#but I think today is a good day to share it

[kwilquib]

Falling for You, Again.

TripleS Kim Yooyeon x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 14.4k+

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

And what they told her was this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His wife.

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

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

But this felt different. Final. Binding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, she was going home.

To them.

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

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

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

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

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

But then the call came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It throws you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it hits you—she is following a script.

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

The realization unsettles you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bit by bit, the stiffness fades.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t comment on it.

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

So you play along.

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Videos?”

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

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

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

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

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

You glance at her. “Were you?”

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

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

The words sit between you, stark and unfiltered.

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

It feels natural. Too natural.

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

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

Your breath catches.

She’s close. Closer than she should be.

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

And then she moves.

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

Your body reacts before your mind does.

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

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

You kiss her back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steeling yourself, you step into your bedroom.

And then—you freeze.

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

Your throat goes dry.

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

Then it hits you.

Under that sheet, Yooyeon is completely naked.

And so are you.

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

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

First, her collarbones, delicate and defined.

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

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

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

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

She is beautiful.

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

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

The kiss deepens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuh…Ah—Nnn… fuah!!!"

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

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

But your hunger isn't satisfied.

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

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

A loud moan escapes her, her back arching.

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

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

But you need more.

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

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

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

Your tip presses against her, teasing her entrance.

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

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

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

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

But is it?

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

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

Finally, she pleads, her voice trembling with need.

"Please… put it in…"

You pull back slightly, your breathing ragged.

Is it really enough?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last night had been…

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

And she had been right.

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

She was sure of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At first, it unsettles you.

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

She doesn’t remember.

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

And yet, she looks at you like it is.

Like it always has been.

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

And slowly, day by day, you stop resisting.

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

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

You let yourself fall into the illusion.

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

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

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

“You do?” you ask, cautious.

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

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

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

Your chest tightens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was our first date like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still are,” you murmur without thinking.

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

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

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

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

“Then let’s have one.”

She blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

You don’t realize when you stop overthinking things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just never let yourself acknowledge them before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She grinned. “Only nice?”

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

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

A simple gesture. A quiet offering.

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

The day unfolded like something out of a dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was.

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

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

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

Her heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He squeezed back.

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

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

Her heart melted.

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

“Like what?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath hitched.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and charged.

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

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

Yooyeon nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

And now—here you are.

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

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

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

And that’s when it hits you.

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, you fall all over again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You always used to hate holding hands.”

His entire body stiffens.

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

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

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

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

But she knows he does.

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

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

And it starts to hurt.

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

His expression hardens. “I’m not.”

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

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

But she can’t. She won’t.

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

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

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

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

Something inside her cracks.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yooyeon—”

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

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

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

He actually flinches.

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

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

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

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

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

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

You notice it the moment you step inside.

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

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

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

But tonight, she doesn’t.

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

Then you see her.

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

A single sheet of paper.

Something prickles at the back of your neck.

“…Yooyeon.”

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

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

Your gut twists. Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

—and stop.

The drawer is open.

Your heart stutters.

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

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

The contract.

The one detailing everything. The terms of your marriage.

The proof of how pragmatic your relationship was.

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

Your pulse pounds.

Yooyeon.

She saw it.

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

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

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

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

“…What does it mean?”

Your throat tightens.

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

She knows.

She doesn’t know.

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

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

But you don’t.

Because the truth is already here, unraveling between you.

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

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

The silence is suffocating.

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

Her breath catches.

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

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

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

Something twists in your chest.

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

She flinches.

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

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

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

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

She stares at you.

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

She takes a step back. Then another.

Your stomach drops.

She’s leaving.

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

“Yooyeon, wait—”

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

She hesitates.

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

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

“…Okay,” she whispers.

She stays.

But the distance between you has never felt wider.

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

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

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

It’s unbearable.

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

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

You wish she wouldn’t.

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

“Okay,” she finally whispers.

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

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

“How long?”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

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

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

“…I don’t know.”

Yooyeon swallows, then looks away.

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

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

Yooyeon wakes up alone.

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

Another day.

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

Because he’s not here.

He never called. Never came back.

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

But instead, all she feels is this aching loneliness.

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

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

It was never just that.

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

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

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

Hadn’t she felt the same way?

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

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

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

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

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

But then—she hesitated.

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

And then—

The accident.

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

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

She had already fallen for him before the marriage.

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

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

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

She loves him. Now.

And that’s enough.

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

She needs to fix this.

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

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

You weren’t expecting her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

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

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

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

You open it, and there she is.

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

But then she steps forward.

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

She kisses you.

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

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

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

And then you give in.

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

She came back.

She wants this.

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

The words hit harder than you expect.

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

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

And that’s all you need.

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

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

And maybe she does.

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

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

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

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

“I won’t leave you,” she murmurs.

You inhale sharply.

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

“Not again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, without hesitation, she moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So she kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was just them.

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

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

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

And then, together, they unraveled.

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

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

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

They had never felt closer.

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

You wake up before her.

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

Something tight eases in your chest.

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

She came back.

Not out of obligation. Not because of memories.

But because she chose you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on her tightens slightly.

Because the truth is, you don’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," she whispers.

And just like that, it’s decided.

This time, it’s real.

No pretending. No distance.

Just you and her.

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna often thinks about what his future would’ve looked like if he didn’t pick his career over you. (inspired by Sienna by The Marías) afab!reader

The idea of what could’ve been keeps burning in his mind. It’s been burning for years, ever since that day he left you behind with your eyes brimming with tears and heart torn in two.

But he had to move forward. He fell in love with the sport before he fell in love with you.

It was all too late to go back and contemplate over the decision again. Uraume had already popped the good champagne and his friends were busy dancing and boisterously laughing inside his penthouse, celebrating the biggest win of his career. All while the champion was standing in the empty balcony, gazing at the glittering streets as the sun set.

His rise to fame was a treacherous yet rewarding journey. He was proud but he was also empty. Maybe if he had just stuck around and suffered a little longer with you then you would’ve been standing next to him today, clinking your flute with his, and laughing at his romantic and flirtatious remarks. He probably could’ve kissed you right after winning the fight and flaunted your ring to the world to announce his retirement after his final win.

Maybe you both would even have a little one being carried around in his brother’s arms for the night. A child too spoilt and adorable for their own good. Maybe they’d have your eyes. Or his—he doesn’t really care. Simply knowing that the child was a product of the love you both shared was enough to fill him with the happiness of multiple lifetimes.

Much to his chagrin, there was no veracity to his dream.

On the other side of the world, you stared at the rising sun as you thought about the past and the upcoming years of your life. How different they were. You came so far. Made so many developments.

Yet your heart still quickens when you remember your first great love, Sukuna Ryomen.

Like most love stories, it was a whirlwind of a romance. A passion felt like no other. It consumed you till you blindly believed that you were a part of his existence. His existence revolved around making you happy. He even said so, often kissing you like you were going to fade away.

But all good things must end.

You thought your life was going to stop when he bid his final goodbye. You slowly learned to get back up on your feet again, picking up the pieces that he broke.

Your heart was bandaged, and a little guarded, but you still welcomed love for you were full of it and had so much to give. A pattern you were willing to repeat.

The diamond on your finger sparkles when the sunlight hits it, bringing your gaze down to where your hand was resting on the window pane.

You often felt guilty when your fiancé talked about children with an enthusiastic hilt in his voice. While he’d revel on about how he’ll spoil the child, you were busy concealing your true thoughts.

Thoughts that made you feel horribly guilty.

What would’ve happened if you had just fought for Sukuna’s love a little harder, latched on to his legs as your scabby knees dragged across the ground as he walked away?

