#because I was like... who raised you to think this way?

[toothfa-1-ry]

WON'T YOU HOLD ME, CONSOLE ME ?

You don't expect your boyfriend to hold you or console you when you find out your pregnant, but you also didnt expect him to leave you without a trace either

Has no correlation to the other preg!reader fic i posted !!

GENRE: angst

PAIRING: Choi su-bong x preg!reader

"Fuck" thanos groans with his head thrown back, his hands covering his face while he steps away from you

Your hold around your stomach tightens as you don't look up, keeping your gaze at the ground

"I thought you were on that shitty pill?" Thanos glanced at you before letting out a prolonged sigh

"You know that it doesn't mean a hundred percent protection" you argue, eyebrows furrowing slightly "it's not my fault! You were the one who-"

"I know geez!"

"Then why are you getting so agitated!"

"Because" thanos spluttered "because this is a kid we're talking about"

You pause, not being able to think of anything to say back, instead retreating your eyes back at your stomach

"And it's my fucking kid. Mine" thanos points at himself in the chest

"Is that why your mad?" You hate the way your voice trembles "because it's your kid and not some random bastards on the street?"

"Watch your mouth" thanos snarls "you know it's not like that, do you want me to say that it is?"

"Ah fuck" your voice a few ratios higher than it usually was, you could feel the lump in your throat forming

Thanos sighs again, his eyes softening as he glances your face and your stomach

"Aish your fucking kidding me man, your the one who started arguing first" he grumbles annoyed, but approaches you with his arms open anyways

You push against his hold at first, anger still flaring inside of you but you end up giving in pretty fast, so desperately wanting to be held

"Are the pregnancy symptoms already kicking in?" Thanos asked while pulling your head to rest in his shoulders "what a pain" muttering under his breath

"You asshole" you sob while your hands ball into a fist

"Hey your carrying the asshole's kid, i don't think your one to speak" thanos adds in quickly, frowning "Don't make this harder than it already is"

Despite Thanos holding you in his arms, you hit him with your balled fist, your face streaming with tears

"Hey stop" thanos frowns "stop before I seriously get mad" he grips your hand "im not mad right now, but if you don't stop i will"

You sniffle softly, your head laying on his chest as his eyebrows are still furrowed with concern over the recent news of your pregnancy

"What are we gonna do?" You ask amidst sniffles

Thanos allows you to lean against him, staring at the wall of the cramped room the both of you lived in

"I dont know" he mutters "we could go to the hospital? Try for a..." his voice trails off. You knew what he was referring to

This just makes your sniffles louden even more causing him to inwardly groan, he never knew how to handle emotions as such, most of the time just shutting up and holding you or something along that line but that didn't seem to be the brightest thing to do and even Thanos knew that

"Su-bong" you whisper, your hands snaking around his waist, pressing yourself closer towards him as if to shield yourself

Thanos winces softly when he hears you call his real name, he always winces when he hears his real name.

He let's out a rough grunt of acknowledgement "What?"

"I don't think I want a abortion"

"Well fuck baby, we can't afford it either way. It was stupid of me to suggest" he lazily responds, while resting his face above your head

"We can't afford to raise it too" you murmer causing Thanos to shift uncomfortably

"I know" he snorts "fuck"

"So what will we do?"

Thanos hears the imploring tone of your voice. Most of the time he was the one asking you that question. In your relationship you were the one who took on the role of the logical one, but here you were, asking Thanos something that you both didn't know the answer to

"I'll-" thanos breathed "I'll figure something out"

You look up at him, moving your face away from his chest, your eyes pleading

"You sure you want the kid?" You ask him

"Your already pregnant anyways, i can't do anything about it"

"This isn't a joke" you retort loudly

"Your the one who said you don't want an abortion!" Thanos also raises his voice

"We can't afford it anyways you idiot!"

"Well damn, it's like i didn't just fucking say that like 5 seconds ago" he thundered which immediately cause you to tear up again

Thanos tilts his head down, pressing his lips into a tight straight line, regretting his actions almost immediately

"Hey" his voice rough and deep as he called out to you "look at me"

He purses his lips when he sees you still refusing to face him, your hands hiding your face

"Hey" he says more softly as he moves your hand away from your face "im sorry okay, cmon just look at me"

Thanos leans his head against yours while he clasps his hand around yours

"I'll figure something out" he raspily breathed out "I'll get a day job, fuck it baby, I'll get 2 day jobs"

You had no strength to talk back, choosing to silently nod

Thanos kisses your forehead while he wipes your tears away

"I said I'll figure something out, so stop your damn crying okay?" He says playfully, in an attempt to stop you from crying

You nodd slowly, causing him to smile tightly

he kneels down, facing your stomach "im sure the baby wouldn't want to hear his mom cry huh?" He announces as if though he was talking to the baby

He looks up to your face to see your face, trying to make you laugh or smile or anything at all

"You better not be a shit ass kid" thanos pokes your stomach softly "cause of you, your mom's hormones are going wild already"

"Asshole" you breathed with a laugh "im crying cause of you, fucking prick"

Thanos grins as he looks up to you, standing up he grabs your hand

"I swear" he picks your hands up, placing a soft kiss "ill figure something out for the three of us"

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Finding a job was hard

Especially as a retired rapper who basically got fucking conned by some asshole on the internet

Fucking bitch

Thanos stays up awake, leaning against the wall of the trashy one room so called apartment that you both lived in.

He inhales his cyan blue vape while eyeing the cigarette burn marks that painted the wall

His head thuds against the dirty peeling wallpaper, while you layed asleep on the floor across him, only a thin blanket covering your body

A soft smile graces his features when he notices the slight swell of your stomach

That's his kid right there, that's the mother of his child right there

Thanos couldn't afford to marry your right now, he wishes he could.

Fucking hell, he couldn't even afford a shitty ring let alone a ring that you actually deserved, he'd marry you with a plastic bottle seal if he could but he knew that you deserved more,

Damn, you deserve so much better than him, so much more than what he could give you

The kid in your stomach deserved better too. His kid

Thanos's smile fades away, leaving behind a grimace when he notices that the blanket doesn't fully cover your body, noticing the colour far beyond faded and the material already thinning out

He immediately unzips his jacket, going forward to place it above your body. It was the least that he could do

Suddenly, a piece of paper falls out of the pocket, he notices it as the card from the strange man earlier

Just thinking about it pissed him off, he recieved more slaps than money

Holding the card in his hand, he turns it over, mouthing the number behind the card, he swallows nervously unlike him while contemplating whether it was worth calling

Slowly typing in the digits in his phone he places his device on his ear, holding his breath as the phone rings

Once, twice, the phone continues to ring, thrice, now going four times

Thanos sighs, bringing the phone down, ready to press cancel when suddenly

"In order to sign up to play the game, please submit your name and date of birth"

Thanos breathes sharply, his finger wavering above the cancel button while your sleeping figure which remained unaware of what raced through your boyfriend's head

"Fuck" thanos curses, he glances at you

Thanos's hands trembled as he filled in his details, his pupils dilated, his mouth dried.

He knew what you'd say if you were awake, scolding him for being so naive and believing but you didn't meet that strange man in the grey suit did you?

He bites his lips when he reads the address and time of where he was suppose to go, noticing that the last date of entering the so called games was the current date

"I wont be gone for long" he mutters softly as he stands up, placing a kiss on your cheek before heading towards the door

He puts his old shoes on, the only branded ones he had left from back in his rapper days, the one who had picked for him, the only pair he didn't sell

He slips outside quietly, before sparring you one last glance

"Wait for me, just for a little bit" he whispered with a faint smile though it didnt quite didn't reach his eyes

He glances from your face to your stomach "your dad will be back with shit ton of money, i'll make sure you both live well"

He pauses before closing the door, contemplating for a minute, it felt so wrong to leave just like that,

He didn't want to go, it felt like the wrong thing to do but he steps out of the house anyway

"Take care of your mom when I'm gone"

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

The next morning, you wake up warmer than you usually do, but you can't ignore the ever so persistent pounding of your heart

Your heart feels heavier than usual too

Noticing your boyfriend's jacket wrapped around you, you slowly wake up, looking for him

You look for him for the entire day,

it soon turns into 2 days and 2 days soon turn into 2 weeks

The bruise you recieved earlier that day after being chased down the street by some debt collectors begun to sting.

They didn't care whether you were pregnant or not, they just wanted the money you had borrowed from them back

And then that's when it hits you

When your standing on top cold floor of, with only your boyfriend's jacket left as a reminder of him,

He left.

He left without saying anything, without leaving even a single trace, he left not even with a single goodbye

He left you.

Your hand trails to your stomach.

He left the both of you

You sink down, legs giving out as your body trembles, you lie on the wilting cot that served as a place of comfort, sobbing, shrieking, crying his name out

Screaming anything that would have send him running towards you,

But no one comes.

Unbeknownst to you, at the very same time you fall on the ground, thanos's cold body is lifted up from the cold bathroom floor and packed into black coloured coffin

His eyes still wide open, his entire body covered in his own blood

When the guards strip his clothes away, they find something in his pocket

A plastic ring

it couldn't have been worth much, maybe from a kids toy, it left the guards puzzled

What would a person like Thanos be doing with a plastic ring in his pocket?

Perhaps you would understand it better

After all, he held you, consoled you. That prick even left you without a single trace

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I love your writing and have been a silent supporter for a long time but I was wondering if I could request something with one of the marauders (or all of them) having an oh moment, but not like an “oh I love them,” kinda thing but like an “oh I’ve made it” sorta thing? I don’t really know how to explain it well sorry, but like they didn’t think they’d actually be in this relationship or they didn’t think they’d get this far in life with them? I’m really sorry I’m just babbling on about something that doesn’t make sense but if you could find some way to write this or if I spark any kind of inspiration I would be so grateful!! Thank you for even considering and sorry for such a long request, love you! Can’t wait to see what you’ve got next! (But don’t overwork yourself! eat, drink, and sleep!!!)

Thank you for your lovely request angel! And thank you to @ellecdc for helping me figure out what to do with it :)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 639 words

James listens as your voice changes, drifting into the kitchen and back out again as you go to toss an old newspaper into the bin. You’re tidying as you talk, telling him about the book you’ve just finished. Not so James will read it, but so he’ll feel like he has. Simply because you like to share things with him. 

You gather envelopes from the dining table between your hands, flicking through them absentmindedly, pausing in your rambling to ask, “Do you need this notice?” 

“No, that’s alright,” he says from the couch. “Bin it.” 

Your table has become a mess. James doesn’t know when it happened. It’s the closest thing to the door when you come in, so it’s accumulated receipts, flyers, and anything else the two of you don’t want to hold onto when you get home. You sort it all into piles, voice a reassuring melody. 

Outside, the sun is going down. Syrupy golden light bathes you in a warm glow, coming in through the window like it was meant to find you. James is honestly unsure how he got so lucky. 

James Potter is no stranger to love. He was brought up to feel with his whole heart, and he knows how fortunate he is to have parents who raised him that way, and friends as good as he has, and a girlfriend so lovely. But this life.

There’s your mail, all mixed together on the dining table. And the meal you’ll likely share there later, maybe with the tall candles you were so happy to find on sale earlier in the week. You could have last night’s leftovers, or James could make you his mother’s pasta, which you love, and lean over the table to kiss sauce off the corners of your lips. Afterwards you’ll probably curl up on the couch to watch one of your shows. James loves that you have shows you watch together, loves that you wait for him to watch new episodes and always say let’s just watch one more when you’re already heavy and yawning against his side. He loves your flat, and your inside jokes, and all the things you don’t need words for. 

He wonders how often people get this lucky. That they just go and make the perfect life with someone without even realizing. 

“Hey, sunshine.” 

You look up at him through the aureate glow. You appear amused at the new endearment, not of James’ usual repertoire. You don’t realize how fitting it is. 

“Could you come here for a moment?” 

“What’s up?” you ask, setting down the stack you’re working on. You sit just where he knows you will, tucked up against his side. James wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in snug like a key fitting to its lock. 

“Nothing,” he says, turning to give you a proper hug. You let him half haul you onto his lap, your hands on his shoulders and his face in your neck. You smell like home. Like your lotion and the bathroom after you shower and lazy Sunday mornings. 

“James.” Your voice is a happy hum by his ear. “What’s this about?” 

“I love you.” He nuzzles underneath your jaw, relishing your surprised laughter. “I love this. I love us.” 

Your fingers burrow into his curls. “I love us, too,” you say, softly. 

“Do you want my mum’s pasta for dinner tonight?” 

“Ooh, yes. Always.” You pull back from him, holding his head still so you can look at him. Your thumb draws a loving semicircle by his temple. “I was thinking I could light those candles I found.” 

James beams. “I thought you might.” 

You give an odd smile back. Bemused, but also horrendously besotted. “You’re being weird.” 

James kisses you sweetly with a smile still on his lips. “Only for you, my love.”

[summertimesadnessirl]

This is astroturfing.

Your 8 year old child is not going to turn out to be a misogynist because of girl boss horror movies.

Your 8 year old child is not going to turn out to be a misogynist because women online don't want to play along when men mass gaslight people into thinking they should accept bad treatment.

Your 8 year old child is not going to turn into a misogynist because some adult women don't want to date men anymore.

