying: “that day was when i realized i liked you.”

you stayed silent as he continued. “i really didn’t mean to avoid you, but i just..” he stops and takes a deep breath. “i just, y’know, couldn’t find words when i was around you.”

your heart almost skipped a beat at his words, smiling ever so brightly at him. you felt so many emotions in that moment, where mike felt like he was about to faint from how pretty you look when you smile. he gives you a grin in return.

“i like you, too.” you say, still smiling. you giggle as mike sighs in relief.

his hand reaches over the table to grab yours. his hand is a little sweaty, but you don’t mind a bit.

he clears his throat, “that means i can take you on a date, right?”

you squeeze his hand tightly and nod before you realize something.

“who will babysit abby?”

[httpsdana]

or maybe prompt 70 because i just saw you already did prompt 37 with jude(?)

Family Love~Xavi Simons

*Pictures are from Pinterest*

I ended up writing both requests because ik some xavi girlies need to be fed. enjoy <3

request from here

master list -> part 2

players/drivers I write for

70-"you really love her, don't you?"

Xavi and y/n were visiting his parents in the Netherlands, since it has been a while since they visited them.

y/n was helping Xavi's mom, Peggy, with the food in the kitchen, having a chat and catching up with each other.

"I hope Xavi isn't giving you a hard time" Peggy said, her voice hinting that part of her was joking and the other was serious.

"oh no. he's the sweetest" y/n said, smiling to herself at the thought of her boyfriend.

"he's treating you well right? i wouldn't want you to be treated badly, even if it was my son" she said, her tone worried.

"he treats me like a queen. i wouldn't want to be with anyone else" she replied, making Peggy smile.

"that's great. he really loves you, you know" she said, making y/n smile.

"yeah I know. and I love him so much too" she replied.

As they continued their chat, Xavi stepped into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around y/n's waist from behind.

"I missed you" he mumbled into her neck, pecking her shoulder softly. She chuckled silently, her head turning to kiss the top of his head.

"me too. but I'm making food with your mom right now so don't distract me" she warned him, making him pout

"mom can I steal my girlfriend for a bit?" he said, a bit too sweetly.

"yeah of course we're almost done anyway" his mom said, making him smile widely.

Before y/n had the chance to say anything, Xavi has already pulled her out of the kitchen, walking her to the bedroom they were sharing.

"why'd you do that" y/n said, a sly smile on her face.

Xavi dropped down on the bed, pulling her down with him. He laid on top of her, his head buried in her neck

"I missed you" he murmured into her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, like he's afraid of letting her go.

y/n smiled, running her hand over his perfect braids, which she had done to him before coming to his parents house.

"l missed you too baby" she mumbled, pressing a kiss on the top of his head.

Their moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened slightly, his dad peeking his head inside.

"hey you two. dinner is ready" he said with a smile.

"we'll be there in a second" y/n replied, while he nodded, stepping out of the room.

Xavi looked up at y/n, a pout on his face as his grip tightened.

"I don't wanna go" he mumbled, his lips pressing on her jaw

"well I'm hungry so I'm not staying here" she said, already getting up. He groaned, letting her get up as he flipped over, his face buried in the pillow.

"come on love. we can take a nap after dinner" she said, grabbing his hands to pull him up.

He stood up lazily, looking down at y/n with a loving gaze that never seems to leave his eyes when looking at his girlfriend.

"can i, at least get a kiss? I know you won't let me even hold your hand down there" he said, the pout never leaving his face.

y/n chuckled, grabbing his face and pulling him down to press a kiss on his lips. Before he had the chance to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, giving him a look.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him with her down to the dinning room.

Dinner was nice, Xavi was speaking with his parents about his upcoming matches, while y/n just listened to him, their hands holding each other under the table.

Soon after dinner, y/n and Xavi had helped his mom cleaning the dishes, Xavi too excited to go have a nap, when suddenly, his sister Kenza entered the kitchen.

"y/n. we haven't done anything together yet. do you have anything now?" she asked, her voice soft and excited.

y/n looked at Xavi, who gave her a look telling her to not go with his sister, but y/n had promised his sister she would hang out with her.