Maybe you’d already have a child in your arms. Your heart often swells whenever you ponder over an imaginary child with Sukuna’s temper. Tiny lips forming a pout with the most expressive eyes ever.

Lately that child has been living in your mind more often than not, making you long for them with their haunting laugh and toothless smiles.

But you know you’ll never see them. Or him for that matter. You’ve put that part of reality away in a box and shoved it deep in the back of your mind so you’ll never forget it.

And so you can be fair to your fiancé who loves you more than you know.

The only thing that gives you solace is the possible existence of alternate universes—different microcosms of the life you could’ve shared with Sukuna Ryomen had he not given you up like you were a fickle thought.

—

I know I said I wanted to get out of the boxer!sukuna bubble but I was having major writer’s block with my sentient game character ghost fic and this drabble just pulled me out of it 👍

[mrsfancyferrari]

24 Hours Without You

Summary: A dare from Lando led to Oscar not having any contact from you for 24 hours. Well he tried to.

Song: Love Drought · Beyoncé

Author’s note: Happy Valentines day to all couples and all singles (like me 🥲), either I hope you have a good day! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The lights of the McLaren production studio flickered with anticipation, the hum of laughter from the crew blending into the casual camaraderie surrounding Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris.

The two drivers, known not only for their prowess on the Formula 1 tracks but also for their undeniable charisma off of it, sat on plush bean bags before a camera.

Today’s content was light-hearted—an episode of "Truth or Dare," where playful banter was the currency of the moment.

In the midst of the gleeful chaos, Lando held up a hand, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Truth or dare?” he shot at Oscar, who had his fingers nervously tapping on the surface of his knee.

Oscar, who had been bracing for this exact moment, hesitated. He’d opted for “truth” in virtually every previous round, hoping to avoid anything too embarrassing.

But the staff behind the camera were practically pleading with him to choose “dare”—for the sake of content, of course.

“Dare,” he finally relented, a playful smirk hiding the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. He expected something innocuous, maybe a challenge to show off an embarrassing childhood photograph or to tweet an old picture of himself wearing an awkward haircut.

But Lando’s grin widened unnaturally as he clapped his hands together. “I dare you to spend 24 hours away from your girlfriend and document it to show the fans how needy you are for her!”

Oscar blinked. “Wait, what?” It was more of a stutter than a question.

Lando, brimming with enthusiasm, leaned into the camera with an exaggerated expression. “You heard me! No calls, no texts, and definitely no see-you-later kisses! We want to see how long it takes for you to break.”

Oscar felt his cheeks flush. This wasn’t just some off-the-cuff banter in the drivers' room. This was being filmed. This was going to be on YouTube. This was going to be everywhere.

He glanced around, hoping for a lifeline from even a vaguely sympathetic face from his engineer. He found none. They were all either strategically avoiding eye contact or subtly smirking.

"What if I say no?" Oscar asked, the words laced with a desperate hope that this whole thing was a joke, a prank that had gone too far.

He’d already planned on going to your house later that day for a quiet movie night and homemade pasta, a tradition they’d started a few years after they’d started dating.

The thought of not seeing you, not hearing your voice, for an unknown amount of time… it felt like a physical ache.

Lando’s grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Then you have to let me pass in the next 3 races if you're in the lead,” he said, the words dripping with smug confidence.

He knew Oscar was fiercely competitive. He knew this would sting.

Oscar groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Why are you so against me, mate?” He couldn't fathom Lando's sudden, intense interest in his love life, or rather, in trying to sabotage it.

"I just want to show the world how much of a simp you are," Lando replied, his tone teasing, but with an underlying edge that Oscar couldn’t quite decipher.

“Is this even allowed?” Oscar asked, appealing to the staff, hoping someone would intervene, would point out the absurdity of the situation. This had to be a breach of some sort of code of conduct, right?

"Of course, it is!" Lando declared, throwing his arms wide. "It's content! Think of the views!"

Oscar knew, deep down, that the team probably did see it as ‘content.’

In the cutthroat world of Formula 1, where every millisecond and every marketing opportunity mattered, this ridiculous challenge probably seemed like a stroke of genius.

He looked back at Lando, his friend's face alight with mischievous glee. He looked at the cameras, the expectant faces of the crew.

He looked at the faces of the team, already calculating potential audience engagement.

“Fine,” he said, the word feeling like a lead weight in his mouth. “But you owe me big time for this, Lando.”

Lando whooped, jumping off the toolbox and slapping Oscar on the back. “That’s the spirit! Challenge accepted! And don’t worry, the world will thank me for this entertainment!”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a familiar gesture when frustration gnawed at him. He fished his phone out of his pocket, the bright screen momentarily blinding in the dim light of the hallway.

There they were, a string of messages from you, each one a little more frantic than the last.

“Hey, everything okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“Oscar? You haven’t even seen my meme! It’s hilarious, you HAVE to see it.”

“Seriously, starting to worry. Call me when you get a chance.”

And finally, a more plaintive, “I miss you. Hope you’re okay.”

He cursed under his breath, a sharp, involuntary sound. Lando. It was always Lando. This stupid dare, this ridiculous game, had ripped a hole in his day, a hole that was shaped exactly like you.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, the cool glass a constant reminder of the connection he was deliberately severing.

“See you guys,” he mumbled to the departing camera crew, offering a weak wave.

He then turned to Lando, delivered a playful, but firm, punch to his shoulder, and escaped to the sanctuary of his apartment.

He knew, logically, that it was just 24 hours. A single day. But the thought of willingly ignoring you felt like a betrayal, a small chink in the fortress of their relationship.

He cherished your texts, your calls, the small everyday interactions that stitched together the tapestry of their lives. Being without them, even for a fleeting moment, felt… wrong.

He threw himself onto the couch, intending to relax, maybe watch some mindless TV. But your voice echoed in his head, replaying snippets of conversations, silly jokes, and whispered sweet nothings.

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure your face, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the soft curve of your smile. He needed to hear your voice, desperately.

He got up, restless, and paced the small apartment. He considered calling Lando, admitting defeat, throwing in the towel. But pride, that stubborn, annoying companion, held him back.

He’d made a commitment, however foolish, and he intended to see it through.

Sleep evaded him. He tossed and turned, the silence amplifying the absence of your goodnight text, your usual, comforting presence. He got up, made himself a cup of tea, and stared out the window at the twinkling city lights.

Each light, he imagined, represented a connection, a conversation, a life unfolding. And he was deliberately cutting himself off from one of the most important ones.

Finally, exhaustion claimed him, but it was a restless, fractured sleep, filled with snippets of dreams where he was chasing you through crowded streets, always just out of reach.

The next morning dawned gray and overcast, mirroring his mood. He dragged himself out of bed, the weight of fatigue heavy on his shoulders.

Today was qualifying, a crucial part of the race weekend, and he needed to be sharp, focused. This was not the condition that he wants to be in.

He arrived at the track, the buzz of activity usually energizing, today felt like a dull hum. He went through the motions, the familiar routines a small comfort in the unsettling void.

Lando found him in the McLaren garage, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Hey mate, have you given up yet?” he asked, slapping Oscar’s shoulder a little too hard.

Oscar winced, both from the physical blow and the reminder of the dare. “Nope,” he mumbled, the word devoid of any real conviction. He was tired, irritable, and more than anything, he missed you.

The thought of the next few hours stretching out before him, devoid of your presence, felt unbearable.

“Don’t worry, Osc,” Lando teased, oblivious to the genuine discomfort he was causing. “Just a few hours left. Think of the gloating rights!”