Your 8 year old child is not going to become a misogynist because some adult women don't want to allow their adult male friends to proposition them for nudes when they have a bad day or because some adult women don't want to be asked out by adult men in public when they are signaling non verbally that they don't want to be approached and trying to teach non verbal cues about it.

Your 8 year old child is not going to become a misogynist because he hears some adult women talking about their lived experiences with ex partners.

If your 8 year old child becomes a misogynist, it will be because of the multi billion dollar social media astroturf campaign currently being waged online that is trying to make adult men into misogynists so that they can legally take away women's rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

By the time your 8 year old child is old enough to vote, likely a lot of those votes will have already been cast and the world will look very different right now, one way or the other, than it does right now.

But right now, your child is 8.

I'm sorry for being old fashioned, but your 8 year old probably shouldn't have unrestricted access to the part of the internet that is filled with billion dollar propaganda machines that want him to become a misogynist. He also probably deserves at least 5 or 6 more years where he regularly has dialogues with people in his life who can help him process and contextualize the media he consumes pretty often. If you can't do that on your own, maybe you should pay for a male therapist or sign your 8 year old child up for big brothers big sisters or ask some of his trusted male relatives who are not misogynists to spend more time with him. It also might be a good idea to get him used to talking to women you know who are safe and who are feminists and who are able to be kind to him and model boundaries and positive reinforcement of community social norms with your child.

It is not an argument that I believe is in good faith and not part of the aforementioned astroturfing campaign that you truly think that a kid who can't even do algebra should have unfettered access to the parts of the internet where women talk about their lived experiences with misogynistic behavior and attempt to warn others or vent about how to solve problems, though. I think a parent probably doesn't raise a kid for 8 years and believe that. At least I hope not. If that's true in your case, my guess would be that your kid is used to being given access to confusing or age inappropriate situations and content and will wind up overly mature for his age, if anything.

Y'all have got to stop virulently hating men. Like, I'm sorry, I fucking hate the patriarchy too, but the patriarchy isn't just men and saying it is just exculpates complicit women. I am the mother of a young boy, and I look at this precious, empathetic 8 year old boy I'm raising and I don't know where online is safe for him. Places like this will say he's evil just for his gender, and other places will say "we'll be your friend if you hate with us," and still others will radicalize him in other ways. Where is he supposed to go? Why are we saying the radicalization is the fault of the kids just trying to find a place to hang?

Like this is seriously getting urgent. You have got to fucking stop conflating the patriarchy and men. 53% percent of white women voted for Trump. Men aren't the problem. White supremacy and Christian patriarchal structures are two examples of patriarchy-reinforcing structures that aren't solely couched in maleness. Men aren't the problem, and pretending they are drives more men into more welcoming extremist spaces and also ignores all the parts of this that are forwarded by people who aren't men.

What I see happening all over is scared, depressed, lonely people looking for someone they're allowed to hate automatically, unquestioningly - someone they're allowed to place all the blame on. Fascism says people of color, non-Christian people, queer people, etc., are the ones they're allowed to hate.

And way too many of yall answer that no, it's leftist to hate men instead. You are doing *the exact same thing they are.*

Fucking knock it off.

The answer is we're not supposed to hate anyone automatically based on their immutable personal characteristics. Hate the specific people who've hurt you. Hate the self-reinforcing systems that let them get away with hurting you. Hate the strangers who prop up those systems. Hate the fascists. Hell knows I hate Donald Trump, but it's not because he's a man, it's because he's a piece of shit.

Hate the pieces of shit, not the gender.

But don't hate men just because they're men. That's unhelpful, stupid, insane, and entirely counterproductive. Fucking. Stop.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri can't help but gush about his girlfriend in every interview, effortlessly weaving you into his conversations with pride and admiration

( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

Oscar Piastri had a habit—one that everyone in the paddock noticed almost immediately. He couldn’t stop talking about his girlfriend. And not just in the offhand, casual way people might expect, like a passing mention here or there. No, when Oscar talked about you, it was like flipping a switch. His entire demeanor softened, his eyes lit up, and his words came tumbling out with an earnestness that left no room for doubt: he was absolutely, irrevocably smitten, and he made sure the world knew it.

It started innocently enough during an interview early in his rookie season. The journalist had asked about his study habits for learning new tracks, expecting a typical response about simulator hours or reviewing footage. But Oscar, with that easy grin of his, took a completely different direction. “I mean, I’ve seen how my girlfriend studies for her exams, so this should be pretty easy,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “She’s top of her class, by the way.” The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression glowing with admiration. The journalist couldn’t help but chuckle, already mentally jotting down notes to find out more about this mysterious academic powerhouse who clearly had Oscar wrapped around her finger.

And that was just the beginning.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

During a fan stage Q&A, he managed to take things up a notch. A young fan asked how he stays calm under pressure, and Oscar didn’t even need a moment to think. He leaned into the mic, his face lighting up in that boyish, unfiltered way of his. “Oh, that’s easy. The other night, my girlfriend—she’s a top athlete, by the way—was prepping for this big event she had. Watching her manage everything so smoothly kind of puts my little race stress into perspective.”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate: a mix of cheers, laughter, and a collective ‘aww’ that made Oscar’s cheeks flush faintly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, like he hadn’t just melted half the audience’s hearts with a single sentence. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and the moment was all the more charming because it was clear Oscar didn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just telling the truth, proud and in awe of you as always.

But even then, he wasn’t done. “Honestly,” he added with a laugh, “if I handled pressure half as well as she does, I’d be unstoppable.” It was a line delivered with such casual reverence that it didn’t just make the fans smile—it left them convinced that Oscar Piastri wasn’t just a rising star in Formula 1; he was also a contender for the title of world’s best boyfriend.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then there was the time he was caught on McLaren’s YouTube channel, unabashedly gushing about how much he loved going shopping with you. It started as a casual behind-the-scenes segment—just Oscar and Lando killing time between commitments. But when the topic of hobbies came up, Oscar’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“No, seriously,” he began, animatedly waving his hands as Lando looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “She’s got this incredible eye for things. Like, we’ll walk into a store, and she’ll just pick something up and instantly know it’s perfect. I don’t even know how she does it.”

Lando, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your contribution to this magical shopping experience?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I…carry the bags,” he said with a proud grin. “It’s a good system.”

Lando snorted, muttering, “Golden retriever boyfriend,” under his breath, fully expecting Oscar to deny it. But Oscar, in his usual laid-back way, just shrugged and smiled wider. “I mean, if the shoe fits.” The clip went viral almost instantly, with fans agreeing that if there were ever a category for Boyfriend of the Year, Oscar was already a shoo-in.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then, there was the time during a press junket when a reporter asked him about his organization skills. The question was meant to highlight how drivers juggle their packed schedules, but Oscar’s response was anything but rehearsed.

He laughed, a warm, self-deprecating sound that filled the room. “Honestly, I would’ve been doomed yesterday if my girlfriend hadn’t reminded me about something I forgot. She’s the organized one in the relationship. I just…drive cars fast and hope for the best.”

The room burst into laughter, a few reporters exchanging amused glances at his candidness. But Oscar just grinned, his expression softening with the unmistakable fondness that always seemed to creep into his voice when he talked about you.

“It’s true,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to openly admit just how much he relied on you. And that was the magic of Oscar Piastri—his genuine, unabashed love for you turned even the simplest of conversations into something that felt warm and unforgettable.

Even in the most casual conversations with fans, you always managed to find your way into the spotlight through Oscar’s words. Like the time a fan brought him a book about racing during an autograph session. He accepted it with a warm smile, flipping through the pages for a moment before looking up. “Oh, my girlfriend loves reading,” he said, almost absentmindedly but with so much fondness it felt deliberate. “She’ll probably finish this before I do and then give me all the highlights. Saves me time.”

The fan giggled, clearly charmed, while the rest of the queue exchanged knowing smiles. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like mentioning you was the most natural thing in the world. And for Oscar, it was.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then there was the post-race interview after one of his toughest performances. He’d started the race in a dismal qualifying position, clawing his way through the pack to secure points in a way that left commentators breathless. By the time he reached the interview pen, his suit was damp with sweat, and exhaustion painted his features. But even then, the familiar warmth of his smile made an appearance as he approached the mic.

“You know,” he began, his voice still catching its breath but steady, “I think a big part of getting through today was remembering something my girlfriend told me.” His words were met with curious expressions from the reporters, who leaned in just a little closer. “She’s amazing at staying positive no matter what, and she’s always reminding me to focus on what I can control.”

He paused for a second, his gaze drifting toward the camera as if he was speaking directly to you. “So, yeah, this one’s for her.”

The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just an offhand mention or a fleeting thought. You weren’t just his girlfriend in name or title—you were his anchor. The way he spoke of you wasn’t just endearing; it was grounding, a reflection of how much you truly meant to him. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One of the sweetest displays of Oscar’s affection unfolded during a behind-the-scenes McLaren vlog. The team had been filming some candid moments during a break, and the camera panned to Oscar sitting in a corner, scrolling through his phone. His expression was soft, his lips curved into a barely-there smile. Then, as if remembering something, he nudged Lando, who was lounging next to him.

“Oh, look, my girlfriend,” Oscar said, holding up his phone. His voice was tinged with a quiet kind of excitement, like he’d discovered a hidden treasure he couldn’t wait to share. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the photo. “She sent me this earlier. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically against the couch. “Mate, you’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the amused grin on his face betrayed him. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it comes to her,” Oscar replied without missing a beat, his smile growing wider as he looked at the picture one more time before carefully locking his phone.

The clip went viral within hours of the vlog’s release. Fans couldn’t get over how sweet—and utterly smitten—Oscar was. Comments flooded in, praising his open adoration and dubbing him the “ultimate golden retriever boyfriend.”

But for those who knew him, this was just Oscar being himself. No matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always on his mind. And he made sure everyone around him knew just how proud he was to call you his. Whether it was your achievements, your quirks, or simply the way you lit up his life, Oscar never stopped finding ways to weave you into the conversation.

It wasn’t just about the words he said, though. It was the way he said them—with genuine admiration, unwavering pride, and a love so pure it could light up the entire paddock. His tone softened when he spoke about you, his expression grew warmer, and his smile turned just a little brighter.

If Oscar Piastri was the golden retriever boyfriend the world had come to adore, then you were undoubtedly his favorite human, his everything, the one who made all his happiest stories worth telling.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The atmosphere was electric at the Yas Marina Circuit, the tension so palpable it could’ve powered the floodlights. It was the last Grand Prix of the season, and everything was on the line for McLaren—the Constructors' Championship title hung in the balance. Among the sea of orange and black, you stood out—not just because you were there to support Oscar Piastri, but because you radiated an energy that seemed to magnetize the young driver to your side.

From the moment you both arrived on Thursday for media day, fans couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in your personalities. Oscar, always reserved and thoughtful, seemed content to let you take the lead, his quiet confidence complimented by your vibrant presence. When a fan asked how you two had met, you lit up with a mischievous smile.

“I adopted him when we were in school,” you said, glancing fondly at Oscar, who was shyly smiling at the ground. “I guess he just stuck to my side.”

Oscar, standing beside you, squeezed your hand in his as he chuckled. “Well, it’s hard not to stick to you. You kind of pull people in.”

Throughout the weekend, Oscar was a picture of quiet affection. Whether it was holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you, or resting his chin on your head during quieter moments, his touch was constant. Fans caught glimpses of him whispering things to you that made you laugh, your bubbly personality clearly rubbing off on him in the best ways.

When race day arrived, the stakes were high, and Oscar’s nerves were evident. But even after a dramatic first-lap collision with Max Verstappen that caused him to spin out and drop down the grid, you were still cheering for him like he’d just secured pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waved, McLaren had done it—they’d secured the Constructors' Championship. Despite Oscar’s rocky race, you were beaming with pride as he pulled into the pit lane. Seeing your smile waiting for him made every frustration of the day vanish from his mind.

After the podium celebrations for the team, a surprising transformation unfolded. Your extroverted energy seemed to seep into Oscar as if he’d caught your enthusiasm like a contagious laugh. Gone was the usual quiet and composed Oscar. In his place was a driver buzzing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he darted around the paddock.

He didn’t just take pictures with the team; he orchestrated them like a director at a photo shoot. “Lando, get over here! And grab that trophy!” he called, dragging his teammate into a chaotic group photo. When Lando least expected it, Oscar grabbed a bottle of leftover champagne and sprayed him without mercy, laughing so hard he had to lean on you for balance.

“You’re ridiculous!” you teased, wiping the champagne splatter off your face.

Oscar grinned wickedly. “Oh, am I now?” Before you could react, he turned the champagne on you, spraying it in a gleeful arc. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shouting as the fizzy liquid soaked your hair and clothes.

“Oscar!”

He set the bottle down and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek as if that would make up for it. “You look even better drenched in champagne,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. His giggles, boyish and utterly unguarded, filled the space between you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The two of you stood there in the middle of the celebration, drenched in champagne and surrounded by the joyous chaos of the team. Oscar looked at you, his face softening. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Even when it’s rough, you make it all worth it.”

You smiled up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

[feitanii-ll]

“ GUMI’S HOME!! “.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 …

✮ pairing: gojo satoru x reader (romantically). and megumi fushiguro x reader (platonically)

✮ synopsis: in which,, megumi comes to the realization over the years that he in fact does have a family. Or, raising megumi w satoru.