"no I have nothing. we can hang out for a bit" she said, making the 10 year old girl smile widely before giving y/n a hug and running to her room.

"sorry love. I promised her to hang out and I didn't have any time all day" she said, walking over to her boyfriend who was pouting.

He wouldn't look at her, turning his head to look away from her. She smiled at his childness, grabbing his face to make him look at her. His pout was still there, refusing to give in.

y/n leaned in, kissing his pout a few times. He couldn't help the smile that curled up his face, but then he masked it up with a fake angry look.

"I'm still mad" he said, crossing his arms over his chest. y/n chuckled, pulling him down by his neck, giving him a long loving kiss.

"I'll make it up to you I promise" she mumbled against his lips, making him smile.

He nodded, letting her leave to meet his younger sister in her room

"so what're we doing?" y/n asked, sitting down next to Kenza on her bed.

"Last time Xavi got here, he got me a small make up kit, I was thinking we can do each other's make up?" she said, her tone excited and a wide grin on her face.

y/n nodded enthusiastically, following the little girl to her small mirror

"I can also get my make up bag? I've got some new cool stuff I haven't tried yet" y/n said, making the girl nod her head while clapping her hands.

y/n rushed to her room, getting her make up bag from her suitcase.

She started first by Kenza's make up, putting on her face some of her make up. The little girl had suggested a make up look with a bold eyeshadow and y/n couldn't say no to her excitement.

The two girls sat in the room, laughing at some stories said by both of them about Xavi. y/n adored Kenza, she was like a little sister she never had. And y/n was like the older sister Kenza never had.

As y/n was applying some powder on the girl's face, Xavi walked by the room, hearing the laughter of his favorite girls.

He stood at the door, seeing how y/n was smiling at his sister, doing her make up and enjoying her time with her. It made him smile widely, seeing how his girlfriend was like his sister's best friend.

He leaned against the door frame, a wide grin on his face as he admired his beautiful girls.

Meanwhile, his dad came and stood by him, looking at the girls laughing before turning to look at Xavi

"you really love her, don't you?" he said, looking at the girls again

"more than anything" he mumbled, never tearing his gaze away from them.

"she's a keeper. don't let her go" his dad said, putting his hand on his son's shoulder

Xavi smiled, turning to look at his dad

"never" he said, before looking back at his girlfriend.

[books-are-escapes]

one more sleep - j. s.

word count: 936

hiiiii! merry christmas!! ❤️ i heard this song and it’s on my own christmas playlist so i just knew i had to make a story about jake!! ☺️

❤️🎄❤️🎄❤️🎄

“my love, my honey, my darling, i miss you so much!” you spoke to the screen, your boyfriend on the other side. “i miss you too my love. at least it’s only five more days until i can hold you.” your body got warm, remembering the last time you hugged jake, that was six months ago. it’s almost christmas, december 20th to be specific.

you could barely contain yourself, the days dragged on and you didn’t know what to do with all this time to wait on him. “i’ve gotta get going baby. i’ll be with you so soon. i love you my darling.” “i love you just as much jake, bye.” your voice was quiet. “bye honey.” he blew you a kiss and the call cut off. your eyes welled up. it should be easy to say goodbye, he’s coming home in less than a week, but you just miss him terribly. your birthday, thanksgiving, finals, christmas activities… all without him. it was awful.

i’ve got five more nights until you're next to me, four more days of being lonely, three more wishes, i can barely breathe, if i can make it to christmas eve, then it's one more sleep

your house was decorated, candles were lit, the fire place was blazing, the christmas lights on the tree, along with a couple of lamps, dimly lit the space, the presents you got for jake and yourself were wrapped and set under the tree. the mood was right. it was christmas eve and you were snuggled up in a sweatshirt of jake’s, under a christmas blanket, with a christmas mug containing hot chocolate. you had some cookies, pretzels and other snacks for your christmas movie marathon.

you weren’t sure you wanted to sleep, but you knew you needed to so you could be well rested to spend every minute with jake the moment he stepped through the door. so after a biltmore christmas ended, you turned off all the lights, except your tree, turned off the fire place and made sure your house was locked before you went upstairs to your room. your heart was pounding. he’d be home so soon and you wanted to be awake when he arrived.