Oscar just glared at him, the playful banter lost on his weary mind. He wanted to tell Lando how much this stupid dare was affecting him, how much he relied on your support, your laughter, your simple, unwavering belief in him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to articulate it. It felt too vulnerable, too personal.

The day dragged on, each minute a tiny eternity. He went through the qualifying rounds, his performance adequate, but lacking the spark he usually possessed.

He could feel the absence of your encouragement, the subtle confidence boost he always got from knowing you were watching, cheering him on.

Between sessions, he retreated to his driver’s room, fighting the urge to reach for his phone. He scrolled through news articles, read through performance data, anything to distract himself from the aching void that was growing larger with each passing second.

Then, during the buildup to Q3, he was sat in the car and ready to go when his engineer, Tom, spoke over the radio. "Okay Oscar, you're up next, are you ready?"

Oscar gripped the wheel a little tighter, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Yeah I'm ready, is there any changes?"

Tom paused for moment and Oscar thought he hadn't head him. "No changes, but your girlfriend wanted me to pass on a message, she said good luck and she misses you, now go show them what you are capable of."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know you had talked to his engineer, but the small gesture warmed him from the inside.

It was exactly the kind of thing you would do, finding a way to break through his self-imposed barrier without directly contacting him.

The message worked. Oscar's spirits lifted and he felt a fresh surge of determination coursing through him.

He took off onto the track and delivered a blistering lap, securing a strong position on the starting grid.

He should be celebrating with the team, analysing telemetry, strategizing for tomorrow's race. But all he could think about was you. All because of Lando's stupid dare.

The qualifying result helped, but it didn't fill the void. After the debrief, he couldn't take it anymore. He muttered a quick goodbye to the team, ignoring their puzzled looks, and practically sprinted to his car.

He drove to your house, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his heart pounding in his chest.

He parked the car, took a deep breath, and walked up to your front door. He had a key, a privilege he still cherished. He unlocked the door and let himself in.

“Hello?” he heard you say from inside, his footsteps louder than usual in the silence of the house.

He couldn’t speak. He stood frozen in the hallway, suddenly feeling ashamed and foolish.

How could he have ignored you because of a stupid dare?

He’d prioritized a silly game over your feelings, over his own need to be with you. The reality of his actions hit him like a punch to the gut.

You appeared in the doorway, your eyes widening in surprise. You were wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your hair pulled back in a messy bun. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Oscar? What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t quite decipher. He swallowed hard but found the words stuck somewhere deep in his throat.

“I…um…” He was fumbling, just like the first time he’d ever tried to ask you out. He felt like he was letting a ridiculous dare take precedence over something–over someone–he truly cared about.

"You weren't answering my messages, I thought I did something wrong," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he blurted out, finally finding his voice. “It’s just… it was a stupid dare. From Lando. He dared me not to contact you for 24 hours.”

He cringed at the sound of his own explanation. It sounded pathetic, even to him.

He could practically see the disbelief forming in your eyes, the flicker of hurt morphing into something colder, something more distant.

He’d hoped to mitigate the damage, but he suspected he’d only made things worse. The dare, the explanation, the whole situation… it all felt utterly ridiculous and deeply, deeply wrong.

The silence descended again, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, you muttered, the words barely audible, “Am I just a dare to you?” The question hit him like a physical blow, a sharp, searing pain that ripped through his chest.

The accusation, even whispered, was devastating. It was the very antithesis of everything he felt, everything he wanted you to believe.

The thought that you could even consider him capable of such callousness was unbearable. He had to convince you, he had to erase any doubt that lingered in your mind, or he risked losing you forever.

“No!” It burst from him, a desperate plea laced with raw emotion, desperation threading his tone. "I love you more than that," he continued, his voice cracking with the intensity of his feelings.

He reached out, instinctively wanting to touch you, to reassure you, but hesitated, unsure if you'd welcome the gesture.

You paused, your gaze intense, scanning his face for any sign of deception. He met your eyes, unflinchingly, letting his own reflect the truth of his words.

He knew he had to be an open book, to let you see the regret, the love, the sheer desperation that consumed him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you scrutinized him, searching for any flicker of falsehood.

Each passing second felt like an eternity, the silence amplifying the pounding of his heart in his ears. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly.

"Well then, why?" you asked, your voice softer now, but still tinged with hurt. The question hung in the air, demanding an explanation, a justification for his inexplicable actions.

It was a reasonable question, one he knew he deserved. But the truth was, he didn’t have a good answer.

He shuffled his feet, avoiding your gaze. The usually confident Oscar Piastri, the Formula 1 sensation, looked like a scolded puppy.

"I… I don't know why I agreed to it, but I knew I regretted it as soon as I said yes. I couldn't concentrate at all today or sleep without your voice. The only reason I didn't crash out of tiredness was because of your message that Tom gave me," he ranted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He was scared. You could see it in the way his hands trembled slightly, the way his eyes darted around the room, anywhere but at you. This was the only real relationship he'd ever been in, the only one that felt… right.

He loved you, a dizzying, heart-wrenching, terrifying kind of love that had taken root ever since he saw you in that crowded lecture hall, your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop screen.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He waited for you to speak, to yell, to do anything. But you didn't. He panicked more.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. You could see the desperation etched on his face, the genuine remorse in his eyes. It was hard being mad at him, especially knowing how much he hated being apart from you.

Finally, you sighed, a weary sound that seemed to deflate him even further. You pushed aside your anger, the petty hurt that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the past day.

You knew how easily Lando could goad him into things, how Oscar, despite his steely determination on the track, could be surprisingly susceptible to peer pressure.

You moved forward, closing the distance between you. He flinched slightly, bracing himself for… what, you didn't know.

Instead, you went on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne – something uniquely Oscar.

You missed it, even though you were with him just two days ago.

Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. He gradually relaxed, melting into your embrace, his own arms wrapping tightly around your waist. He missed you too. More than you knew.

"You're lucky Lando told me about it and bribed me with pictures of you looking depressed to not get mad at you," you muttered into his shoulder, your voice muffled.

He chuckled weakly, a sound that vibrated against you. "He what?"

"He’s been sending me pictures all day," you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "Apparently, you kept staring at your phone with this forlorn expression. Lando said it was hilarious, but also that he felt bad for you."

Oscar groaned, burying his face in your hair. "I'm going to kill him."

"He did say he'd run if he saw you coming," you said with a small smile. "And, you know, it worked. I was going to give you the silent treatment for a week."

He pulled back, his eyes wide with mock horror. "A week? That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

"You deserve it," you retorted, but the threat lacked teeth. "Now, tell me everything. How awful was it? Did you actually cry?"

He grinned, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I did not cry. I may have considered it, though."

You laughed, relieved that the tension had dissipated. "So, what exactly did Lando dare you to do?"

"He said I couldn't contact you in any way, shape, or form for twenty-four hours. No calls, no texts, no social media. Nothing," Oscar explained. "He said it would be a 'fun challenge' and that I needed to 'toughen up' or something ridiculous like that."

"And you agreed?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grimaced. "I don't know what I was thinking. I think I wanted to prove I could do it, that I wasn't… overly reliant on you."

"And how did that work out for you?" you teased.

He sighed dramatically. "Terribly. Absolutely terribly. I spent the entire day pacing around, checking my phone every five minutes. I couldn't focus on anything. Even driving felt more dangerous than usual."

"That's because you were thinking about me," you said, a smug smile playing on your lips.

"Of course I was," he said, cupping your face in his hands. "You're all I ever think about."

You blushed, but your heart swelled at his words. "So, lesson learned?"

"Lesson learned," he confirmed, leaning in to kiss you. "I'm never agreeing to anything Lando says ever again."