✮ contains: heavyyy flufff, long-term relationship w gojo, young megumi growing up :(, reader and gojo are the same age and get marrieddd. NOT LORE ACCURATE (kinda). ONLY SLIGHT SEASON TWO SPOILERS. crack-fix type dialogue. Megumi and Satoru scuffle. Not a lot of reader until the end. Uhhh, slight cursing. Centered around megumi’s POV!!

September, 2007

Upon first meeting Satoru Gojo, Megumi could confirm (with much confidence) that the man was truly an odd ball.

Like a snake, he slithered his way in with that cocky attitude. A stupid, smug grin and a bravado that made the little boy cringe. Crouching down before him to try and get on his level. Just who the hell did he think he was?

“You’re… fushiguro’s kid, yes? Man, you look just like him. It’s almost uncanny.” the silver haired male gets too close for comfort, thoroughly observing the boy as he mentally points out the similarities between him and his father. “It’s a shame you zen’ins are a bunch of deadbeats—“

“Do you, like, need something–?“ megumi butts in, voice sounding irritated in a way that says he ready to ditch this conversation completely, but curious as to what the hell he could possibly want from him. And just what the hell did “his” clan have to do with him? As if they even knew he existed.

“Well, yeah, actually. Fushiguro is—“

“—something Important.” He emphasizes just before he could finish his sentence.

“Just, about your dad— we aren’t on the best of terms. I ki—“

“Don’t care,” the ravenette huffs, and the sorcerer is surprised at just how much emotion is in such a tiny body. Or, lack there of.

“You.. don’t care?” The male pouts, hands dropping to his sides.

“Haven’t seen him in years. Nor do I remember his face, or what the hell he has going on. Why would I?”

Satoru’s lips purse, and his eyebrows raise in shocked amusement.

“Really. I’ll admit, I’m a little baffled,” he cackles in a way that has the boy frowning in disgust. “You’re stronger than I thought, then. Both physically, and mentally. I’m sure you see that within yourself, too, don’t you, Megumi?”

Megumi stares blankly, and the older boy takes it as a silent agreement.

“Well then! I guess I don’t have anything to say, after all.” With a slap to his knees, satoru stands up from his crouched position, his height shading the smaller boy from the sun. Megumi can now truly see him— the silvery stands of hair, pale skin, and though protected by the expensive branded sunglasses adorning his face, the uncanny, borderline disturbing radiant color of his eyes.

A blue too vibrant to look away from. It was far from comforting, really.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Megumi!” Satoru laughs, and because he has no damn sense of decorum, ruffles megumi’s hair, much to his dismay. “You stay outta trouble, ya hear?” He beams, a huge contrast to the disturbing news he was just about to break to the kid.

“Uh huh,” he hums, watching as he steps off. When out of sight, he scoffs.

“What a dummy..”

He doesn’t leave the area until the voice of his sister beckoning him over rings out through the alley from atop of the balcony. He takes a good look at where the sorcerer just was before slowly feuding his way back home, backpack straps clenched within his tiny fists.

──────

For a boy his age, Megumi is, for the most part, an emotionally intelligent, levelheaded kid. Other than a short temper, he’s always been good at simply ignoring the things that tick him off for the sake of his sanity.

But this? A grown man screaming out in the middle of a crowded street in front of a billion strangers? A very noticeably grown man, and a very obvious frightened looking child as the lanky weirdo sprints towards him, ignoring the cries and disgruntled curses of disagreement from the innocent people in which he shoves.

“Megumiiiii! Megumiii—!”

“Oh, no… no no no no no,” Megumi’s eyes widen, shaking his head to himself while simultaneously backing away slowly.

The calls of his name grow closer, and just as he turns on his heel to book it out of there, he’s tugged by the book-bag by an unnecessarily strong grip, and pulled backwards.

“Megumi, there ya are!”

A yelp escapes the boy as he’s lifted into the air, kicking his feet as he’s held like nothing, hanging by the armpits of his bag.

“Don’t ya know it’s dangerous to be walking home on your own like this? You could get kidnapped. Or worse, what if you get squished by car!?” Satoru gasps dramatically, arm extended out in front of him as he angles his hand so that the boy is facing him.

“Nothing—“ Megumi grunts, small feet kicking at the man’s torso to no avail, “is worse than this!”

“You make me sound like a monster.” Satoru whines in faux sadness.

“You might as well be!” By this time, the other patrons seem to dismiss the little scuffle as just a boy throwing a tantrum. For the most part, they aren’t wrong.

“Come on, I just wanted to check in on ya!”

“I’ll scream.” The boy deadpans, tiny fists shaking my his sides.

Satoru, pauses, the cocky smile on his face dropping slightly as a small bead of nervous sweat trickles down his temple.

“You won’t—“

“HELP! I DONT KNOW THIS MA— umpfff”

Satorus eyes widen as he clamps a large, sweaty hand over megumi’s mouth.

“Shhhhh shhh, alright, damn, kid!” He sets the boy back down on the floor, but still keeps his mouth clamped as he crouches down to his level. After touching down, Megumi goes quiet, but his silent rage is loud and clear as he glares and crosses his arms.

“Listen, I’ll make it up to ya with a an ice cream cone, huh? How ‘bout that? Actually, whatever dessert ya want, it’s yours! How’s that sound??” He questions desperately. After a beat, the boy nods, making the older man sigh in relief.

“Alright… now I’m gonna let ya go— fuck!”

With a gasp, Satoru pulls his hand back and clutches it to his chest. He glances down at his hand to see a curved row of lines engraved between his index and thumb, and he looks back up to see Megumi, spitting onto the pavement dramatically and wiping at his mouth as if he’d just consumed the worst thing imaginable.

After looking between him and the kid for a little bit out of pure disbelief, Satoru scoffs, “You little shit, you bit me!”

“You kidnapped me!” Megumi rebuttals, whipping around as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“I was having a conversation with you,” the sorcerer stands to his full height, cradling his hand as he rubs the stinging spot with pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows. “You’re just like your father!”

“Shut up, crazy! I wanna go where you wanna take me so that we can get this over with. I need to get back home. I’ve got homework—“

“After you bit me? Hell no—!”

“I’ll tell the cops!” Megumi points and accusatory finger, and Satoru is genuinely shocked at just how… difficult he was.

“Fine! C’mon..” he mumbles, now sulking as he basically lets the boy lead him to whatever dessert shop he desired.

For the first time, Satoru felt… defeated. Beat by a child, no less.

──────

That same day, Satoru finds out that megumi’s favorite dessert is mochi ice cream. At least, it’s what he can assume after being demanded to order 10 pieces, all various flavors, before eating them before the frost can even melt.

The duo sit in a red-leathered booth within a quiet dessert shop. The golden rays of sun spill through the large window pane, painting the walls and floors of the shop a rich shade of orange. The sunset meaning that he’d soon have to be taking Megumi home. Within this time, the two take the time to learn about one another. Satoru is surprised when Megumi actually seems interested and asks questions! Albeit, very rudely.

“So, are you like… homeless?”

“Nope!” Satoru purses his lips,

“Then why are you always around on the street?”

“Maybe I just like going outside?” His silver brows dip down in annoyance.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Yes.”

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“I do!” He shouts, to which the boy stares blankly.

“… I do” Satoru persists

“I don’t know why you’re still trying to convince me.” Megumi shrugs.

“Because—!”

The light bickering continues to flow through the area, though to Megumi, it’s honestly the most amusement he’s had in what seemed like a while. Long over due.

“There’s my best friends Suguru, and Shoko— I’m like, super cool with all my teachers,” The man lists off with his fingers, looking away in thought.

“And most of all, my amazing, beautiful girlfriend!”

“Oh—“ a shaky chuckle rings out between them. Escaping megumi’s lips.

Satoru whips his head towards the boy, not knowing whether to be shocked or offended at the blatant laugh at his statement. On one hand, he’s happy he finally got to break that tough exterior of the little man. On the other, he doesn’t believe he’s got a partner. Doesn’t believe he’s got you.

“Something funny?” Satoru grins, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat.

“There’s no way you have a girlfriend,” Megumi mumbles, shoving the last piece of mochi into his chubby cheeks. “Who the hell would date you?”

“Her, thank you very much!” He sits up, pouting. “And I sure do have a girlfriend. Soon to be wife, actually!”

“How muush ju pay ‘er?” The boy mumbles with a full mouth, still not believing a word he says.

“Nothing!” He gasps, offended. “I’ll have you know, her and I are very much in love. I’m sure you’ll meet her one day.” He huffs, confident.

Megumi shrugs, swallowing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. A bad habit, Satoru notices.

“Whatever. Can we leave, now?”

“Sure,” Satoru goes to move, but pauses. “Aht aht, wait. Before I forgettt,” he rummages through his pockets before slipping out a pen and swiping a napkin from the holder before scribbling something down.

“Boom! That’s my number, and home address. In case of emergency.” He slides the napkin across the table. And though Megumi silently judges the sloppy writing, he simply sighs and pockets it.

“Sure, thanks.” He mumbles, and the two slip out the the booth, Satoru ruffling his hair just as they walk out the shop.

Satoru was.. weird. But he wasn’t bad. Megumi glanced up to Satoru, who looks as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he he walks the boy home. Lost in his own stupid world. What was the end goal here? To be a babysitter? An older brother?

‘And the stupid address. Like I’d ever need that stupid thing.’ He thinks to himself

──────

2 days after

Right now, Megumi hates that the world is seemingly out to test his already thin patience. Of all of the beautifully sunny days this week, this had to be the one day in which it’s pouring raining.

And the weather wouldn’t usually bother the boy, if when he had gotten home, he had actually felt his home key in his pockets. He pats his shorts frantically, eyes widening when he can’t seem to locate them. His frustration grows as the weather grows heavier, rain pouring just slightly harder.

“Don’t tell me…” he groan to himself, simultaneously pounding in the front door with one hand as the other searches for his keys.

“Tsumiki!” He shouts, but to no avail. “Hell… I forgot she’s out the house.”

Feeling hopeless, Megumi slips his hands into his pocket and kicks at a rock, groaning. Only then does he feel… something, in his pocket. He furrows his brow, pulling out the item and pausing.

The napkin.

──────

Everything in megumi’s being is dreading knocking on this damn door. A fairly large, but simple house with a wooden patio. It’s kind of.. out of the way, which he finds surprising, knowing how dramatic the male is.

He sighs, double- checking the napkin again before sighing. He wipes his wet face, now sheltered from the pouring rain as he stand in the patio. With a hesitant hand, he knocks three times.

He almost thinks he didn’t knock loud enough as there wasn’t any sign of movement for a while, until he sees the light just to the side of him turn on through the window. Then, the soft padding of footsteps. A pause. And then suddenly, the door creaks open.

And before he can be displeased by the face of Satoru Gojo, his annoyance disappears when the sight of a woman appears instead. Confused, shocked, and curious as to what he’s probably doing here.

“Oh… sorry. Must have the wrong house.”

The lady stares at him with pinched brows, as if trying to put pieces together as to who he was. He pushes his lips into a thin line and begins to turn on his foot before the voice cuts him off.

“Are.. are you Megumi?” The woman asks, as the boy turns, surprised. How..?

“Uhm, yeah—“

To his shock, the lady straightens up, in an odd excitement. “Oh my goodness! Megumi! Come come, it’s pouring out here! What are you doing out here in this weather? Honey—!”

He watches as you turn your head over your shoulder and call out for… for your husband? Boyfriend? Wife? He didn’t know.. his brain was trying to piece together where all this excitement was coming from from this stranger. And… if this was Gojo’s home, then—

As if on cue, there’s a heavier thumping from behind the woman. He watches as she smiles, but Megumi’s expression is the exact opposite as the face of that… monster, pops up over the woman’s shoulder.

Immediately, Satorus face is etched with excitement, and he smiles.

“Megumi!? Whatcha doing here, kid? Come inside!” He chuckles, and as if he’s in auto pilot, tiny feet shuffle their way through the door. He can’t even take in the beautifully places decor. The house plants, the smell of fresh clothes and lemon. The in-taste furniture— no way this was his home.

“You.. you live here..?”

He glances between Satoru and the woman, and drops his mouth in shock when he approaches her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing a kind kiss to her cheek, to which he smile. Grins, actually.

“We, live here, actually.”

Megumi doesn’t like that tone…

“Is this..?”

“Megumi, this is y/n. My girlfriend of three years.”

You laugh at the shock on the kids face, shaking your head. “Hopefully he hasn’t been giving you any trouble, Megumi. I only knew you from how much he talks about you, it’s good to finally meet you. Will you be staying?”

For the first time, Megumi felt defeated. And as he looks at Satoru a stupid, smug face— he begrudging responds to your kind offer.

“Yes… please, if you don’t mind.”

[spidercat2099]

Nanami single dad au

Fluff-ish, Nanami’s sweet as hell in this

The blond man in the office always kept to himself. He was a hard worker and hardly talked to any of the other coworkers unless it was necessary. That's why, when you asked him out, he was in utter shock. Why would you want to go out with him out of all people? He asked himself.