you woke, a bright smile on your face. you took down the last note from your wall of sticky notes that jake left to count down until he returned. you turned on christmas music and got all dolled up for your lover’s return. you curled your hair, did some gentle makeup, put on your holiday sweatshirt and socks with leggings to keep it comfy.

you knew jake would be home in a little bit so you waited to eat until he got back, settling on a cup of coffee, obviously with peppermint mocha creamer. cleaning somehow calmed you down, so you fluffed pillows, dusted spaces, made sure the dishes were done and put away to ease your racing heart.

after a few hours, the house was cleaned, christmas jazz played softly in the background, your christmas candle was lit. there was a gentle knock at the door. it had to be…

you squealed before rushing to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. there he stood, handsome as ever. his hair was a little messy from the wintery breeze, his backpack hung on one shoulder and his duffel bag sat at his feet. “hi honey.” he said. his voice was even sweeter in person. you couldn’t contain your smile.

there was a moment of you drinking him in, him doing the same to you. you squeaked again, doing a couple happy jumps before leaping into his arms. he held you tight. you cried into his shoulder, so relieved to be able to hold him and feel him and smell him again. “i’ve missed you so much!” you cried. “i missed you more my love.” he wouldn’t let you go and you weren’t letting him go either.

“merry christmas.” he set down his backpack to give you a full hug. your heart was full and so was his. he pulled back a little and touched his nose to yours. your eyes fluttered closed, the cold air being a stark reminder that this wasn’t a dream. he was home to you again.

his lips gently touched yours, almost asking for permission. they were warm compared to the icy prickle on your cheeks. you relished this kiss, you missed his kiss while he was gone. it was what you looked forward to the most upon his return. your arms wrapped around his neck and his locked around your waist. you couldn’t get enough, you kept pulling each other as close as you could. he gently let go, smiling as he rested his forehead on yours. “merry christmas honey.” you responded.

he picked his backpack up on his shoulder, stooped down to pick up his duffel bag and scooped you up in the process, holding you tightly to him to finally get inside. it made you laugh while he dropped his bags right inside the door.

he straightened, one arm wrapped around you while you rested one on his stomach. he admired your home with a bright smile. “aw honey, you decorated!” he cooed. “well i had to do something to try and keep my mind off of you not being here.”

he squatted down to wrap his arms around you, standing up again so you were off the ground, “all for me?” you laughed, holding his face in your hands, “it’s always for you my darling.” “awww, you’re the best.” he grinned before kissing you tenderly once more.

a/n: i hope y’all had a lovely christmas time and i hope you loved this! i have a bradley one that i think i’ll post here in another day or two!! i’ve been so busy lately but i’ll try to get to posting more! love and snuggles!! ❤️🎄🎁

[cinnamo6]

Friendship’s not in the field manual.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

warning(s): angst, no comfort (yet..)

a/n: trying my hand at a new format. Not proofread/probably grammar mistakes

You’re convinced Ghost hates you. Downright despises you.

Sad? Yes. Exasperating? Most Definitely.

Hard to be at the top of your game when you’re convinced your own Lieutenant thrives off your suffering. You were the new bright eyed rookie hacker for 141. Picking up where they fell short in the technical field. And yet somehow Ghost had managed to make you feel incompetent on good days, and just plain miserable on the worst.

You’d long accepted that he’d never like you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother you. Every single attempt to be friends was shot down. At least he wasn’t lying when he said he had a cold heart. It was unbelievably frustrating and you were reaching your limit.

And did.

That day you felt like the world was truly against you. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Waking up feeling just plain awful was a great start for sure. Finally finding the strength to drag yourself to the kitchen only to somehow manage to spill coffee all over yourself and your belongings, tech included. The coffee was hot enough to leave a painful burn, and there was no doubt your laptop was completely destroyed. You tried not to cry on your way to the medbay, you felt pathetic limping to and from. The walk of shame indeed.

After cleaning up the rest of the mess and at least trying to salvage the rest of your belongings that fell victim, you decided a change of clothes would do some good. Your only priority now was to Avoid. Ghost.