The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with the unspoken relief of being together again. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

"You know," you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Lando also dared me to ignore you for the next twenty-four hours. But he didn't bribe me with pictures of you looking miserable."

Oscar’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t!"

You just smiled, a silent promise of playful revenge hanging in the air. He knew you wouldn’t actually follow through, not completely.

But the thought of it, the tiny seed of uncertainty, was enough to make him cling to you even tighter.

"Don’t you dare," he whispered, burying his face in your hair again. "Please. I can’t handle another day like today."

You laughed, a warm, happy sound that echoed through the room. He was an idiot, a lovable, racing-obsessed idiot, and you wouldn't trade him for the world.

"Okay, okay," you relented. "I'll spare you… this time. But you owe me big time. And you're buying me dinner. Somewhere expensive."

"Anything," he said, pulling back to look at you, his eyes filled with genuine affection. "Anything for you."

And you knew he meant it. The dare had been stupid, a momentary lapse in judgment fueled by Lando’s mischievous influence. But it had also served as a reminder, a stark glimpse of what life would be like without each other. And neither of you wanted to ever experience that again.

You were connected, intertwined, and the thought of being apart, even for a day, was unbearable.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapped securely around you. The storm had passed, leaving behind a quiet calm. And in the comfort of his embrace, you knew that everything was going to be okay.

As long as you had each other, you could face anything. Even Lando��s ridiculous dares. . . .

[cavillscurls]

Thinking about olderboyfriend!joel and reader celebrating all the holidays. Their first Valentine’s Day, their first thanksgiving together, their first Christmas together

this ask is so old, but i thought i’d answer given the nature of today 🥹💌… i don’t have a lot, but here’s some thoughts.

older!boyfriend joel masterlist

you met in the summer, a long ways before that holiday which always seemed to carry a heavier weight than it needed to. this connotation of perfection that hadn’t existed even in the best of your relationships.

but this one is the best. not one of, but the best. and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that, at times, it does feel perfect.

and you feel good. you feel certain. you have for a while now, but with the impending holiday that always felt more like dread than love, there’s a surge of reassurance when that usual doom never settles in.

you both agreed no gifts. funny enough, it was joel who put up a fight on this front. you could see him practically seething in his shoes, a crinkle in his brow and a pout on his lips as he bargained just one, you don’t gotta get nothin’, and there’s no guilt—just one.

but you shook your head and stood your ground; you would much rather spend the occasion splurging on dinner and drinks, an experience to share between the two of you.

he relented. even agreed to wear a suit—all black, and fuck, if that didn’t make you want to jump his bones on first sight—gelled back his curls, and wore that expensive cologne he saves for special occasions.

he shows up that night thirty-minutes before your reservation, and you’re popping a hand on your hip as soon as you open the door and find him standing there with a bouquet. a dozen red roses.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you huff.

he shrugs. “this ain’t a gift. it’s flowers,” he says, trying to play coy, but you can tell he’s rather proud of himself.

how are you supposed to argue with that?

you accept them, albeit a bit reluctantly, and bring them to your nose with a generous sniff. he’s eyeing you, all of you, the deep crimson dress you’ve chosen leaving little to the imagination. just the reaction you were hoping for.

“thank you,” you tell him, and he reaches out to place a hand at the small of your back, pulling you into his chest so he can lean down and press his lips to your ear.

“you’re welcome, baby,” he rasps, sending a shiver through you, and places a kiss on the side of your head.

dinner is tasty and decadent, made even finer by the company you keep. you split a bottle of red, and make room for dessert—freshly dipped chocolate-covered strawberries. he makes a show of leaning across the table to feed you the first bite, and you laugh so hard, you snort, the steady thrum of wine through your veins keeping you both buzzed and gleeful.

it’s starting to snow when you call a car from the restaurant. he offers an extension to the evening—catch a late showing of the rom-coms you know he can’t stand, but he’d tolerate (and has tolerated) for you. but the air is cold, and he’s so warm, and you’re feeling greedy. you want him all to yourself. that’s all you’ve ever really wanted from this, anyway. him.

you’re in his bed later that night, in his clothes, after he’s given you his real gift—satiating your needs, the desires he understands so well. you’re on your tummy, and he’s on his side, peacefully watching the path of his fingers that trace gentle shapes up and down your spine. you feel your eyelids grow heavy, shutting every few moments.

“hey,” he whispers at one point, voice low with fatigue.

“hm?” you murmur, raising your brows but not quite mustering the energy to look at him.

“i love you.” and it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s no less impactful. an iron rod to your chest, beaming and glowing from the inside out. “you know that, right?”

slowly, you open your eyes, and what you find turns the heat inside your belly up ten fold. he isn’t looking for reassurance or scoping out doubt. those are long gone with the passage of time. he just wants you to know—really know. hear him, and accept it for all it’s worth.

everything, really.

“i know it,” you whisper back, and a sleepy little grin erupts on his cheeks. you can’t help yourself. you lean forward and up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, and muttering against them: “i love you.”

he pulls you onto his chest, then. letting you smother him with your weight and wrapping his arms tightly around you. good. steady. real. perfect.

maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.

[shockercoco]

Better Late Than Never

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings - fluff, some kissing, Valentine’s Day shenanigans, flirty!Bucky

Word count - 2167

a/n - Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, especially to all my fellow single readers! I’ve somehow ended up in my Sebastian Stan era again, so I thought why fight it. It’s been a while since I’ve written an imagine, and I’m feeling a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy and thanks in advance for reading :)

“What’s got you smiling so much?” You ask Wanda as she sits down across from you.

It was Wanda’s idea to meet up for lunch after finding out about the rough morning you had, and she had also told you that she had some good news to share that might cheer you up. 

You had woken up late for work, couldn’t find your car keys, and when you reached the halfway point on your journey to work, you realized you didn’t have your phone. Today just wasn’t your day.

“Remember how I said I had some good news?” Wanda asks, her smile huge as she leans in and rests her elbows on the table. When you nod, she continues. “Well, Vision surprised me at work and finally asked me to be his girlfriend! He brought me flowers and everything.”

Yeah, today just really wasn’t your day.

“That’s really great, Wanda, but how exactly is that supposed to cheer me up?” you question, giving her a small smile to soften your words.

“Because you were the one who suggested that I should confess my feelings to him, and you’ve pretty much been with me every step of the way,” Wanda tells you. Her expression then turns into confusion. “Is something wrong?”

You honestly were really proud and happy for Wanda, and if this were any other time of the year, your reaction would’ve been different. But it’s not. Valentine's Day is at the end of the week and you just want the week to be over with.

While you were walking down the street on your way to the restaurant, you walked past a woman getting proposed to in the park. While you were waiting for the light to change in order for you to cross the street, you saw a couple making out. As you walked past a street vendor selling flowers, you overheard the vendor making conversation with a man who was apparently looking for the right flowers to buy his crush. Now, Wanda hits you with this.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” you quickly shake your head. “I’ve just had a weird day.”

She looks at you for a moment longer, not fully believing you. “Hmm, there’s something else. Tell me.”

You let out a laugh. “Wanda, I’m fine. It just…it’s nothing really. I’m good.”

“It’s just what?” Wanda asks. When you hesitate again, she adds, “We’re not ordering until you tell me what’s up,” she smirks at you. 

A small groan leaves you, before you speak up, “It’s just that Bucky hasn’t asked me to be his valentine yet, and this is our first Valentine’s Day as a couple. It stupid, I know. I shouldn’t even be upset.”

“No, it’s not stupid. Have you mentioned how you feel to him?”

“No, I didn’t think I had to since he’s always surprising me with gifts any other time of the year. I just figured this would just happen naturally, but nothing yet.”