He didn't say no though. His eyebrows raised and he asked you to clarify that you were actually asking him out.

"It's alright if you don't want to-" You began, but he cut you off quickly.

"No, no." His hands waved you down. "I'm..." He thought for a bit before speaking again. "I'm free Friday night. How does 7:30 sound?" He asked.

"I would like that." You responded, a slight smile tugging on your lips as you were excited he accepted. You were already picking out your clothes and looking for a new makeup look to impress him.

...

You'd been out with Kento for a couple of months already. It seemed like things were going well until he put on a serious face and cleared his throat.

"Miss y/n, I have to be honest with you on something." he began to say.

Your heart began to beat quickly from anticipation. You were worried it would be something bad. "Go ahead." You nod.

"I've enjoyed spending time with you, but it has been selfish of me to keep this going without telling you the truth." It seemed like he felt really guilty as he looked down at his clasped hands on the table. But if he enjoyed time with you, what could be wrong?

"I... I have a kid." He said as he looked up at you through his glasses.

Your eyes widened. You hadn't really expected him to be a father. "A... a kid?" You blink.

"I assume you wouldn't have known that before you even asked me out. I understand it's not a situation any woman would be willing to jump into. So, I wouldn't fault you for deciding to not go out with me again."

You begin to think, was there a sign you missed? Was it obvious? Wait... does he have a wife? You snap out of your thoughts. "And your wife?" you asked, not realizing how blunt you sounded.

His face shot up at the blunt question. "She... she passed away..." He looked away, now having a solemn look on his face. "Like I said, I understand if you don't want to continue-"

"Do you have pictures?" you asked leaning forward a bit. His eyebrows raised in the middle.

"Pictures?" He asked.

"O-Of the kid... how old are they?" His hand hesitantly pulled out his phone. He wasn't sure what this meant.

"His name's Yuji. He's 3 years old. He's a troublemaker but he's a good kid." He looked through his photo app for that album he had of Yuji. You could tell he was proud to have him as he showed you the pictures, telling you the backstory of each.

If you didn't already have a fat crush on this man, you definitely did now. The way he smiled at his kid was too cute.

When he finished showing you the pictures, he set his phone down and sighed. "I... appreciate you being this kind to me. But as I said, I don't expect you to want to jump into this situation. You're a young beautiful girl who I'm sure will find a man who doesn't have someone else's kid. It's a big burden-"

"Kento..." You cut him off. You didn't want to hear him be so somber on his "situation". Especially when you think about how proud he is of his kid and how hard he must work for him.

"I... I like you a lot. You having a kid isn't some kind of burden. We're both adults."

"I know that, I just don't want you to force yourself into a role you're not ready for just because you want to be with me."

"You're not forcing me to do anything." you grab his hand. "I'm deciding I still want to go out with you."

"You... you are?" He seemed touched but also in disbelief. You nod. You always knew how to surprise him. He wanted to believe it. That you were different, maybe that you were even the one that he was meant to be with. You were perfect. That's why he hadn't told you sooner, he wanted to hold on to that fantasy a bit longer. But he knew he still had to be realistic. After all, you could change your mind at any point.

Later that night, he drove you home. He opened the car door for you as you stepped out. He leaned onto the car slightly as he looked at you. "You're a very lovely lady, y/n..."

You smiled, getting closer to him as you adjusted his already neat tie. "And you're a very lovely gentleman, Kento." Your hand then flattened against his chest as your eyes made their way up to his. His head was tilted looking down at you.

Slowly, you came closer and his hand came up to rest on your waist. Your lips slowly join together with his. For a second, you pull back, just to join them again but with a bit more passion. Your hand made its way to the base of his neck as he pulled you closer. It was getting harder to leave it as just a kiss goodbye.

You wanted him. And you wanted him bad. Your breaths mingled together as your heads tilted every so often to deepen the kiss. Hid hand couldn't help but make it's way down your waist, close enough to grab your-

Beep, beep.

His phone rang and he pulled it out. He breathed heavily as he read the message. "That's... the babysitter." He explained before putting it away. "I'm sorry. I have to go." His eyebrows tilted up in the middle, feeling guilty once again for cutting things so short.

You breathe out. "It's... it's alright. Don't worry about it." You step back a bit to allow him to leave. He wasn't sure but he knew it could very well be the last time you both go out, regardless of what you said. You could've just been trying to be nice and just let him down easy later or decided to ghost him. And he didn't like that this was how the night had to end.

...

Things had gone normally for the next few weeks. You'd talk to him whenever you could at work, spend breaks together, and go out on the weekends. It seemed like things were going well.

Then, one day. He saw you at your desk while some guy leaned over it and spoke to you. He looked like he was closer to your age. And he had you laughing.

Kento wasn't a jealous person, but for some reason, he felt a pang in his heart. Like you could be taken from him at any moment and his fantasy would go down the drain. Especially when he though that's what you deserved. A guy your age who you could decide to have a family with.

Instead of walking over to say hi to you like usual, he just passed by to go to his own desk. You hadn't even noticed, since you'd been busy talking to the other guy.

Later in the day, Kento heard your voice call to him. He looked up from his computer to see you standing next to him. "Hey..." He said with a soft smile.

"Hey... I know we usually go out on Friday's but I'll have to cancel today." His heart had that same feeling again. Could it be that you realized you'd be better off without him? That the other guy was better? Maybe you'd decided to go out with him instead.

"Oh..." He said, his eyes looking away from you now. That's the one thing he always looked forward to after work.

"It's not anything serious, I just-" Then your watch began to ring. You had a meeting to go to, just sparing a minute to talk to Kento. "Sorry, I'll talk to you after the shift, okay?" You said as you left.

Kento wanted to tell you he was leaving early. The daycare only had a half day today. Of course, you wouldn't have known that. You don't have a kid, you wouldn't keep track of when schools are open. So he decided to text it to you, seeing as he won't see you that day at all. He'd have to wait until you texted him back, or until Monday to see you again.

But you never did. Not that day. Not the rest of the weekend. Was he right? You were ghosting him? Were you that type of girl?

...

On Sunday, he went to the grocery store with Yuji. It was raining, but they were in desperate need of food. So he just zipped up Yuji in a cute yellow jacket, carrying him in one arm as his other hand carried an umbrella over both of them.

It wasn't anything special as he walked around the store with Youji's hand holding his. Except, he couldn't stop thinking of you and what you were doing. Why you hadn't responded to any of his texts. He'd read a can and slowly get distracted by those thoughts until Yuji pulled on his hand because he got bored of that aisle.

After long enough, he picked up Yuji again, the other hand full of groceries and the umbrella. As he turned he saw... you.

He froze for a second, unsure if it was his imagination. You didn't live on this side of town, why would you be at the grocery store here?

"Papa, are you gonna move?" Yuji asked, poking Kento's face. "Y-Yeah, we'll go home."

When you heard that familiar voice, you looked up. His eyes widened as he realized it was truly you. You were wet, with nothing but a sweater on to protect you from the rain. No umbrella, no jacket. Just the awning of the store you stood under.

"Kento?" You called out. Yuji looked at you too, unsure of what was going on. Why was it so quiet? He just wanted to go home.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing in your direction. "She's... a friend from work." You weren't fond of that response, but you knew how careful Kento had to be when the relationship hadn't even been established yet.

You were endeared by Yuji. He was even cuter in person. "Oh my God is that Yuji?" you got closer pinching his chubby cheeks gently. "Aren't you the most adorable thing ever?" Yuji definitely enjoyed the attention. He was giggling a lot.

"He likes you..." Kento said as he looked at his son's expression. "What are you doing on this side of town? You don't live near here." He couldn't help but feel curious.

"I left my phone at the office and the boss said I'd only be able to pick it up today. Halfway through walking here, it started to pour, can you believe that?" Your eyebrows furrowed as you frowned.

"Bad luck, huh?" he said, trying to keep it light although he was slightly upset with you.

"Don't get me started." You looked at him with a frustrated expression, but it also felt aimed at him for some reason? But he couldn't tell why you'd be upset with him.

You held your own arms to keep yourself warm again as you turned your body away from him. "My house isn't too far from here, we should get you out of this rain." He moved his umbrella so you'd be under it too.

"Fine." Although you were upset, you couldn't deny you were freezing, and the office was still a long walk from here.

The walk home was quiet and Yuji had fallen asleep in Kento's arm. As he grabbed his key and began to unlock the door, he began to say "I would've invited you here on better circumstances, but-"

"It's fine." You said, not bothering to sweeten up your tone.

He took that as a sign that you were upset and didn't push any further. He led you in. "I'll be back in a second, I'll just go put Yuji down."

You stood by the door, sopping wet. You didn't sit down, as to not wet his couch.

He came back with some clothes in his hand, presumably for you to change into. He chuckled lightly as he looked at your usually perfectly styled hair frizzing up into curls. "Curly hair?" he asked as his hand picked up a strand an grazed it. It was funny to him that you two had been seeing each other for a while and he didn't know until now.

You turn away, your hair falling from his grasp.

"Miss y/n, I can't help but feel you're upset with me."

"Why wouldn't I be upset?" You said as you looked up at him.

"I don't know. You haven't told me. If anything I'm the one who should be upset with you." His own eyebrows furrowed at your hostility.

"Upset with me? You blew me off on Friday." You defend.

"Blew you off? You said you were busy."

"I meant when I was going to explain why I was busy. I waited for you but you didn't show. Next thing I know, the boss tells me you left early and you didn't even bother telling me?"

"I did. I texted you. Several times actually, and you didn't respond to any of them. I understand I told you that you're not obligated to continue going out with me but I had at least expected you to tell me." His eyebrows tilted upward again. You could tell he was just upset but hurt too.

"That's not it at all! I was not ghosting you if that's what you think." You defend quickly.

"You... weren't? Then why didn't you send a text back?" He asked, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

"My phone had broken at the office and I wanted to go get it fixed on Friday, that's why I said I couldn't go on the date with you." You explained.

"That's why... you didn't get my message..." He realized. His hand runs through his hair in relief. You hadn't changed your mind.

"Why would you think I'd ghost you?" You asked, crossing your arms. Just a bit shaky from the cold.

"You're freezing, miss y/n. You should go take a shower and change." He lightly guided you to the bathroom.

"Kento, wait. You have to say why you thought that." You turned around to face him when you got into the bathroom. You didn't want him to get away with that. Did he really think you'd do that to him? He thinks you're the type of person to do that after a while of dating?

He sighed putting the clothes on the counter and leaning on the doorframe. "We can discuss it after you shower, okay? I don't want you soaking wet and freezing, you'll catch a cold." His thumb came up to your cheek to lightly caress it. "Please?"

Your cheeks tinged pink and your heart raced. You were still a bit upset but you couldn't help but be touched by him caring for you like that. "Fine," you mumbled, slowly closing the door and starting the shower.

...

You come out of the bathroom, practically swimming in his big clothes. He waited for you on the couch, reading a book in his comfy clothes as well. He looked up at you. "Too big?" He asked, holding back a smile. It was a bit attractive seeing you in his clothes like that.

You scoff, also holding back a smile. "Only cause you're too big." You walked over to sit next to him, not too close. You bit your cheek as you continued to hold your grudge. "So?" You asked, glancing at him. Hinting for him to explain now.

He sighed. "It's not anything against you, y/n. I just... haven't had the best experience with these things. Usually, women run at the first hint of me having a kid. That's why I gave up dating for a while. And when I saw you with that guy, I thought you might've changed your mind..."

You raise an eyebrow. "That guy?" You had to recollect your memories to figure out what he was talking about.

"On Friday. He was by your desk and making you laugh and everything. I thought you realized you'd be better off with someone like him."

"You thought I ditched you for him?" You asked, a bit in disbelief. Sure, maybe a different girl would've but... you were head over heels in love with Kento. Some random guy wasn't gonna change that. "That guy... has nothing on you, Kento." You admit. Your hand reached for his. "I told you, I like you a whole lot..." your eyes move from your hand to his face. "Do I not say it enough?"

"Well..." his ears began to heat up. You said it more than enough. "I just thought since we haven't established anything yet, you'd still look for other options. After all that would be fair."

"Are you looking for other options?" you ask.

He shakes his head slowly.

"The only reason there isn't anything established is because you haven't asked for me to establish it." You explain.

"Would... you want that?" he asked, his hand tightening its grip on yours a bit. You nod in a way that says 'duh'. He was usually a smart man, hell, he was the best employee in the company, but for some reason, he always second-guessed himself with this relationship.

He got up, not saying a word as he left. You were left a bit confused, you weren't sure where he went or if he was coming back.

But he came back quickly. He had a bouquet of roses in his hand and a box. Your eyes were wide. "This was meant for last Friday. Unless you'd like me to wait until next Friday. We're not out or well dressed so maybe it's not the best-"

You cut him off again. "What's that for?" You asked, looking at the things in his hand. He sat down next to you. "I was going to ask if you wanted to... be my girlfriend?" He asked. He placed the flowers on the table and handed you the box. "It's a necklace."

You were in shock. You really missed out on a great proposal just cause your phone broke? "Kento, you're so sweet. Of course, I would."

You placed the necklace next to the flowers, kissing him immediately. "I'll... do it again on Friday..." He said between your kisses. You didn't care. All you cared about was him. "New flowers... dinner... I'll ask again... make it special..."