The last thing you needed today was his shit.

Normally you could take what he dished out, but today whatever he had in store would most definitely destroy you. Which is exactly why you froze you heard heavy foot steps approach you. You didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

“Sergeant.” His tone made you wince.

You’d missed the mandatory meeting. He was really gonna let you have it.

You held your breath in preparation, and stared down at the floor.

Just hold it together and break down later.

“What? Can’t even look at me? Fucking pathetic.”

Hold it together. Hold it together. Hold it togeth-

“Look at me.”

As long as you don’t look him in the eyes you’ll be fine. You can do this. You’ll get out of this in one piece.

“In the eyes, rookie.”

Christ if he wasn’t so damn scary.

You somehow worked up the nerve to finally look at him and met instant regret. His eyes held so much anger, and knowing it was directed at you was terrifying. This man must really, truly, hate you.

You couldn’t stop the tears as soon as they began. You missed the way his eyes widened, even if only by a little bit.

“Why do you hate me?” You sobbed. “I just don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

He saw your hands shake as you frantically wiped your eyes, in a hurry to get away from the room, from him.

“Love, I-“ he started, but you had already disappeared.

Oh he fucked up. Big time.

[page-matcha]

cafe manager!taehyun x cafe worker!reader

warnings: smut, slightly public sex, swearing, spanking, not actually that much smut, barely edited ���

a/n - I wanted to write something to try and get over my writers block c:

---♡

Working at a popular cafe is hard. So many customers rush in and out, there's barely enough room for anyone in the small room. And you, being a shy introvert, found it very hard to work as a full time cashier and talk to so many people in a day. But the job payed well so who are you to complain

You're fairly new to this job, so you're still not used to interacting with customers but you try your best. Today was particularly harsh on you though.

It was the usual morning rush. People lining up to get their morning coffee to help get them through the day. But for some reason you were so exhausted. So tired, so nervous, and there are so many people waiting for you to take their order. This felt like the hundredth customer you had just in the last hour.

"Could I have the weekly special?" The lady infront of you asked politely.

"Ah... sure. Whats the weekly special again?" You turn to look behind you at the drink menu while the lady looks at you with a confused but patient expression. "Oh right, that." You give the lady an apologetic look as you go to make her drink, stumbling over yourself out of embarrassment.

Your manager, your stupid annoying manger, laughed as he watched you. Taehyun. God, he was always on your case. Pointing out every little thing you did wrong and getting annoyed with you over the smallest things. So of course, what did you expect when he started scolding you for forgetting what this week's special was.

"God, y/n. You do this all the fucking time." Taehyun let's out an exasperated breath. "Look, I get you're new here but how could you mess up something as simple as that?"

"Like the name says, it changes every week. I'm bound to forget what it is at least once..." you grumble.

"You do this way too often. We need to do something about this otherwise you'll drive all of our customers away."

"That's a bit dramatic but ok.."

Taehyun asks you to stay for a bit after the Cafe closes. Apparently he knows a good method he wants to show you that will help you memorize orders better.

A few hours later you find yourself pinned against the cafes front counter, Taehyuns cock slamming harshly into you.

"What are the steps for making our strawberry lemonade?" He asks, sucking a mark onto your neck.

You whimper, tears of pleasure running down your face. "I-i don't know!" Your brain is turned to mush. You can't remember anything about any steps or recipe.

Taehyun asks you again, landing a hard smack to your ass. "What. Are. The steps?"

---♡

Lets just say after that night... you decided it would be better to just work in the back cleaning dishes instead.

[theladyheroine]

🍲 Soup 🍲

Movie! Shadow x Platonic! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Cozy, Some Comfort

Word Count: 1,940 words

⚠️ Warning: There’s nothing scary in here, but Shadow is hurt for a little bit. He’s okay though, promise!

Summary: Hey guys! So this is the first fic I’ve ever written on Tumblr, but I came up with this when I couldn’t sleep the other night. My mom has also been making alot of soup this week so I felt inspired! I hope you all enjoy, and stay warm!