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. After all, it’s still the beginning of the week. Who knows, he could just be waiting for the actual day to come,” Wanda says, and when you don’t say anything, she places a hand on top of yours and continues, “I’d honestly be surprised if Bucky does absolutely nothing for you. Everyone knows how obsessed he is with you.”

That makes you smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am, and when Valentine’s Day comes and he still hasn’t asked you to be his valentine, call me, I’ll hunt him down,” Wanda tells you right as a waitress walks up to the table to take your guys’ order. She catches the end of Wanda’s sentence and has a confused, yet amused look on her face. “Sorry, just relationship problems.”

The waitress laughs as she says, “Don’t worry I understand.”

Later that night when you're at Bucky’s place for a movie night the two of you had planned the week before, you can feel Bucky looking at you repeatedly while your eyes are still on the screen. You’re cuddled up into his side with his arm wrapped around you, but you still notice the constant shifting of his head.

You finally give in and look up at him. “Is there something on my face?” you ask him, your tone teasing.

Bucky’s confused with your question. “No, why?”

“Because you keep looking at me.”

“What, I can’t admire my own girlfriend anymore?”

“It feels more like staring than anything,” you tell him, and Bucky just laughs.

“Well, then I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes as he places a hand on your cheek to lift your head up. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on your lips, a smile still tugging on the corner of his lips. When he pulls away, he still keeps the distance between the two of you small as he looks into your eyes.

“Seriously, what is it?” you whine as you playfully shove him away from you, causing him to laugh. He knows how much you hate it when he does that. “Is there something bugging you?” you casually slide in the question, slightly hoping that he would use this time to ask you to be his valentine.

“No, there isn’t,” he laughs and pulls away, turning his attention back to the screen, but keeping his arm still wrapped around you. “I’m done, I promise.” 

He misses the slight drop in your expression, but you quickly fix your face before looking back at the tv as well.

As the week goes on, you try to focus on more important things, but as Friday continues to get closer, your hope continues to diminish. You and Bucky continue to text normally throughout the week, but when Thursday afternoon comes Bucky calls you to let you know that he’ll be going on a mission the next day. On Valentine’s Day.

“I’m sorry it’s such short notice, doll, but Steve needs me,” you hear Bucky softly tell you through the phone. You’re sitting on a chair in front of your window watching people pass by with Bucky on speaker.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I understand,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “How long will you be gone?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, before Bucky speaks, “A couple of weeks.”

Weeks? 

Your heart drops at his answer and you feel your throat start to tighten. You quickly mute yourself to clear the tears from your throat, before unmuting.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asks, noticing your delayed response. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? There’s people out there that need you,” you speak up.

You catch sight of your neighbor’s boyfriend walking up to her house with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You momentarily forget you’re on the phone and unintentionally let out a frustrated sigh at the sight, catching Bucky’s attention.

“Listen, I can probably get out of it. I’m sure Steve doesn’t need me that bad, there’s a whole team of people that are available to help out.”

A sad laugh leaves you. “Bucky it’s fine, I promise. He’s your best friend and he specifically asked you because he wants you, so go.”

“If you insist,” you hear Bucky sigh “I know you’re upset, though, so I promise to make it up to you when I get back, okay?”

That makes you crack a smile. “Okay.”

When the next day rolls around, you take your time getting out of bed. Unfortunately, you had the day off today, which of course you would’ve been happy about under different circumstances. 

You decide to keep yourself busy and do some chores to pass time, but by the time you’re done cleaning every crevice and doing laundry, it’s only four in the afternoon.

At some point, Wanda calls to check up on you and asks if you wanted her and Vision to come over and have dinner with you. Vision was planning on cooking for just the two of them, but he told you he had no problem making more. Although the two of them both repeatedly insisted they didn’t mind making the drive to your place, you declined.

It felt wrong to intrude on a special night like tonight. 

After telling Wanda and Vision that you would just order in, the two of you finally end the call.

You weren’t currently that hungry so you decided to just order something later. You make yourself comfortable on the couch and decide to put on a tv show you’ve been wanting to watch. 

A couple episodes later, you finally start to get hungry, and right when you’re about to place an order, your doorbell rings. You shake your head thinking it was just Vision and Wanda coming to share their food, but as you look through the peephole to see Bucky standing outside holding a bouquet of flowers and a stuffed animal you had been wanting, your heart drops along with your jaw.

You look down at your outfit and contemplate quickly changing, but decide against it.

“Wh-what are you doing here? I thought you had to go on a mission?” you ask when you open the door.

“Surprise!” Bucky greets you with a bright smile. He leans in to give you a kiss, before whispering, “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart.”

Bucky can see that you’re still shocked and at a loss for words, so he just laughs as he pushes past you and makes his way inside. You close the door behind him and watch as he makes his way into the kitchen and lays the flowers on the counter along with the stuffed animal.

“As much as I’m happy that you’re here, why are you here?” your eyebrows are furrowed as you lean against the counter, your arms folded across your chest. 

Bucky sends you a smirk as he quickly puts the flowers in water before making his way over to you. He places his hands on your waist as closes the distance between you two.

“You didn’t really think that I’d miss our first Valentine’s Day together, did you?”

“I didn’t even think you remembered, I mean you haven’t said anything about it all week,” you tell him.

“Yeah, Wanda told me you were a little upset,” Bucky mentions and your eyes widen.

“What a traitor, she wasn’t supposed to say anything,” you say slightly embarrassed as you look off to the side. Then a thought hits you, and you look back at him. “Wait, did you just come here because of what Wanda told you?”

“No, I was already planning on coming here tonight.”

“But what about your mission?” you ask, still confused.

Bucky smiles. “There never was a mission, doll. I made it up because I wanted to surprise you. You really thought I would spend today with Steve instead of you?”

“...Well, he is your best friend.”

“That’s true,” Bucky nods, grabbing your hands in his and placing kisses on your knuckles, “but, you’re my best girl,” he whispers as he looks into your eyes, causing butterflies in your stomach and your face to heat up.

What were you upset about again?

A chuckle leaves Bucky as he watches you shyly smile as you look away.

“You could’ve at least said something this whole week,” you tell him.

“I know, I know,” he admits, “but I was trying to get everything together.”

“Get what together?” you ask.

Bucky stays silent for a moment as if trying to find the right words to say. Then he says, “I want you to move in with me.”

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches as you stare back at him. “What?”

Maybe you inhaled too many chemicals while cleaning.

“I want you to move in with me,” Bucky repeats. “I know we’ve been dating for less than a year and I completely understand if this is too fast for you, but there’s plenty of room for you at my place and I would be much happier if I was able to have you next to me when I wake up every morning.”

Oh. 

You blink.

“You’re serious?” you ask, even though there's no indication on his face to tell you he’s lying. 

Bucky lets go of your hands to place his on either side of your face. “Completely. Like I said, you’re my best girl.” He watches a smile slowly form on your lips. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes,” you say, and Bucky’s grin grows wider, but you hold your hand up. “Don’t start smiling yet, I wasn’t finished.”

Bucky quickly fixes his face and tries to suppress his excitement. “Of course, continue.”

“I say yes, only if you agree to never pull anything like this ever again.”

“Ever?” Bucky repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Bucky!” you playfully hit his chest.

“I’m just kidding,” he laughs, leaning in to kiss you. Then he pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, “I’ll just wait until you forget.”

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[toriaanin]

Well hello there (redacted*)! How nice of you to drop by. I'd offer you a cup of tea, but...

Me and my Lukola friends are too blind to find anything in the kitchen!