...

You were nestled into Kento's arm as you both watched a movie. Kento fell asleep first. So he didn't notice when Yuji came out of his room searching for him. He dragged his blanket on the floor as he rubbed his eye.

Without a word, he crawled into the space between you both, nuzzling into Kento as he placed his own blanket on himself. You couldn't help but feel this sweet moment was exactly how your life was meant to be.

[taxi-cab-to-slowtown]

This is ESPECIALLY hard for someone who grew up in a fundamentalist religious setting and is trying to deconstruct a lot of the things that I was taught to do/ways to behave. The amount of hate I've seen about things and the amount of pushback about so many things that are harmless is actually what is harmful. Because I already have moral OCD because of the way I was raised. "Morality" as defined by those around me was weaponized for control. On one hand, it's much easier to figure out what is and is not that same kind of action from that experience, on the other hand, it's like I've been pre-programed for it to work on me. Even when I fight against it I end up with guilt sometimes for things that are innocent and fine that I have to the re-overcome.

Shitty people are going to be shitty. If someone is telling you how to behave, stop, step back and think why. Or, ask them. And this is advice for anyone in any situation, if you're online, with your parents, etc etc. If you ask someone "why is this rule in place" or "what exactly is this rule/the intention of it" and they cannot give you a clear answer, or if they answer "because I said so" they're probably just trying to control you and they don't want to admit that. I'm not saying if you're a kid with a parent giving you shitty rules you should just ignore them, but keep in mind why the rules are trying to control you what they get out of them, and if you're safe in that environment. When I started using this method I started deconstructing how awful the things that were happening to me truly were, and was eventually able to get out. It sucked, and it still sucks (being homeless in college is not a walk in the park) but I'm freer now and I'm able to make my own choices and not be controlled.

idk i think a lot of the online left is people swindling each other into developing moral ocd for no reason

[hanniebaeee]

Neon Heat

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings : drinking, making out MDNI

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, suggestive

Summary: You are at the pub with your friends, and you're confused by the signs on the bathroom doors. But a sexy stranger helps you out, and then you go on to become more than strangers.

Ok, so this is a problem.

Your bladder is so close to bursting, the two beers you had with your friends demanding an immediate release. You don't understand how your friends have already started on the third one already. 

But now staring at the bathroom doors, you are trying to comprehend which is which. Obviously you've seen those signs before - in your biology textbooks.

But seeing it on bathroom doors? You're confused. And being tipsy isn't helping your situation either. 

One had a circle-and-line (♀️) symbol and the other had some kind of arrow sticking up (♂️).

Which was which?

Your brain tries to connect the dots through the haze of your tipsy buzz. Circle… arrow… wait, what? Who thought this was a good idea? You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes as if staring harder would magically give you clarity.

“Need some help there, love?”

The voice startles you, deep and smooth with a hint of teasing. 

You turn to see the owner of the said voice. He's tall and leaning casually against the wall with his dark hair framing his face neatly. He was dressed in all black - looking way too classy and sexy to be standing here with you. 

His brown eyes sparkle like he knows exactly what kind of effect he is having on you. And even under the dim lighting of the rest area, you can see a dusting of freckles over his skin. And it made him look even more hot somehow. 

You blink, momentarily forgetting how to function as a human being.

“Uh - what?” you stammer, trying not to look as affected as you feel.

He grins and says, “The one with the arrow sticking up? That’s the men’s room. Think of it as a…you know...easier to remember.”

His eyebrows raise suggestively as he point upwards, and then he winks.

He winks.

You blush instantly, and you could feel the heat creeping down your neck.

“Oh. Right. Arrow. Up. Got it.” You nod like an idiot, still staring at him like he’d just descended from the heavens. “Thanks for that. Um.. I gotta-”

“Of course, glad to be of help,” He says, and you bolt into the right bathroom, internally screaming because that did not just happen!!

By the time you calm yourself (and your bladder) down and get back to your table, your friends immediately notice your flustered state.

“What happened?” Jennie asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Are you ok?” Jisoo adds, leaning in conspiratorially.

You take a sip of your drink, trying to play it cool as you tell them you're just tispy. Of course the playing cool part doesn't last long because Mr. Freckles was sitting at a table right across from yours, laughing with some other (hot) guys. 

You look away quickly, and try not to glance his way after that. Also failing, because the next time you do, he's already looking at you.

Oh yes, he is. 

The night rolls on, your friends chatting and laughing, but you are only half-listening now. Because his gaze is searing, heavy with intent, and you could feel it in your core.

He looks ethereal under the neon lights and honestly, it was starting to get to you now.

At one point, he leans back in his chair, stretching lazily, and tilts his head toward the exit.

The message was clear: Meet me outside. You watch as he stands up, and walks out, your eyes following him all the way to the exit. 

Your pulse skyrockets. Is this really happening?

This isn't something you do. You don't like casual relationships or hook ups. Hell, you didn't even know his name. But there was something about him that made you want to follow him out. 

Ok, so if this is how you die, then what a pity, because you are already on your feet. 

The girls look up at you, and Jisoo, the always the sharpest says, “If you're going home with him, I'm gonna be so mad.”

“Oh my God! I won't!” You hiss, cheeks heating up. 

“Don't have too much fun!!” Jennie sings as as you make a beeline for the exit. 

The cool night air hits your face as you step out into the dimly lit garden behind the pub. It is quiet except for the muffled bass of music thumping from inside. You barely have time to wonder where he is when you spot him. 

“Thought you might leave me hanging.”  

Bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, he looks gorgeous. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes was anything but relaxed. It doesn't look like he is here to play around.

“I wasn’t sure if you were-” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended. “I don't do one night stands or hookups or whatever.”

“Oh, I wasn't looking for one.” He steps closer, his smile returning. “You’ve been driving me insane all night. So I wanted to know if it was just me, or if you felt it too.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you.  

“What exactly did you have in mind?” you asked, trying to sound confident (your body is betraying you in more ways than you can count right now).

“I would take you out first. You know, buy you some flowers, take you out to dinner. Talk. If you're interested, of course.”

“Oh.” Loss of vocabulary - you couldn't think of a sentence to say. 

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“In our case, I think we'll have to shuffle it up a bit…” He says, before his lips meet yours soft yet firm, and yes. You're gone. Completely. 

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up as he deepened the kiss. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his tongue teases yours. 

And he responds with a low hum that vibrates against your mouth. 

The kiss turns heated quickly, his hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, earning a groan from him that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“God,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to be the death of me.”  

“You started it,” you tease, your voice breathless as you nipped at his bottom lip.  

He chuckles, but it quickly turns into a sharp intake of breath as you tug him closer. His hands slip down the curve of your hips, and he presses you gently against the brick wall of the pub. 

“What's your name, sweetheart?” he whispers, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that have your knees buckling. 

“Y/N,” you say, pulling him back up to your lips. “And yours?”

“Felix,”  

You lost track of time as the two of you melted into each other, the kisses getting more heated, and the feeling of his hands on your body getting more familiar.

Eventually you both pull back, panting and disheveled, and exchange soft smiles.

“So, about that dinner… does tomorrow sound good? I don't want to wait…” Felix asks, moving a strand of hair off your face.

You nod happily, and say, “Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I'll pick you up at 7?” 

“Ok,”

“And come prepared? ‘Cos I'm taking you home,” He says, his teasing grin back on again. “Maybe teach you a little about the signs…”

“Oh my God, Felix!” You laugh, and he laughs with you. 

After exchanging numbers, and one kiss too many, you two walk back to your own tables where your respective friends tease you endlessly for this. 

Jennie and Jisoo are on you for the juicy details and you give in, dying of happiness and also embarrassment - because honestly, this isn't how you pictured finding love.

As the boys start getting ready to leave, Felix glances at you, and you smile. That seems to have snapped something in him because he comes over to press a quick kiss to your cheek (making the boys go feral with laughter), and your own friends watched in amusement as you both said your goodbyes. 

“See you tomorrow,” Felix whispers. 

“See you,” You say, and watch him leave. 

And you squeal in joy making Jennie and Jisoo laugh. Because this feels great. 

Like it's meant to be. 

Divider - @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

[harrywavycurly]

Worth The Fight: Civil

Masterlist: Here

CW: language, arguing, angsty bits, pregnancy things

A/N: This one is a necessary sort of painful because we all know Harry needs a wake up call and this might just be it✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes

Summary: You ask Harry if he really wants to be a dad and it makes him rethink somethings everything and ends up with him having a impromptu therapy session with one of his bestfriends while you as usual pour your heart at to the only man that listens, Paris✨

Harry let’s out a groan as he tosses his phone onto the couch as he walks into his living room, not bothering to look to make sure it landed safely because right now he sort of wants to throw it at the wall and watch it break into pieces. Niall raises an eyebrow as he observes Harry from him spot on the loveseat, he watches with only a small amount of concern as Harry runs both hands through his hair giving it a few tugs as he lets out a frustrated sigh. Niall knows better than to ask questions when Harry is in one of his moods so he just sits back and lets his bestfriend pace the length of the couch with furrowed brows and what Niall would call an angry looking snarl on his face as if he’s fighting off the urge to hit something with the hands that are now balled into fists at his sides.

“Have you ever met someone who just,” Harry lets out a noise of pure aggravation as he pauses his pacing to look at Niall. “Makes you so irritated by just the simplest little thing but at the same time you don’t want to be mad or angry at them you just want to be around them and they-they keep making it impossible?” Niall rubs his lips together and nods as he watches Harry try his best to vocalize how he’s feeling in this exact moment.

“You mean someone who makes every emotion you feel seem like it’s dialed all the way to eleven?” Harry quirks a brow at Niall’s question as he places a hand on his hip. Niall just chuckles as he takes this as a queue to explain himself further.

“Like when you’re happy with them you’re the happiest you’ve ever been but when you’re mad it’s as if all you can see is red and you want to punch every wall in the house just to make yourself feel better and sometimes it’s like you’re always sort of mad at them and you don’t know why?” Harry nods his head as he turns and grips the back of the couch as he looks at Niall who seems to understand a bit of what Harry is going through right now emotionally.

“Yes it’s as if the only emotion I can feel around them is annoyance and it’s driving me mental.” Niall gives him a reassuring smile making him narrow his eyes into a glare at his friend who just laughs in response.

“Yeah Harry I’ve met someone like that.”

“What did you do about how they made you feel?”

“I asked her to be my girlfriend.” Harry feels his cheeks get pink at Niall’s answer, not expecting the person he was talking about to be his current partner. “Been going strong for a few years now so I’d say maybe get your head outta your ass and just ask this person out?” Niall suggests with a shrug making Harry let out a scoff as his grip on the back of the couch tightens.

“You’ve gone fully mental if you think that’s the solution to my problem.”

“The problem is you’re just mixing up your emotions that’s all.”

“What does that mean? I’m pretty sure I know the feeling of being irritated quite well thanks to sharing a tour bus with you for almost six years of my life.”

“I’m sure she’s irritating you but you need to take a look at why she’s making you feel like this. You said it yourself you just want to be around her and she’s making it hard right? How is she making it hard exactly?”

“Because she always has to be right and most of the time she is and instead of just acknowledging the fact she’s right I for some reason choose to say the stupidest shit and I end up back at square one.” Harry let’s out a sigh as he hangs his head down and closes his eyes as his mind flashes back to the conversation he just ended with you over text and how he just couldn’t admit that you needing time to forgive him for what he’s done is okay, he had to go and be the asshole you’ve grown used to him being.

“You wanna know why I think you really say the stupid shit you do to this poor girl?” Harry doesn’t bother to look up or open his eyes as he nods his head making Niall let out a sigh as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the tops of his thighs. “I think it’s because you’ve pushed your real feelings for her so deep down into yourself that the only emotions you have left to feel around her is anger and irritability. Not to mention you do bloody fucking hate admitting when someone else is right so her being right all the time probably makes you annoyed and it triggers you to say stupid and hurtful shit.” Harry slowly raises his head and opens his eyes so he can look at Niall who is already staring right at him.

“When the hell did you get to be so smart about all this kind of stuff?”

“You’re not the only one who goes to therapy you jackass.”

“Well it’s working wonders.” Niall just rolls his eyes as Harry bites his bottom lip as he tries to make a little sense of how he really feels about you. “I don’t-I don’t know how I really feel about her.” He admits quietly making Niall just nod as he stands up from the love seat.

“It’s the girl you met at that karaoke bar isn’t it? The one I met at Anne’s?” Harry debates in this moment if he should tell Niall just why you were at his mom’s house because maybe then he would understand why this whole thing is causing Harry so much stress.

“Yeah she’s uhm she’s actually pregnant.” Harry watches Niall’s eyes go wide as he turns his whole body so he’s facing Harry who is still gripping the back of his couch as if it’s the only thing capable of keeping him from collapsing to the floor in an emotional breakdown. “With my twins.” He adds making Niall’s mouth fall open but he catches himself a few moments later and closes it as he runs a hand over his face.

“Holy fucking shit.” Niall has both hands on his hips as he stares at Harry in pure shock. “You mean to tell me the girl you met at that bar and said you had a crazy connection with is the same girl I met at Anne’s and is also your baby momma?” Harry just nods and chews on his bottom lip as Niall lets out a huff. “And this is the girl you keep saying mean and hurtful shit to?”