The bitter wind sent shivers through your body as you struggled to get your key in the door. Grayish clouds fumbled over one another, but you managed to get inside before any rain fell.

“Hey bud! I’m back!” You called. Silence filled your home except for the sound of keys jingling against the broken lock. Two plastic grocery bags were filled to the brim with goods, but they soon felt like weights on your arms as you pulled. You tried one more time and the key popped out, sending you tumbling. 

A swift, sharp sound filled your ears and something pushed against your back. You gently moved forward and one of the bags on your arm was taken into gloved hands. To your right, a short black creature with big red eyes glanced up at you. A little frown sketched on his face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. You nodded and gave him a smile. 

“Yea, thanks Shadow!”

Shadow said nothing. He only hummed and grabbed the other bag from you. You set the rest of your things down before taking out a big bag of rice. Shadow didn’t say anything but you could tell he was curious, his little red quills shuffling in the corner of your eye. He watched you take out the ingredients one by one, only stopping to look at a giant red pepper. 

It had been over a week or two since you found him, after he crashed your fishing trip. Literally: he had crashed through your rowboat sending you flying along with it when he fell from the sky. He would’ve scared the living daylights out of you if he hadn’t been injured, but after fishing him from the lake you took him home. Which was—an “interesting” experience to say the least. 

He was asleep for a few days at first, but any wounds he had were dried and bandaged. Which he did not like: once he woke up, he glared and growled when you came in to change them. He even teleported outside the house, leaving you speechless as you tried searching for him. After a few hours he eventually came back before sundown, but didn’t speak a word. 

The idea of taking him to the authorities or some kind of clinic seemed like a bad idea. Especially if he wasn’t fond of people, but he couldn’t get better if someone didn’t help. So you took baby steps. 

He wasn’t a picky eater thank goodness, so you left food on a tray outside your guest room. You tried making it healthy, sandwiches or salads were an easy meal and pretty good for the body. You hoped he was able to eat human food but luckily he did without a fuss. Leaving empty dinnerware and only a few crumbs. And blueberries if you served it, for some reason he didn’t like those. 

Once he started healing he was up and about. Mostly to return his dishes or wash his hands in the bathroom. You tried making conversation then, introducing yourself while you made dinner and asking how he felt. Shadow told his name, only once, watching you pour two bowls of tomato soup. After his turn he teleported away. 

So the guy wasn’t a big extrovert, but that was okay! All he needed was time, and these past few days he seemed to be coming around. Having helped you put your things away whenever you came home or simply greeting you from the couch. One time you were even welcomed with a clean kitchen! 

Shadow’s presence was making you soft, feeling all the more eager to come home after a long day. You only hoped he felt the same, but you weren’t about to push him either. 

After putting the store bags away you took out a big blue pot and filled it with water. Letting it fill less than halfway, you hobbled to the stove and set it to a high temperature. Filling the rest of the pot with some store bought chicken broth.

“Shadow, can you get the scissors for me please?” 

In about three seconds he had the tool in his hand. You thanked him and went for the rice bag, cutting open the plastic and shaking about half of the rice into the pot. You threw in some salt and left it to boil, then dug through your cabinets for a cutting board. You managed to find one and grabbed the pepper, dicing it into little bits. Repeating the action with a large white onion. 

“[Y/N]?” You jolted a bit at Shadow’s voice, not fully used to hearing him. 

“Yea bud? What is it?”

His eyebrows furrowed, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. He glanced around and grabbed a celery stalk from the pile of groceries. 

“Can I help?” He asked, “I want to make dinner.” 

If you weren’t cooking, you would’ve jumped up and hugged him right then and there. He was just too sweet! 

“Yes of course you can! Here, gimme one second.” You quickly scraped your vegetables into the pot and brought Shadow over to the counter. 

“Okay, do you wanna cut some veggies?” 

He nodded. 

“Okay, but you’re gonna have to use a kitchen knife for that. Is that alright?” 

Shadow paused for a minute, then replied. “Yes. But how do I do that?” 

Wait—did he know how to cut veggies? You haven’t bothered to ask, seeing as he didn’t really trust you until now. He probably didn’t know how to cook anything, since you had been making all his meals. And you didn’t know where he had been, or what he had been doing since you two met either.