And while I'm paying attention to you (redacted)... did you not read the article that Nicola posted yesterday? Did you not take the hint that she was admonishing trolls and online bully behaviour? You know; behaviour that looks suspiciously like your message (above) to me? Perhaps you have eyesight issues too. Yes. Yes, I think you do.

As for me...

I'm simply following the clues that a possibly pregnant women has left for me and my friends. In fact her clues are more easily readable than brail.

Now; about this so called "launch" you speak of? Give me a break. Even through the haze of my cataracts I was able to see that her post for Jake the other day was lame. She didn't even tag him.

Let's compare her untagged "love" post to Jake with the HBD wishes she's posted on her IG stories for her other friends:

She shares a photo of Jake next to the trash can; a photo that doesn't even include her IN it. Surly Nicola has better photos of "the love of her life" on her phone?! Let's compare with how she wishes her very good friend Jack Rooke a happy birthday. So sweet! And tagged.

When Nicola wished Luke Fetherston a happy birthday she not only shared a photo with both of them in it, she also gave him THREE red hearts! Now that's hard launch material right there!! Oh. And he was tagged.

Nicola even gave more birthday love to Valentina, Camilla's dog, than she did to Jake. Sadly Valentina wasn't tagged either... although Camilla was 🥰 BUT, Nicola called Valentina a princess!

Don't worry. Jake's friend Hannah gave him this honourific, so he wasn't left out of the princess fairytale. It must be love!

But wait... there's competition for Jake's love!!

Now these are romantic birthday wishes to Jake, posted by Doug and Dylan the other day.

Clearly the man is loved by his friends. Deservedly so, I'm sure.

But I really, really, really question whether THIS was a hard launch?

Seems to me it was simply a birthday wish for her friend (not lover) Jake. Unfortunately she posted at 6:30am when she was half awake and neglected to tag him. Unlike her spelling-mistake story showing the billboard in Los Angeles, she didn't delete and repost Jake's birthday wish with the missing tag. I guess Luke and Bridgerton's ensemble cast nomination warranted a correctly spelled "Surprise". Deleted; replaced.

Now I ask you; am I really blind? I saw well enough to compile the photos above and make perfect sense of them. I don't see a love-launch of Jake. I see a man living his life, preparing for an amazing lead theatre role. What an opportunity! I also see a man that didn't spend time with Nicola over Christmas, New Years, her birthday, his birthday (according to her, she was in LA. Sure Jan), and today: Valentine's Day. I also see a man who is loved by his friends. Nicola is his friend.

Unless I'm missing something?

So (redacted*)... rather than come over here and rag on the truth I and my Lukola friends see - and that I shared above - why don't you and your little weiner-dog leader fuck the hell off. We know.

P.S. I'm tempted to create some merch for us blind Lukolas! Sarcastic t-shirts and sweatshirt merch is fun 💙 Want one?!

P.S.S. I've redacted the name of this poster because 10 hours after she sent this message to me, she recalled it... just before I was about to post this response. I could have scrapped my post, but she challenged me to SEE the truth. I wanted to oblige. I've redacted her name on the chance that she realized she didn't message me anonymously and so she chickened out and pulled her ask. Or perhaps she thought about Nicola's troll/bully post from yesterday and thought better of her action. Let's give her grace and assume that she came to her senses and not that she's too chicken shit to have her name out there along with her bully behaviour.

Aanin friends!

[waynes-multiverse]

Alex, this was amazing!! I absolutely loved this! I think I laughed throughout without pausing. Like, I was cackling vividly 😂😂

Dean:

He’s not sick. Because he doesn’t get sick. Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

That already took me out. First two lines. Bravo. You've done it 🤣

I'm guessing this is post Chuck lmao

“I’m find,” he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

You know why I picked it 😝 (👏👏👏) And not the flannel and the runny nose, yikes. Loved this exchange (and callback) lol

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

Took a brief second from laughing, so I could push tears out of my eyes 😭

But absolutely agree, you'd have to wear Dean down and force him into it lmao

Beau:

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn’t even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

Back to laughing. My God, that was the sneeze of the century 😂😂

“Nah, can’t be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today,” he says.

Mutually exclusive, obviously 🤷‍♀️

“How long until I’m allowed out, warden?” he asks.

Seems like the man flu hasn't swallowed the charm either 🥰

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. “Hey, uh…can I have some chicken noodle soup later?” “Of course, baby. I’ll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you.” “And some saltines?”

And that's the moment I realized Beau's like my husband when he's sick 😂 (🙄)

It's like you were in my house and wrote a transcript of the last man flu epidemic of 2024 😆🤌

(PS: Real proud for finding that gif 😂)

A good add-on for Beau would be talking about his symptoms and aches... constantly loll. ("Babe, my throat is still dry and very weird right here. I googled and it says it could be laryngitis, cancer or the Marburg virus." 😂)

Ben:

Oh and then, Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben... I thought for sure he'd be the worst, like this virus is a personal attack on his virility 🤣 But I was pleasantly surprised when you brought in memories of his mother 🥹😭

“Fuck,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back.

That immediate fuck got me so hard 🤣🤣

He’s a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to.

Ah, yes, gramps 😂🫶 (And he honestly shares that with a lot of old man in hospitals and nursing homes who have to be repeatedly told to stay in bed lol)

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. “I’m getting you a yacht for Valentine’s Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim.”

*snorts* Of course the brat's online shopping for yachts 😆

“Why can’t you put some fucking steak in it or something?” he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough. “Why can’t you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you,” you snipped back.

Oh God, all their bickering was amazing! It's honestly always one of the most fun things when writing SB – the sheer frustration of the reader 😭😂🙈

And I loved the addition of Priestly!! 😍💚💙🤘 (I've been thinking of finally writing that one-shot for him lol)

“Aw, that’s still good,” he argues.

Great idea, man. Add a stomach bug to that man flu lmao

“Know what would really make me feel better?” he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

I could also totally see him turning into a Monica there 😂

“When you’re feeling better, you can ask me that question properly.”

Oh, oh, thank God! The relief I felt 😂 I mean, it's so, so sweet, but also you're very sick, dude, and germy... like, it's a lot 😆

(And I also sincerly hope there will be a proposal follow-up one-shot/drabble... maybe? 👀)

I loved this so much! You were spilling nothing but truths here! 😂💯🩵

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Flatbeds and Ice Cream

Summary: Tyler Owens x fe!Reader -> You have known Tyler for ten years and although your first meeting might not have been the most conventional, neither is the way you finally get together.

Disclaimer: Mostly lovable fluff, hint of angst (if any), mention of bull rider!Tyler, reader is a doctor, subtext of Tyler being an EMT, mention of cuts and bleeding. Reader patched Tyler up, Tyler patches Reader up. Soft kisses. Happy Valentines Day, people! Hope you enjoy this one ❤ Not Proof Read.

It was no secret that Tyler had been pining after you for years. Well, saying that. It was kind of a secret. From you, at least. 

But everyone else saw it. 

They saw it in the way he looked at you, in the way he spoke to you and how he was around you. He’d never taken anybody star gazing in the meadow he found when he was on his very first tour of Tornado Alley. He’d never sat up and waited for someone to get back from their date, even though he had no need to. And he’d never sat and listened to someone’s instructions when it came to being careful and having someone take care of him. 

For as long as you’d known Tyler, he’d always been reckless. Careful, but reckless nonetheless.

The first time you’d met him had been when he’d thrown himself in front of a bull to save your brother. 

They were on the circuit together. Whilst Tyler rode them, your brother looked after them. And they were good friends – your brother always talked about Tyler; how skilled he was, how charming he was with the girls and how smart he was, too, despite his head getting stomped on one too many times by a bull. 