“Yes Niall it’s all the same girl. She’s the one.”

“Yeah I’ll say she’s the one alight Harry you’ve gone and knocked up the girl you said you could picture yourself with after just one night at a fucking bar with her.”

“Don’t be so dramatic Niall I didn’t say that.”

“I’m not the dramatic one here mate. You said you can’t wait to see her again and even told her you’d call her the next day because you didn’t want to wait too long.”

“I would-would never tell anyone I’ll call them that’s tacky.”

“Let me just ask you something really quick Harry.”

“What?”

“How do you not know how you feel about her right now when you were so sure how you felt that night?”

“Because I can’t-” Niall watches Harry’s eyes go a few shades darker as they appear almost glassy looking as they stare back at him. “I can’t remember that night or at least good chunks of it-it’s just gone? I know I met her and clearly I enjoyed her company in more ways than one because she has my actual cellphone number but I can’t l-I can’t even remember details about that night so I sure as fuck can’t remember how I felt about her.” Harry swallows the lump of emotions in his throat as he admits the biggest issue he’s been dealing with ever since the first time you texted him all those weeks ago, the fact he can’t fully remember the night the two of you met.

“Fuck Harry I’m-I’m sorry.” Harry just shrugs as Niall’s shoulders slump down at hearing his bestfriend sadly admit why he can’t figure out his feelings towards you. “If it means anything I know how happy you sounded when you called me at four in the damn morning going on and on about her and-and I mean you have to know deep down that you feel something for her because if you didn’t then she wouldn’t be able to get these sort of reactions out of you. Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re sort of a fucking wreck right now and all I’ve seen you do is text someone-”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about her now because this time I really fucked it up.” Harry snaps cutting Niall off.

“Fucked it up how?” He asks with concern because one thing he knows Harry is good at is saying things he doesn’t mean and causing situations to get out of control quickly.

“She asked me if I really want to be a dad right now. Like literally not even ten minutes ago she asked me that and I somehow managed to turn it all around and made her feel like shit for not being able to forgive me for something I did at the very beginning of all of this and now-now I don’t think I can fix it so we can even be friends? I think this was my last chance and I blew it.” Harry blinks back the tears he knows what to spill over and roll down his cheeks as Niall lets out a sad sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

“I mean that’s a valid question for her to ask because well I don’t know-do you want to be a dad right now?” Niall isn’t shocked at how quickly Harry answers because he knows the man standing in front of him with tears in his eyes has always wanted this, maybe not in this exact way but he’s always wanted to be a dad.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“And did you tell her that?”

“No.” Niall wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t because he can clearly see the vulnerable and emotional state Harry is in. “I just got mad and that’s when I said the stupid things and now she thinks I’m an asshole.”

“Fuck okay well just walk me through all the shit that’s happened and the things you’ve said and maybe-maybe there’s still hope for you two being able to be friends at the very least.” Harry just nods as Niall heads over to the couch and takes a seat while Harry reaches down and grabs his phone off the cushion so he can scroll to your messages while he begins to tell Niall everything that’s happened between the two of you from the very beginning.

“We don’t hate him.” You say with a sigh as you look down at the orange cat cuddled up in your lap taking over half of the book you had started reading before you decided to reach out to Harry. “He’s their father and we don’t hate him.” You explain as you place your phone on your nightstand before you reach down and place a hand on Paris’s back giving him a nice pet.

“But we do dislike him a whole hell of a lot right now because he’s being an asshole.” You whisper to yourself as if you don’t want the two lemon sized babies in your belly to hear you talk poorly of their father. “He just doesn’t get it Paris and I don’t think he ever will.” The orange cat slowly opens his eyes and lets out a yawn as he stretches his front legs out before looking at you with a tilt of his head.

“So maybe we should just let it go? That would be easiest but-but it would also make it seem like me being upset with him and not trusting him doesn’t matter? And I don’t want him to think he can get away with things like that but I also,” you let out a shaky breath making Paris sit up so he can nuzzle his head against your cheek letting out a string of purrs in the process. “I’m so tired of fighting with him. I’m just so tired of it so fine I can be the bigger person and just-just move on.” You add with a sniffle as a few tears fall down your face as you give your cat a few loving pets making him purr and lean into your touch.

“The truly sad part is that when we met I really thought I might like him? It’s like the universe has me trapped in some sort of sick joke because the man who can’t seem to know how to do anything other than make me cry is someone I thought I could actually see myself with.” You let out a wet laugh as you wipe your cheeks and just shake your head at the idea of you ever having feelings for Harry especially now because the only feeling you get when you think about him is hurt.

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tongue in Cheek - Yang Jeongin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: CEO jeongin x fem! reader

summary: your boss is up for a big promotion. There's just one problem, he told his boss that he's married. So he asks you to be his wife for just one night. But now this cold CEO is seeing you in a whole new light.

warnings: power dynamics, tooth-aching fluff, angst, kissing, did I mention fluff????

Jeongin slid a few papers around his desk. “Something you need?” He snapped, his tone exhausted and annoyed. His patience was wearing thin lately. You had noticed immediately, the way he moved around the office like every corner and seam of his heavy armor was starting to crack. He was stressed, he was nervous. You suppose that's why you agreed to this dinner in the first place. To help him out. That was the only reason you had agreed to be his “fake wife.”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. But Mr. Kwon’s assistant called again to confirm that you- um, that we would be attending the dinner tomorrow evening.” You kept your eyes downcast, studying every fiber of his office carpet. A deep, intimidating red color that filled the entire room like an inferno. It's as if he wanted everyone that walked into his office to know that they were walking into Hell.

“Tell her that we'll be there at eight sharp. I want you dressed nicely. Take my card and buy yourself something expensive.” Jeongin's hand stretched out to reveal a heavy platinum credit card weaved between his fingers. You took a step forward but hesitated, your mouth parting slightly. Jeongin's eyes flashed up to you, his head still hanging down. “No arguments, just do it.”

And that was that. Because if Yang Jeongin told you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

The night of the dinner was chiller than you had anticipated. The sun was going down sooner and sooner and cold air swept you up and pulled you inside of Jeongin's luxury car. It was warm inside with plush seats that hugged you better than your own mother. Was this what money could buy? You casually glanced at Jeongin's hand gripping the expensive leather of the steering wheel. He was wearing a shiny silver bracelet and a large, heavy looking ring on his middle finger. He had told you once that the ring was lucky and he would only wear it when he really, really needed it. Jeongin kept his eyes fixed on the road, focused and determined even in his driving. But soon his deep voice cut through the building tension. “Mr. Kwon is the man to impress, the man to be, the man to beat. But he is put off by the fact that I never settled down to start a family. He thinks it's abnormal for a man my age to not have someone.”

You kept your mouth closed tight. You agreed with Jeongin's boss, it was abnormal. Jeongin was young, attractive, and successful. So why hadn't he found someone? As if sensing your train of thought, he cocked his head towards you and raised an eyebrow. “It's not like I don't fuck, I just don't have time for a relationship.”

A relationship. He said that word like it was poison on his tongue. The two of you pulled into the long driveway of a sprawling manor you had only seen in magazines. The path was lined with lights and led you both to a towering front door that was painted the most intense red you had ever seen. You were starting to understand where Jeongin was getting his business inspiration. You stepped inside to see dinner already being set.

Five course meal. Five courses. There were nights when all you could afford was a cup of ramen and a few beers. This was how the other half lived. Mr. Kwon and his wife were both incredibly gorgeous. To look at them too long almost felt greedy. Mr. Kwon commented on Jeongin's cufflinks and his wife absolutely adored your dress. You found it easy to converse with her. A simple, sweet woman who meant well but was so detached from the real world that she was living in her own little fairytale. Jeongin and you had discussed a background story for how you met and what your wedding day was like in case anyone had asked. And to no one's surprise, Mrs. Kwon wanted to know every detail.

After a few glasses of champagne, you found yourself gushing about Jeongin. You spoke about his gentle demeanor when his mother or siblings call. You talked about his smell and the first time you knew you were in love with him.

Jeongin sat back in his chair and watched you. He watched you diverge from the previously discussed storyline that the two of you agreed on. He listened as you spoke honestly about your feelings and your ambitions and goals for the future. He felt a clench in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. You seemed to almost have a glow around you when you spoke. As if the roof opened up to let moonlight pour down over your entire body. And the dress you chose. Jeongin finally allowed himself a moment to admire and memorize every curve and dip of your waist and legs. He could feel his $300 slacks growing tighter by the second. Mr. Kwon stood from the table and announced that the men should adjourn to the other room for cigars and brandy. Jeongin let out a sigh of relief and quickly stood to follow the rest of the men but before he could leave you grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek. “Miss you already.” You said with a smile loud enough that the rest of the guests could hear. You gave him a quick wink before dropping his hand and returning to the dinner table.

“You got a good one there, Yang.” Mr. Kwon let out a large puff of smoke from his cigar. “Don't fuck this up. She's good for you.”

Jeongin fiddled with his own cigar, still unlit. He weaved it between his fingers. “Yes, Sir.” His mind was a million miles away. You have worked for him for three years now. He still remembers the day he hired you. The outfit you wore, the messy bun with frazzled strands of hair falling in front of your eyes. You were so nervous. But you were determined. He recognized that fire in your eyes. It was the same fire that burned inside him.

“Thank you for tonight. You were very convincing.” Jeongin had driven you back to your one bedroom apartment. You stood in the single step in front of your front door. You were actually eye-level with him now, your face just inches from his. “You're welcome. It was fun.” You confessed. You liked being a part of his world. Jeongin cleared his throat and smiled. An awkward, unsure smile that you weren't used to seeing. He gave you a polite bow and turned towards his car to leave. You felt a heaviness pull at your heart as he started to walk away. But before he got to the street he stopped. He turned on his heels to face you once again, his unsure smile now transforming into a devilish smirk. “The night isn't over. Technically, you're still my wife.” He took a few steps towards you. “Kiss me.”

The heaviness in your chest now felt like a balloon soaring high as you ran towards him without hesitation. You jumped into his arms and he held your leg with one hand and used his other arm to wrap around your waist, holding you close to him. Your lips crashed into his clumsily. Your mouths falling over each other until you slowly found a rhythm. It was the most romantic moment of your entire life and you never wanted it to stop. You kissed him over and over again. Some were slow and lingering while others were needy and impatient. You kissed him. Because if Yang Jeongin tells you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin

[morlock-holmes]

So, people explaining that AI isn't "real art" bother me, not so much because of the answer they reach but because most of the people saying it isn't seem to romanticize not just commercial art production, but also bizarrely to romanticize AI as well, in ways that bother me for subtle reasons I want to try to articulate.

So, first of all, I personally don't think fine art will be changed much by AI.

"What if the artist isn't directly producing the art but instead letting some process create it?"

Convergence by Jackson Pollock, 1952

"What if the so called "artist" is merely rearranging and recontextualizing something that already exists?"

"What if the artist outsources a tremendous amount of work?"

Cambell's Soup Can, Andy Warhol, 1968

The fine art world already confronted these questions and answered between 1912 and, what, 1980 at the latest maybe?

My point here is not to assert the artistic worth of these paintings but to assert their undeniable importance to 20th century art history.

Nobody paying thousands of dollars for a traditional painting on canvas is going to buy an AI version because it's cheaper; such people are already paying a premium for artistic technique and cultivated human talent.

Or, alternatively, I have absolutely no doubt that people would pay a lot for an AI project with, I don't know, Banksy's name on it, even if it was made with freely available, open source tools, because in other cases people are paying for, essentially, a name.

The fine art community already confronted the questions raised by AI art and we're already on the other side of that confrontation. Statistically, the large battles being waged over these issues already finished before you were born.

The actually (potentially) endangered part of the art world is the commercial art world.

Not fine art, but art produced as part of an essentially commercial process in large part under the direction of other people. Fan Art, scripts for films, stock footage, key art used for commercial campaigns, pulp fiction cover illustrations, etc.

And, first of all, the reason that you can be so romantically attached to low-brow, heavily commercial art in the way that you are without feeling utterly absurd about it is Marcel Duchamp's Fountain and the works of Andy Warhol, so maybe have a bit more respect for them and their place in history if you are going to romanticize commercial art production.

Second, because it is those things that are threatened, defenses of human art against AI tend to have this kind of implicit view that the things which characterize commercial pop art are the most important characteristics of art. There is something about this that kind of bothers me for reasons I have trouble bringing up.

Okay, like, one I just watched a YouTube video where the creator said, more or less, "Can you imagine a world where people are so alienated from the production of art that instead of learning to produce it themselves, they type 'woman painting a picture' into a box on a computer and something just pops out?"

The video background was stock footage of a woman painting.

You have this really obnoxious trend of people who make monetized YouTube videos out of other people's copyrighted clips (Claiming "Fair use") talking about how awful it is for AI to "steal" other people's works, and people who fill their videos with stock footage and library tracks talking about how crazy it is that anybody would want to outsource this stuff instead of learning to do it themselves.

But also, beneath that, there is a kind of picture of "What's important about art" that is being built purely out of commercial concerns but masquerading as belief in something higher, and that really bugs me. Stock footage is elevated to the highest of human endeavors purely because it is commercially threatened by AI production.