“Right!” You clapped your hands together, “Shadow I’m gonna help you, but why don’t you watch me do it first. Okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Shadow’s eyes softened and his serious look faltered. Letting a tiny, tender little smile shine through. He nodded again and took position beside the cutting board, watching as you sliced the celery stick in half before chopping the ends into cubes. 

“Now it’s your turn,” You scooted over. “Want me to help you?” 

It took some time but he muttered “Yes please.” and let you hover above his gloves. He hadn’t taken them off since you washed them, but they were somewhat of an off-white color. The shiny golden cuffs were still on his wrists though. Unlike the rest of him, they always gave off an energetic shine.

He flinched a little when you set your hands down, but showed no signs of leaving. Using your fingers to guide him, Shadow sliced the remaining half of the celery. Doing the same technique to the rest of them and plopped them into the pot. 

“Good job! Wanna try the carrots?” 

“Sure.” 

You placed the carrots on the board and Shadow cut them into little circles, scraping them into the pot. You stirred the soup a few times and placed the lid back on. After some time, everything was cooked and you changed the heat to a low temperature. Jogging over to the fridge, you pulled out a nice big bread loaf from this morning’s breakfast and cut it into thick slices. 

“You’re putting..bread?” 

“Mmhmm! It’ll make the soup taste better, trust me.” 

Shadow raised a brow, “But won’t it get, mushy?” 

“Huh?” Your eyes widened a little, but realizing what he meant you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Oh, no! This is like a side dish, we’re eating it with dinner. It doesn’t go in the soup.”

“Oh—”

His quills flared up a bit at the realization and he quickly turned away, crossing his arms tightly. A pose you were all too familiar with. 

The dark sky rumbled behind your windows as you pulled out some small plates. You buttered the toast and set them on the countertop before rushing back to the soup. Shadow had already gotten two bowls and was attempting to fish out some rice. He managed to fill the first one and handed it to you, then served himself. 

“Shadow, do you need some help carrying any of this? I know the soup is ho—” You were going to hand him his bread but turned to find Shadow missing. Another sharp sound buzzed and he was already seated at the table. 

“Actually, I was thinking I’d stay with you today.” He scooted over in his chair to make room for you, taking the bread from his plate. 

“Thanks, I’d love the company. But whatever makes you comfortable is fine with me.” 

The corners of his mouth started to curve upward, but it slipped away quickly. 

“Can, I ask you something?”

“Yea of course buddy, are you okay?” 

“Yes, I just…” He paused, glancing around the table as if the right words would suddenly appear before him. After a moment, he shook his head and turned to you. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” 

Okay that caught you off guard completely. Before you could even answer, Shadow spoke again.

“We don’t know each other. But this whole time, you’ve been taking care of me. I haven’t even said thank you.” He sighed, “You…You don’t seem to care though.”

You quickly wiped your mouth with your napkin before setting your hand next to his. You didn’t want to frighten him, but he looked like he needed some comfort. Slowly, you moved your hand closer. Shadow looked up for a moment but he didn’t flinch. You moved again, your fingers just barely touching his gloves. Then you gripped his hand gently, squeezing out any kind of distress.

Despite his stature his features were much bigger than yours. Yet, in a way, he felt like a small child.

“Shadow, I don’t need to know you in order to care for you. You were hurt, I wasn’t about to leave you all by yourself.” 

“And, I’m being nice to you because I want to. Because we’re friends.” 

His ears perked up at your last words. 

“W-Well if you wanna be! We can. Totally! Y’know be friends. I mean—not that you weren’t one to me, but we can be friends if you want to.”

Oh dear God, you were fumbling. You stuttered as you tried to come up with something proper to say. After all, you couldn’t make him be your friend, but you didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. You were about to let go of him but Shadow grabbed your hand. 

“I-I want to be friends [Y/N].” 

Silence shook your house before you spoke.

“You do?” 

Shadow nodded. 

“It’s…been some time since I had a friend. But one seems like a good place to start.”