Your first conversation with Tyler had been in the hospital. Your brother refused to leave his side. You couldn’t blame him. He’d saved his life. But that didn’t stop you from yelling at Tyler when you finally got introduced. Once you’d given your thanks and your brother had left the room for a moment, you yelled at him. 

“Go on. I can tell you’re dying to yell at me.”

You didn’t know whether to ask him how he knew or to just start yelling. “Believe me, I am more than grateful for you saving my brother but you are a complete idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Jumping in front of a bull like that?! You know you could have died, too?! You almost did! And what would have happened then? One casualty? Two? You know, that shared idiot of ours tells me a lot about you.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. He tells me you’re skilled at what you do.”

Tyler smiled, feeling pride in his chest. “Thanks-”

“He also says you’re smart. Too smart for just being a bull rider.”

“It’s a noble profession-”

“And it almost got you killed today. Not because you were riding, but because it decided it didn’t want to play anymore and started to fight back. More than just bucking a rider off. You’ve got a brain, Tyler. I suggest you use it before it’s too late.”

Tyler’s reaction stalled for a moment as you hiked your bag a little further up your shoulder before making your way towards the door. 

“Hey, hold on.” You paused by the door and looked back at Tyler. “Where do you think you get off with saying something like that to me?”

You sighed. “Tyler, as far as I’m aware, you and my brother are best friends.”

He nodded silently, waiting for an explanation. 

“That gives me full right to cuss him out and tell him the exact same thing if it was him in the hospital bed. And since you’re his best friend, it gives me full right to do the same with you.”

That same year, Tyler applied to college. 

Four years of education and years of chasing later, Tyler had his own rodeo team and every once in a while, you joined him. For the first few, your brother had joined him until he met a girl from Seattle in the middle of Tornado Alley. After that, he hung up his chasing hat and settled down with a comfortable job in her hometown. 

But you stayed on. 

“Don’t get hurt,” you called out over the radio as Dexter pulled into the side of the road and parked. 

“I promise.” Tyler’s voice rang back. 

And then they were off again. Like with every chase and every storm the Wrangler’s came across. Off roading, going seventy miles an hour across fields, in between wind turbines or wooden fences and wheat. By the time Tyler came back with the truck it was covered from top to bottom in dirt and wet grass. 

As he stepped out of his truck, you took a long look at him. If anyone didn’t know how either of you were with each other, they could have mistaken it for you checking him out. Which you were. But for more reasons than that he just looked like a greek god in a cowboy rodeo heaven. 

You were checking to see if he was okay. 

“You’re bleeding.”

Tyler laughed, “What?”

Pressing a light finger to the cut on the side of his head, he winced and you showed him. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“How did you do it?”

Tyler thought about it for a moment as you both fell into the similar movements of you guiding him away from his truck to sit down on the floor of the van as you grabbed your medical kit. Meanwhile, the others started tidying the equipment up before they’d sit down with you and Tyler in the parking lot. 

“There was a gust and the truck door closed. It hit me but I didn’t think it hit that hard.”

He did. He felt it. But he didn’t know it was bleeding. 

Standing in between his legs, his fingers deftly fidgeting with the fabric of your trousers, your concentration remained on him and getting the cut cleaned and sealed. You moved his chin with your fingers and his head followed your movements. 

“This might sting.”

It did.

He didn’t hide it very well. 

“Sorry,” you apologised, blowing a little light air onto it to stop the momentary burning sensation. 

Meanwhile, across the lot, Boone was watching both of you. 

“Do you think they’ll ever do anything about it?”

Lily turned and looked in his direction. Tyler’s eyes were fixed on you as you took careful consideration with helping fix his cuts. 

“Don’t talk about it. I’ve been trying to get them together for years.”

“Man, Tyler is sooo in love with her.”

Lily looked over even though she didn’t need to, to know it was true. Tyler looked at you in a way Lily had never seen a man look at a woman before. There was more than just trust and respect there. There was also something more than just ‘love’. The word ‘love’ seemed too simple for the bond that you and Tyler had. 

Maybe ‘soulmates’ or ‘twin flames’ were better descriptions. 

She’d seen it between you both since day one of meeting you. She met Tyler maybe a year earlier and they were fast friends but something she picked up on, even before she came to know Tyler as her family, was that Tyler had someone. 

He had a connection with someone in his life, unlike any other. 

Of course, it wasn’t until she met you that she realised who that was with. The sole reason why no other romantic relationship – no matter how perfect the girl Lily seemed to find – did not work. 

She was never you. 

And it didn’t take long for confirmation from Tyler considering he couldn’t hide his feelings from his face whenever he looked at you. But he was convinced that you never felt the same because you were like that with everyone. 

And he was right. To an extent. 

When Lily got pelted with hail that hard it cut her skin, you patched her up. You made her swear to be careful and you patched her up. But you never looked at her like how you looked at Tyler. When Boone did a back-flip and landed wrong, you cussed him for being an idiot and helped patch him up. You never stood in between his legs or looked at him like how you looked at Tyler. 

It was all in the subtle differences with how you treated everyone else compared to Tyler. 

With Tyler, there was almost something more intimate about the whole thing. Because even when you stood in between Javi’s legs when his sunglasses scared his nose, there was nothing seemingly romantic about the ordeal. 

But you and Tyler…

That was something magical. 

“Do you think there’s anything we can do to, you know, push it along? They’re killin’ me.”

Lily laughed and Boone helped her up onto the back of the truck. “I’ve got a few ideas but so far they’ve not exactly gone to plan.”

“I say just leave them to it.” Dani said as she rounded the back of the truck. “Best to leave it to fate. When it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”

“I agree. If we push them together too soon, it could backfire.”

“They’ve known each other over a decade.” Kate said, leaning onto the flatbed. “How much longer can it be?”

“We could always parent trap them?” Javi offered. 

But Lily shook her head. “I tried that but they just figured out a way to get out together.”

Kate looked at her. “So, when I saw them climbing out of the motel storage closet two months ago…that was because of you?”

“Guilty.”

They all looked back to the oblivious couple. 

“Maybe it’s just timing.”

Boone sighed. “If they don’t get together soon, we’ve gotta do something about it.”

As they watched the couple, they realised Boone was right. 

“Well, what’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

“You should be okay, now.”

Tyler smiled and went to touch his wound. “Thanks, Doc.”

You slapped his hand away and it instantly dropped. “Don’t touch it. And, you’re welcome.”

Tyler watched you for a moment or two. Something seemed off. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

You looked at him as you packed the rest of the supplies away, but it was only brief. To anyone else, making eye contact when saying a statement like that might actually mean you were ‘fine’. But Tyler didn’t believe it for a second. 

He’d known you too long. He knew all of your tells. 

“No, you’re not.”

For a moment, your guard dropped and your gaze shot to him. How the hell did he know? You already knew how. It was Tyler. He could read you like a book. When he actually read the secret book on you, you’d never know. All you knew was that you shouldn’t have been shocked that out of everyone, he was the one to notice. 

Better yet, he was the one to not ask his question again, but rather tell you the truth you didn’t want to admit to yourself. 

“What is it?”

You remained silent, packed up the rest of your things and stepped up and behind him into the van. And he followed suit. 

“Y/n, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Ty. I promise.”

Tyler clicked his tongue as he leaned against the small kitchen side. “There you go, breaking rule number two.”

“Rule number two?”

“Never lie.” Tyler told you. 

“Since when do we have rules?” 

“Uh, since you gave me a set of them ten years ago. This goes both ways, Sweetheart. If I have to live by them, so do you.”

“Well,” you had to think on your feet. “You broke rule number one. Don’t get hurt. Seems we’re even.”