[satellite-evans]

The GQ Couples Quiz

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x reader

Summary: Franco and his girlfriend takes the GQ Couples Quiz :)

Word count: 3.5k+

Warnings: tooth aching fluff, teasing, flirting

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The sleek GQ studio was buzzing with quiet activity. The lights were warm but not overbearing, the cameras were perfectly positioned, and the iconic wooden table was set for the latest celebrity couple to take the famous GQ Couple Quiz.

You adjusted the hem of your cream-colored blazer and looked at Franco sitting beside you. He was impossibly handsome in a tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms.

Franco turned to you with a playful grin. “Okay, mi reina, are you ready? I’m about to prove I know you better than anyone.”

You smirked, leaning into him just slightly. “We’ll see about that. I don’t think you’re ready for the questions.”

Franco chuckled, his accent curling around his words, and you couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

You could feel the excitement building between you two, and as the interviewer looked over, they gave a friendly smile.

"Alright, we’re ready to roll," the interviewer said, looking at both of you. "Whenever you're ready."

Franco turned to the camera with a confident grin. “Hi, I’m Franco Colapinto…”

“And I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you finished, your smile just as warm. You exchanged a quick glance, knowing exactly where this was going.

“And today,” Franco continued, giving you a playful side-eye, “we’re taking GQ’s Couples Quiz.”

You chuckled, nodding in agreement. “We are. Let’s see how well we really know each other…”

The interviewer smiled at your easy chemistry. “I’m excited to see how this goes! Before we dive into the questions, though—how did you two meet? What’s the story behind your relationship?”

Franco smirked, leaning back in his chair slightly as he thought back to the moment. "Well, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight for me, but definitely... curiosity," he said, his Argentine accent giving the words a warm undertone. “We met a few years ago at a charity event. I was there for a sponsor dinner, and Y/N was the guest of honor.”

You smiled, turning to him with a playful look. “Yeah, I didn’t know who he was at first. He was just standing there, looking like he didn’t want to talk to anyone. I thought he was avoiding the crowd.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your recounting. “I wasn’t avoiding anyone! I just don’t love big crowds, but when I saw her, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

You shook your head with a smile. “That’s because you were staring, Franco. Staring.”

He laughed, looking over at you. "Guilty as charged."

The interviewer chuckled, enjoying the playful dynamic between you two. "I love how much you two tease each other. But it’s clear there’s something special here. Alright, let’s get into the quiz!"

Franco squeezed your hand. “Ready to show off how well we know each other?”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, I’m ready. Let’s see if you remember the little details, Mr. Colapinto.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping low in that playful way you loved. “Trust me, cariño, I remember everything about you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Let’s hope so. Alright, hit us with the first question.”

Franco Colapinto and Y/N Y/L/N Take The GQ Couple Quiz

The interviewer set the tone. “Alright, let’s see how well this power couple knows each other. First question:

Who made the first move?

Franco immediately laughed, leaning back in his chair as if preparing for a defense. “It was me. No question.”

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “It wasn’t as smooth as you’re making it sound, though.”

He feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “Excuse me? I was very smooth.”

“Franco,” you said, turning toward him fully, your hand resting on his arm. “You tripped over a chair trying to get to me during the charity event.”

“That was part of the charm,” he quipped, leaning closer until your noses almost touched. “But I regret nothing. You were standing there, looking like a literal dream, and I thought, ‘If I don’t talk to her right now, someone else will.’”

You felt your cheeks warm as you remembered that night. “Well, it worked. The chair-tripping, the terrible Spanish pick-up line—”

“Terrible? It was romantic!” Franco interjected, laughing. “I said, ‘¿Eres un ángel, o acabo de soñar contigo?’”

You giggled, your hand slipping to his knee. “That’s so cheesy, but... I guess it was cute.”

“Cute enough to get me here,” he said, grinning, before leaning in and brushing a kiss to your cheek. “So I think I win this one.”

What’s Y/N’s favorite nickname Franco calls her?

You barely hesitated as you held up your card to show what you wrote : Mi reina.

Franco nodded, his hazel eyes softening as he wrote the same. “It’s my favorite, too. Because you really are my queen.”

You smiled, biting your lip as the warmth of his words settled over you. “I think it’s the way you say it,” you admitted. “It’s not just the nickname. It’s how you say it like I’m your entire world.”

“You are my world, mi vida,” he said, reaching for your hand. His thumb traced gentle circles over your skin, and his gaze locked with yours. “You’re everything to me.”

The moment lingered as if time itself had slowed, and for a second, the cameras and crew disappeared. It was just the two of you.

Who takes longer to get ready?

The interviewer smirked as the question was read aloud. “Okay, who’s the real diva in this relationship? Who takes longer to get ready?”

Franco didn’t even hesitate. “Her,” he said with a grin, pointing at you. “No competition.”

You gasped, your hand flying to your chest in mock offense. “Excuse me? I’m the diva? You’re the one who takes forever to pick the perfect pair of shoes. You’ve got, what, ten pairs of white sneakers?”

Franco laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m efficient. I pick a pair and I’m done in five minutes. You, on the other hand, spend twenty minutes deciding between two pairs of earrings.”

“Because I care about the details,” you shot back, flipping your card to reveal your answer: Me. “Fine, I’ll own it. But at least I have a reason.”

“And what’s that?” Franco asked, his tone playful as he leaned in closer, his hand sliding to your thigh.

You smirked. “I’m representing both of us. If I look bad, it reflects on you, too.”

Franco shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. “You could walk out in pajamas and still look like a goddess.”

“Smooth,” you teased, biting your lip to suppress a smile.

“Just honest,” he replied, brushing his lips against your ear. “Besides, I like when you wear my hoodie. It’s my favorite look.”

You burst out laughing, playfully shoving him. “Okay, stop before you make me blush on camera.”

“Too late,” he said, grinning as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

What’s Franco’s most overused phrase?

The interviewer grinned. “What’s the one phrase Franco says so much that you could finish his sentences for him?”

You didn’t even have to think. “Easy. Todo bien.” You flipped your card, smirking as Franco revealed his matching answer.

“Okay, okay, guilty,” Franco admitted, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair. “But it works for everything. You ask me how my day is? Todo bien. If something goes wrong in the car? Todo bien. It’s versatile!”

“It’s lazy,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “It’s like your default setting.”

Franco grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you love it.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “I tolerate it.”

“Liar,” he said, his voice dropping a notch as he leaned closer, his tone warm and teasing. “You told me once that you love how calm I am. That I’m steady. Remember?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto your lips. “Yeah, okay, fine. I love it because it’s you. And because it means you don’t let things get to you.”

Franco’s gaze softened as he reached for your hand. “And because I’ve got you, mi reina. As long as we’re together, it’s always todo bien.”

What’s Y/N’s guilty pleasure?

Franco smirked, his hazel eyes lighting up with mischief as he wrote his answer. “Oh, this one is good.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. “Don’t you dare.”

He flipped his card with a flourish: Reality TV.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as the crew laughed. “Why do you insist on exposing me like this?”

Franco was practically glowing with amusement. “Because it’s hilarious! I’ll walk into the living room, and you’re sitting there, yelling at people on The Bachelor like they can actually hear you.”

“Franco!” you cried, smacking his arm as your cheeks burned. “You promised not to bring that up.”

“I lied,” he said, grinning unabashedly. “But it’s adorable. You get so into it, like your whole life depends on whether some random guy picks the right girl.”

“It’s called emotional investment,” you argued, crossing your arms. “You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, I’m emotionally invested, alright,” he teased, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But not in some reality show. Just in you.”

Your faux indignation melted away as he leaned closer, his hand brushing yours. “You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, a smile tugging at your lips.

“And you’re lucky I find your reality TV obsession charming,” he shot back, his tone filled with affection.

Who’s more competitive?

This question made you both laugh out loud. You scribbled quickly, holding up your card at the same time as Franco. Both read: Franco.

“Obviously,” you teased, pointing at him. “He can’t help himself. He races cars for a living! He even makes game nights at home a bloodsport.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Hold on, let’s not forget how you turned Uno into a tactical war.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was defending myself! You were the one gloating.”

“I’m a Gemini,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “But seriously, I think competition makes things more fun. It keeps us sharp.”

“And gives you an excuse to win,” you teased, leaning closer until your shoulder bumped his.

Franco laughed, his hand sliding around your waist. “Maybe. But only because I like impressing you.”

What’s Franco’s hidden talent?

You tapped your pen against the table, glancing at Franco with a knowing smile. “This one’s easy,” you said, scribbling on your card. You flipped it over for the camera: Tango dancing.

Franco’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “You’re really going to expose me like that?”

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, nudging him. “How could I not? You’re incredible at it.”

Franco shook his head, laughing softly. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just something I like to do back home. Everyone learns.”

“Oh, no, no,” you interrupted, leaning closer to him. “You’re not getting away with that. When I saw you tango for the first time, I swear I forgot how to breathe.”

Franco chuckled, turning to the interviewer. “She’s exaggerating. But yeah, growing up, my abuela loved tango. She taught me and my cousins. She’d play Carlos Gardel records, and we’d have little competitions in her living room.”

Your expression softened as you listened. “I think it’s one of the most beautiful things about you—how connected you are to your culture.”

He looked at you, his hazel eyes warm. “Well, if you love it so much, why don’t we show them?”

Your jaw dropped. “Right now? Here? Are you crazy? Absolutely not!”

The crew laughed, while you fanned yourself with the cards since it stared to become warmer and warmer and Franco sighed to the camera.

“Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying, no?”

Who’s more likely to cry during a movie?

You groaned the moment the question was read. “Oh, come on. We all know the answer to this.”

Franco raised a brow, a teasing smile spreading across his face. “Do we? Let’s see if you admit it.”

You both wrote your answers and revealed them at the same time. Both cards read: Y/N.

Franco laughed, throwing his head back. “I mean, it’s true. You cry at everything.”

“C’mon, now you’re just exaggerating!” you protested, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Franco leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table as he looked at you. “Mi amor, you cried during a dog food commercial last week. Dog food.”

“It was sad!” you defended, crossing your arms. “The dog grew old, and they were playing that emotional piano music…”

Franco reached over, pulling you into his side as he kissed the top of your head. “And I love that about you. It’s one of my favorite things. You feel everything so deeply, and it’s beautiful.”

You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re just saying that because you like comforting me.”

“True,” he admitted, grinning. “But it’s also because it’s you. And if you cry, I’ll always be there to kiss the tears away.”

What’s Franco’s favorite childhood memory?

Franco’s smile turned wistful as he wrote his answer. He flipped the card: Sunday asados with my family.

You smiled, nodding. “I knew you’d say that. You talk about them all the time.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he thought back. “Every Sunday, my entire family would gather at my abuela’s house. There’d be cousins running around, fútbol matches in the yard, and my tío would be at the grill, making the best asado you could imagine. The smell of the meat, the sound of everyone laughing… it was perfect.”

You reached out, placing your hand over his. “That’s why you always want to recreate it, isn’t it? Even here.”

He nodded, his smile bittersweet. “Yeah. It’s not the same without everyone, but it helps me feel close to home.”

What’s Y/N’s dream role?

Franco watched you intently as you wrote your answer, his expression already filled with pride. You held up your card: A biopic.

Franco grinned. “Of course. You’ve talked about this so many times. You want to play someone real, someone with a story that matters.”

You nodded, your voice growing thoughtful. “I think acting is about connecting with people. Telling their truths. And there’s something so powerful about stepping into someone else’s shoes, especially when their story needs to be heard.”

Franco reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “And you’d be amazing at it. I’ve seen how much heart you put into everything you do.”

You smiled at him, your chest tightening with emotion. “You’re my biggest cheerleader, you know that?”

“Always,” he said softly. “Because I believe in you, mi reina. More than anyone.”

Who’s the bigger flirt?

You both burst into laughter before the question was even finished. Franco raised a brow. “Be honest.”

“Oh, I’m being honest,” you said, flipping your card: Franco.

He feigned shock. “What? Me? How?”

“It’s the accent,” you teased, smirking. “Everything you say sounds flirty.”

Franco leaned closer, his hand brushing your thigh under the table. “Only for you, mi amor.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

Franco grinned, brushing his lips against your temple. “What can I say? I can’t help myself. You bring it out of me.”

What’s Franco’s pre-race ritual?

Your card was ready in seconds: His lucky wristband. Franco revealed the same answer with a smile.

“I know it’s not an actual ritual but you do always make sure you wear it before a race,” you said, glancing at the worn fabric around his wrist.

Franco nodded, his gaze tender. “You gave it to me before my first big race. You said it would keep me safe.”

“And it has,” you added softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Every time you’re out there, I know you’ve got a piece of me with you.”

Franco reached for your hand, his thumb tracing your knuckles. “It’s more than a piece of you. It’s everything. It reminds me why I do this. For us.”

How do you see your future together?

The room grew quieter as the final question sank in. Franco turned to you, his hazel eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. He took a deep breath, then wrote: Together, always.

You revealed a similar answer, and your lips trembled as you tried to speak. “That’s all I want.”

Franco took your hands, pulling you closer. “I see us traveling the world, chasing dreams, and building a life full of love. One day, we’ll have a home in Argentina. A big one, with space for our kids to run around.”