You gave a small chuckle and pulled him closer, giving him a little side hug. He really was too sweet. Thankfully, he relaxed in your arms.

“I’d love to be your friend Shadow. And I’ll take care of you as long as you need. Okay?”

He looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

You gasped a little bit before stirring your soup. “We better hurry and eat though, or it’ll be time for bed before we finish.”

You took a big mouthful of rice, the spice from the broth sending some heat to your mouth. It felt so good! You ate a few more mouthfuls but then felt Shadow tug at your shirt sleeve. 

“Hey [Y/N]?” 

“Yea?” 

“My soup is cold. Can you fix it?”

“Pfffft!—”

You stifled a laugh but it easily slipped through. You picked up his bowl and headed towards the microwave.

“Don’t worry buddy, I’ll warm this for you.” 

❤️ —THE END— ❤️

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium AU Drabble - Slow Morning

I ended up deciding to write a tiny thing on this :3

Just for fun :D

No edit's or beta we going.

*----------------------------------*

Dust is laying in his bed. Nice and comfortable in his blanket. An old knitted one he and Ash found in a yard sale ages ago.

He sighs as he moves around a bit. His movement is limited but it is warm.

Dust relaxes as he just enjoys laying in his bed. The last job in the mansion filled up his money reserves. He had his coffee and smokes and put money aside to do groceries later.

Oh right...

He needs to actually get up and get groceries.

Ugh he just really doesn't want to.

It had been the first time in ages he had less stess the past week.

Normally Dust had to double check his accounting and money to make sure he could pay for his food and make sure at least the water kept running. The payload from the mansion job had meant he was able to actually pay his bills and pay rent again.

Getting a bit of a positive note with the landowner. Who was high beyond believe.

The guy may not be able to remember when people had to pay but he knows who paid him. Meaning as long as Dust pays him once ina while he stays in the good books with the landlord.

Dust had been sure he did everything he had to do and could just lay in bed for the day. rest more and just sleep.

Sadly.

He has to get up.

Dust groans as he tries to stretch only to find himself still limited in movements.

Oh. Right.

He slams his left and right arm both down next to him. His right arm hits his mattress. but his left arm! that one strikes gold as he feels it connect with someone.

Nightmare chuckles "Good morning."

Dsut glares at him and tugs on his arm "Stop crawling into my bed. and let go."

Nightmare looks amused at the arm he has captured against his sternum "i mean. You gave me your hand freely." he smirks as he catches his hand and kisses it.

Dust continues to glare as he tugs harder on his arm "You know very well it wasn't giving anything."

Ngihtmare hums and shrugs as he lets him go "Fair enough." and Nightmare stretches out on the mattress and Dust makes sure he isn't staring as he quickly looks for clothes before just giving up. He needs coffee before anything else.

He leaves his room and stumbles into his living room. Just some coffe... then he will get dressed and smoke before going to get groceries and-

Why does it smell delicious in here?!

Is one of his neighbors cooking?

Dust looks around and notices that his house looks... cleaner? THe windows are all open and everything has been put away and cleared. the couch has his spare blanket and pillow still on it but the blanket is folded and put to the side with the pillow on top.

Any leftover dishes are cleared from the area and the floow looks clean? dirt free at least.

Dust looks over and spots Cross's body in the kitchen. by the stove making food.

Dust blinks and wlaks over "Cross? Since when can you cook?" He knows Cross never really cooked. He always ate with the other priests and can make some sandwiches and salads but not actual food. But it can't be Killer as Dust knows Killer can't cook at all. He confirmed this as well when they were both eating dry cereal.

Cross's body pauses for a moment before looking back at him and- wait... that isn't cross?!

Cross speaks calmly "Good morning Dust. I expected you to still be asleep." he turns back to the stove "Take a seat pelase. I will have breakfast ready soon."

Dust stares in shock. "Horror?"

Horror nods as he focusses on the food "Correct."

Dsut blinks. Since when does Horror possess Cross? Wait. He looks aorund and spots Killer glaring at Horror and Cross pouting with his arms crossed. Dust blinks and looks abck at Horror "Why... why are you possessing Cross?" Horror never did that before. Said he found it disrespectful.

Horror hums as he calmly cooks "After the last mission you were tired. And with us not being able to help you with your work or getting money I got thinking. I decided you should have a calmer morning, which included not being groped all night by either Killer or waking up wiht Cross's body half humping you." Killer shouts a loud hey and pouts wiht a glare as Cross hides his fac enad mutters about his body just doing it and him being sorry.

Horror looks amused at them before he continues speaking "Especially now there was money for actual food." he turns a bit "I already went grocery shopping for you with the money you put aside for it and cleaned the living room and kitchen. Once you got your breakfast I am going to take a look at your bathroom and bedroom." and he turns back to the stove.

Holy shit.

No offense to Cross...

But holy shit Horror should possess the body more often.

Dust gives a slow nod "okay... cool... I will just... euh... Coffee..." he moves over to his coffee pot and feels ready to cry when he sees it is already filled and it seems like Horror bought the good coffee?! Oh but those are so expensive but so good. Maybe... okay maybe once... he can just enjoy the nice treat for a while. He will buy the cheaper store brand when this one is all finished. He fills his favourite mug, a mug that looks like a silly slime from some game he used to like when Ash still had his old computer to game on. Dust deeply inhales the scent of coffee and sighs happily.

He takes his mug and grabs a smoke before going towards the open window. There is a chair already ready there with an empty ashtray.

He gets comfortable as he enjoys his drink and smoke in peace.

Oh it has been so long since he last had the chance to enjoy both of these. Money had been much too tight for him to indulge himself this much but after everything? He needs this so badly.

The door of his bedroom opens and Nihtmare walks out fully dressed. He takes a moment to study everything in the room before looking amused "Interesting..." he chuckles at how angry Killer looks before he moves towards the couch. He takes a seat and takes one of the many books Dust has on supernatural things and Nightmare starts to read it.

Dust finishes his smoke and leaves the ashtray by the window as he goes get a new mug with coffee.

Ash looks smug at Killer and Cross as he berates both of them for trying to violate Dust as Dust sleeps and Dsut goes back to ignoring them.

He fills his mug and Horror hums "Food is ready."

Dust blinks "already? Okay. euh..." he looks back and realises his tiny table is already set. He takes a moment to just wander over there and take a seat. He sip his coffee and a moment later Horror walks over as he balances a few plates.

Dust feels his mouth water as he stares at the stack of pancakes. the waffles with chocolate syrup. There is even a plate with french toast.

Oh gods he is so much more hangry than he thought he was.

Horror puts down a plate for himself as well before going to his side and putting downa glass with milk and another glass with orange juice "it is important to stay hydrated. and before i forget."

Dust suddenly feels teeth against his cheek and he freezes. The silence is deafening.

It is just a soft kiss to his cheek before Horror pulls back wiht a chuckle "There is interest. But I know you are busy and stressed. I just wish for you to know. Enjoy your breakfast." and he takes his own seat to eat his meal as he happily ignores Killer and Ash shouting at him.

Dust feels his soul pulsing fast as he tries to get his mind to catch up on what just happened.

Since... since when does? why does? Horror of all people?!

Dust ends up picking up his fork and eaitng a bite. Only to feel the fodo melt in his mouth and the intent to almost knock him over.

Care. Love. Affection as a whole.

It has been so long since he last ate food with intent in it. It tastes so much better than anything he has eaten since... since forever.

He hears a snort and looks up to see Nightmare looking amused at Killer laying it into Horror for trying to steal his one true love and future mate. and that Horror has no shame for trying this.

Horror hums as he eats another bite and mutters about it not being Killer's choice and an alternative is sharing.

Dust feels his mind pause as Killer just looks thoughtful. Cross looks horribly offended and embarressed as he stresses once again that they both need to stop using Cross's body to flirt with Dust.

Dust decides to just enjoy his breakfast. He has no idea when the next chance will be to get an actualy meal with intent in it.

He just enjoys his treat and happily eats the meal. Just a moment for him to enjoy good food, nice coffee and later another smoke.

Dust is selfish. He may not deserve these things but he wants them. and so he will enjoy them.