Your eyes filled with tears as he spoke. “Franco…”

“You’re my forever,” he said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “No matter where we are, as long as we’re together, it’ll be perfect.”

You leaned into him, and he kissed you, sealing the promise with a tenderness that left everyone in the in awe.

The interviewer smiled, clearly enjoying the chemistry between you two. “Well, that’s a wrap on the quiz. I have to say, you two are absolutely adorable together. Thank you for being so open and playful with your answers.”

You both leaned back in your chairs, your hearts still racing from the last round of questions. You flashed the interviewer a smile. “Thank you for having us. This was actually a lot of fun.”

Franco gave you a teasing side-eye. “See? I told you we’d survive it. I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

Franco shot you a wink, clearly enjoying your playful back-and-forth. “Absolutely. No one else could have pulled this off like we did.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips as you reached over to grab his hand. “Well, you might be right about that. You’re kind of a master at the whole ‘effortlessly cool’ thing. I’ll give you that.”

He squeezed your hand, his tone suddenly more sincere. “You know, I couldn’t have done this without you. You make everything better, reina.”

The interviewer chuckled softly, glancing at the two of you. “It’s clear you’ve got something special. I think I’m starting to understand why you two are always the talk of the town. And don’t get me started on those looks you exchange—it’s like there’s a secret language between you.”

You both laughed, your hearts full as Franco’s thumb traced lazy circles over your wrist. “Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “we’ve got a pretty strong connection. We’ve been through a lot together, and at the end of the day, we just… get each other.”

Franco nodded, his expression tender. “Yeah. It’s not just the fun moments. It’s the real stuff too. You’re my rock, and you make me better in ways I didn’t even know I needed.”

You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You do the same for me, Franco. I think we’re kind of perfect for each other.”

The interviewer, clearly moved by the genuine tenderness between you two, smiled warmly. “Well, it looks like you two have found something truly special. It’s rare to see such real, authentic love, especially in the spotlight. You’re both lucky.”

You nodded, squeezing Franco’s hand. “We really are.”

Franco turned his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Lucky, but also the happiest I’ve ever been. You’re my everything, and this little quiz was just one of many more moments to come.”

You chuckled, feeling a blush rise in your cheeks. “Well, don’t get too carried away. You still have to deal with me picking out my earrings for the next hour.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll happily wait as long as it takes, mi reina.”

The interviewer laughed, clearly enchanted by the chemistry between you. “Alright, alright, you two are officially making me swoon. But seriously, thank you both for being such great sports. This was a blast.”

As the cameras shut off and the crew started to pack up, you and Franco shared a quiet moment, basking in the intimacy of the space you’d created between the two of you. You looked at him with a soft smile, feeling incredibly lucky to share such a love that felt both deep and lighthearted.

“I’m glad we did this,” you murmured.

Franco pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ll always do anything that makes you happy. And I love seeing you laugh.”

You leaned into him, your fingers lightly playing with his shirt sleeve. “We’re a great team, huh?”

“The best,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. He looked at you, his eyes full of sincerity. “Always.”

[loves-alibi]

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.

So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued. 

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

[smellslikechahnspirit]

heyyy chan’s spirit!! I love your writing so much and had a little fic idea I wanted to share! Could you write something where channie’s wife asks him to get intimate for the first time after they find out she’s pregnant? It doesn’t need to be explicit—just soft and emotional, focusing on their love and connection. Totally okay if it’s not your vibe, but I’d love to see your take on it!

Ofcourse! It's a bit short, but I hope you still like it :)

Absolutely 🤍

[Husband Channie and y/n being intimate after finding out their pregnant for the first time (not NSFW)]

Bang Chan x Reader

🤍 read guide lines in Masterlist!

THIS IS (OBVIOUSLY) ALL FICTION AND IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY! THIS IS MY PERCEPTION OF HOW I THINK SKZ WOULD BEHAVE IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS AKA, NOT REAL.

[8:05 PM]

You both were on the couch, watching Arcane. It was the weekend. Not any kind of weekend. This weekend was special. It officially has been 2 months since you two found out you were having a little baby. Both of you have wanted this for quite a while and were very excited to finally share the news with everyone. But it was Friday night. You wanted to announce it first thing tomorrow morning. Today was the last day it would just be between you two.

''I still can't believe it...'', you said out of the blue. ''Hm?'', Channie replied who was sleepily laying with his head on you lap. He looked up at your face which was shining bright. ''Our baby. I can't believe it's finally happening.'', you spoke swiftly.

He smiled at you, turning around a bit so his face faced your tummy. ''I know baby, me too. Can't wait to see the members faces tomorrow haha.'', he said. You laughed. ''They're gonna be great uncles.'' ''I'm sure they will honey.'', he replied. ''Kinda liked the little secret we had for a while tho.''. After you said that you pouted. ''Hm me too.'', he said as he kissed your stomach softly. ''Can't believe it's been 2 months already...'', Chan said right after. ''Yea, 7 more to go.''. As you said this you kinda looked..I don't know how to put it...off? You looked disappointed. Or rather annoyed.

''Something wrong baby? You feeling okay?''. ''Nah, I'm fine.'', you said as you pushed him off your lap soflty, so you could get up. Since you're pregnant, he kind of just let you. Normally he would've made you stay and talk it out right then and there, but he knew you were uncomfortable enough as it is.

''Sure?'', he asked you while watching you walk towards your shared bedroom. He only saw you nod and disappear behind the door.

He got concerned, more then confused.

He knew your emotions were all over the place, but seeing you raise a wall was never a good sign. After a good 5 minutes he decided to check up on you.

He walked into the bedroom. The door was still slightly opened. ''Knock knock...can I come in darling?''. ''Ofcourse.'', you said smiling soflty. He walked in slowly, holding a cup of your favoured tea. ''Got ya this.''. He put it down next to you. He kept looking at your face, trying to decipher what was the matter.

''Y/n, please tell me..what's going on. Are you feeling sick? Worried? Don't deal with this by yourself baby, please.'', he said as he rubbed your arm soflty. ''It's just...''. He looked you in the eyes, making you look back at him. ''It's what?'', he said very quiet. ''I guess I'm just a bit worried.'' ''Hmhm, worried bout what sweetie?''.

He now sat down next to you, giving you a small kiss. Patiently waiting for you to tell him what was bothering you. ''Do you still love me? Or just because I'm pregnant now, you feel like you have to?''. He was shook by your words. Completely unaware that you felt this way. ''Y/n? Are you...okay? How...what??? Why would you ask me that. I love you to death. Does it look like I don't love you anymore?''. He was really confused. ''No, I mean...I don't know...''. ''Baby...?'', he asked confused. ''Well...since you found out I was pregnant...we haven't...had sex. Like not even once. Are you not willing to have sex with me, for the next 7 months either?''.

He now understood your thought, but this was never his intention. ''Babe...first of all, why didn't you tell me this sooner? And second...it's not that I don't wanna have sex with you. I just didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.''.

''Uncomfortable?'', you looked up with big eyes. ''Well, I don't know...since that day we found out...you kind of have been all about the safety of the baby, and health for your body and doing yoga and etc. Just everything. I felt like, me bothering you with my needs, was something that would stress you out. I just didn't want to put pressure on you, into thinking you had to, since your body is now a temple to keep safe.''.

''What does sex have to do with that?''. He also didn't think this through too much. These last 8 weeks have been stressful for the both of you. ''I don't know what else to say... I never meant for it to seem like I didn't want to, I wanted to...everyday actually.''.

Your eyes lit up. ''Really? You don't think it's weird now?'' ''Weird? No. Do I feel like we have to be carefull and mindfull about this? Yes. I don't wanna hurt you in any way baby.'', he said wisely.

Instead of worry, all you felt now was happiness, being in a position that a man like this was the man who you were having a baby with. ''You're actually amazing, you know that babe?''. He smiled, then giving you a deep kiss. And the kiss kept going. And going. When after a while he was laying on top of you.

''Let me take care of you tonight. I will be gentle in every way. You deserve a treat, after this long.''.

He knew how these 8 weeks have been on your body, let alone how difficult the other 7 months are gonna be on you.

''You sure you wanna do this?'', you asked. ''Absolutely.''.

...Masterlist...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

© 2022-2025, smellslikechahnspirit • No posting on other sites or platforms, rewrites, or translations

[nomie-11]

Vi x Reader - I Love You, I'm Sorry

masterlist!

“Really, Vi?” You practically spat, face to face with a girl you thought you knew. “You’re running with the enforcers now? Since when were you a bluebelly?”

The grimace on her face was set in firm lines, hard and unyielding and so unlike the Vi you once knew. This was her—same powder blue eyes, same fiery pink hair, same cheekbones, same lip shape, but your Vi would never betray you like this. 

“This is for you, this is for Zaun,” god, even the words tasted like a lie on her tongue, but she wouldn’t admit it. “Jinx is a danger to us both topside and here in the undercity. You should know that!”

“Is that the lie you’re telling yourself to justify this!?” You were practically vibrating with anger, fists clenched tightly at your sides. “I loved you, Vi. What are you doing?” 

Vi’s face twisted, a crack of pain breaking through her tough facade. “I—” she started, but her words fell apart. 

The silence that stretched between you felt louder than the pounding of your heart. You could barely breathe, your chest heaving with rage, disbelief, and heartbreak. 

“You loved me? Don’t you dare use that in the same breath as selling me out,” you snapped, stepping closer to her. You didn’t care about the enforcer shadowing her, a step behind with one hand hovering near her weapon. All you could see was Vi, standing there with a badge at her hip and gilt in her eyes. “I trusted you. You swore you’d never betray us. Never betray me.” 

“This isn’t about betrayal!” Vi shot back, her voice trembling as she raised her hands, trying to calm you or herself—you couldn’t tell. “This is about stopping you before it’s too late. You’ve gone too far, Y/n. The arson, the—” she hesitated, jaw tightening. “The murders. Working with—”

“With Silco!?” You laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “That’s what she told you, isn't it?” You gestured sharply to the enforcer—Caitlyn—her perfect Piltover uniform untouched by the grime of Zaun. “Let me guess, she spun some story about me being a terrorist, and you just ate it up because she’s got a fancy accent and a badge.” 

“That’s not—” Vi started, but Caitlyn’s voice cut through her hesitation. 

“She’s dangerous, Vi. You know that.” Caitlyn’s tone was level, professional, but her gaze flicked to you with a mix of wariness and disdain. “We need to bring her in—now.” 

“Jinx and I have done more for this city than you ever could! We’ve brought hope back to Zaun and you’re trying to rip it to shreds! What about my parents? What about your parents!” Your heart cracked, splintering into sharp, jagged pieces. You took another step forward, daring Vi to stop you. “So, what’s it going to be, Vi? Do you believe her?” You pointed at Caitlyn. “Or me?” 

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the girl you fell in love with. The girl who once fought for Zaun, for her family, for you. But then she looked at Caitlyn, and everything shattered. 

“I love you,” Vi whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” 

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. Your vision blurred, not from tears—no, you wouldn’t cry—but from a red-hot fury that burned through your veins. “No,” you growled, voice low and venomous. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You don’t get to say you love me and choose a Piltie over me.” 

“Y/n,” Vi said, stepping toward you, but you backed away, shaking your head. 

“Stay the hell away from me,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You’re no better than the blue bellies who raided Zaun and tore our families apart. You’re just like them. You’re a traitor.”

The words cut deep—you saw it in the way Vi flinched, the way her hand wavered before falling uselessly to her side. But you didn’t care. Let her feel a fraction of th pain she had inflicted on you. 

Caitlyn stepped forward then, gun in hand. “Surrender peacefully, or this ends the hard way.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “You think I’m going down without a fight?” Your hands flexed at your sides, ready to grave the blade hidden beneath your coat. You knew it wasn’t a fair fight—two against one, with Caitlyn’s hextech rifle and Vi’s hextech fists—but you didn’t care. If this was how it ended, you’d make them work for it.

The fight erupted in a blur of movement. Caitlyn fired, but you ducked, the bullet ricocheting off a metal pipe. You lunged at Vi, and for a moment, your fists collided with hers—like old times, but with none of the playfulness, none of the love. 

“Y/n, stop!” VI shouted, blocking your strikes. Her voice was desperate, pleading. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Funny, because you already have,” You snarled, landing a blow that sent her stumbling back. But Caitlyn was there, quick and efficient, slamming the butt of her rifle into your side. Pain exposed in your ribs, but you didn’t falter. 

You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

It wasn’t long before they overwhelmed you. Caitlyn had you pinned, her knee digging into your back as she cuffed your hands. Vi stood over you, blood dripping from a cut above her eyebrow, her expression a mix of anguish and regret. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you hissed, struggling against the cuffs. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.” 

“I—” Vi started, but you cut her off. 

“You made your choice,” you spat. “You chose her. You chose Piltover. You chose everything you once swore to hate. And for what? A badge? A chance to play hero?” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Screw you, Vi.” 

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, you thought you saw tears in her eyes. But you didn’t care. Let her cry. Let her feel the weight of what she’d done. 

As Caitlyn hauled you to your feet, you fixed Vi with a glare, your voice cold and unyielding. “You’re dead to me, Vi. Don’t ever forget that.” 

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If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!