You went to move past him, to run away from the conversation but slightly sticking his arm out, he stopped you. And, feeling his eyes on you, you looked at him. 

“Talk to me,” Tyler’s voice was quiet. Soft. Like he was trying not to startle you. “Please.”

If you looked at him any longer, you’d cave. Those green eyes of his always had some kind of magical power over you. So you shook your head and forced yourself to look away. 

“It’s nothing.” Then you stepped back a little. “I better go and check on the others.”

Tyler let you go, but he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Something was up and you were hurting. And he needed to find out why. 

Tyler’s eyes rarely left you over the next day and a half. You kept your eye on his wound, but when you cleaned it, that’s the only place you looked. You didn’t sneak a look at him like you usually did when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. You barely said two words to him. 

He’d asked Dani and Dexter if they knew anything about what had happened to you, but even they didn’t know. They knew you’d been quiet for the last couple of days, but other than that you seemed okay. 

It was as the sun started its descent in the sky that you got a knock on your motel door. Everyone had either gone for a nap or a shower, so you didn’t fully know who to expect. But once you opened your door, it was no surprise. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Tyler smiled. “Are you busy?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

“I’m gonna go for a drive, want to come with me?”

You were silent for a moment, trying to decide between saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’. On one hand, you’d love to join him. On the other, you knew within the first ten minutes of the drive, Tyler would know everything about what you weren’t telling him just by your silence. 

Tyler could see the contemplation washing over your face. “Let me rephrase? I’m going for a drive, and I want you to come with me.”

Looking into his eyes, you felt your internal battle melt away. 

“We need to talk.”

Internally, you sighed. You couldn’t avoid him forever. 

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“I’ll be by the truck.”

Two minutes later, you walked down the metal steps as you zipped up your jacket in the slow breeze that passed through the peaceful silence of the motel. Tyler stood by the passenger door, waiting to open it for you and close it behind you. 

Then he rounded the front before he pulled himself into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the lot and headed down the backroads. 

Usually, the radio would be playing on some kind of country station and the silence wouldn’t even be noticed between yourself and Tyler. But he wanted to talk. You both needed to talk. 

“Where are we headed?”

“Thought we could get some ice cream.” 

You smiled. Ever since Boone had mentioned it in the morning, you’d had a craving for it. 

After a few more minutes of silence, you plucked up the courage to ask. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Tyler looked at you, back at the road and back to you with a sigh. “Please remember we’re going for ice cream.”

“Okay.”

“And that I’m driving.”

You were getting a little worried. 

“Okay?”

“I called your brother.” You just stared at Tyler, waiting for him to continue. “He told me what happened.”

You searched Tyler’s face for any hint of a lie. He’d said that once before, just to get you to admit it outloud to him. He hadn’t called your brother and he hadn’t known what had happened. 

But this time he did. 

“Tyler…”

“Something was up with you and I knew you weren’t going to tell me. I wasn’t gonna take any chances.”

You sat back in your seat. “You could have just asked me.”

“Would you have told me?”

You were quiet. “Eventually.”

“Y/n,” Tyler sighed. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else.”

“It’s my job.”

He shook his head. “It’s more than that. You spend so much time making sure everyone else is okay, making sure we’re not hurt or dying or slipping off the edge of the world. You deserve not to get hurt, too.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Your voice seemed like something it never was. 

Small.

You didn’t know whether to look out of the window or at your hands. But Tyler brought your gaze back to him anyway by taking hold of your hand from where he sat. 

“I know I can’t change what happened, but I’m here if you wanna talk. Or scream. Or cry. Or bitch about it.” That part made you smile and he gave you a light smile in return. “For as long as you need.”

For the first time in a few weeks, you felt normal again for a moment. “Thanks.”

Looking at Tyler, his hand still firmly in yours, you watched as he looked from you, back to the road. 

Even when you were younger, you could have watched him forever trying to commit him to memory. Each line and curve of his face, the length of his lashes, the colour of his hair…all of it. You’d looked at the man for just over a decade. Maybe it was some innate fear of losing him, or maybe it was the fact that the first time you met him was when he charged in front of a bull and got flipped into the air like a rag-doll. 

But you wanted to make sure he was there. 

One thing that you were certain of was that, no matter what, you’d never forget his eyes. The way they bore into your soul unlike anything else. Tyler knew what you were thinking and feeling with one single gaze on your face. 

Nobody else could do that. 

Nobody. 

Just him. 

Just Tyler. 

Pulling into a semi empty parking lot, Tyler switched off the engine and looked over at you. Then you both made your way inside. Grabbing a basket, you and Tyler stocked up on different flavours of ice cream for both yourself and the others before heading towards the check out. 

Finally, once you’d come outside, there were barely any cars in the entire lot but the way the sun was setting, sending a golden hue over everything it touched, made it seem a lot more peaceful than just empty. 

“Wanna stay here for a while?”

“Here? Here here?”

Tyler smiled as he lifted the back of his flat bed down and hopped up into it. You tried to deny yourself of the fact that you checked him out as he did so. 

“Yes, here. Or have you got somewhere better to be?”

You could hear the smile in his voice. 

“What about the ice cream?”

Tyler gave a casual shrug before he lifted it up. “I’ve got a cooler. They’ll keep for a while.”

You looked around you. There was no hurry in getting back. Everyone would probably still be napping. 

“Okay then.”

As Tyler dropped the bag into the cooler, he walked over to you and gave you a hand up before you held onto his arm for stability. 

“You okay?”

“All good.”

As you sat down, Tyler went back to the cooler and pulled out your chosen flavour of the day, as well as his before handing you a clean spoon from the small side pocket of the cooler. 

Then he joined you. 

With the sun warm on your bodies, the pair of you sat on the edge of Tyler’s flatbed, your legs swinging free. 

“So, what did our shared idiot have to say? Is he and the girls okay?”

Tyler nodded. “Melenie’s on a girls weekend away for her friend’s bachelorette party, so he’s trying to keep the girls busy before they call their mom. He also said that Caroline has now decided she wants to become a vet instead of a princess equestrian horse ballet dancer.”

You smiled with a small laugh. 

“And Zoey has taken to teaching her dad how to cook a meal that does not include pasta or cheese.”

You looked at Tyler. “Is that why I got a text asking what a bechamel is?”

Tyler nodded with a small laugh. “She found a recipe for Lasagna to help him dip his toe in the water. She’s just like you, you know.”

“What? Bossy? Stubborn? Too smart for her own good?”

“Clever.” 

You looked at Tyler again. 

Then he shrugged. “Bossy, too. But clever.”

You smiled, taking the compliment, even if you did roll your eyes at his agreement of you being called ‘bossy’. 

A small chuckle escaped you. “She has been running rings around those two for years. I’m expecting Caroline will be doing the same soon enough.”

“Soon enough? She already does! You know, last time I went to see them she had your brother learning how to sow pink sequins onto tu-tu fabric.”

“But he doesn’t know how to use a needle. I’m pretty sure I banned him from using one when he was sixteen and tried to sow his socks back together. It ended up looking like he had webbed feet.”

Tyler laughed. “Well, he’s gotten better at least. I had to give him a helping hand, but by the end of the night she was doing pirouettes around the garden until she got dizzy.”

You smiled. You saw your brother, sister-in-law and nieces as often as you could. You had a facetime call with them at least once a week. Your niece Zoey had even taken to writing your letters since she was practicing to earn her pen license in school. 

The conversation flowed from there. From your nieces, to Tyler’s family, to the Wranglers, to work, to the prediction of a few more EF-1s and 2s in the area in the coming days and then back to ice cream. 

Until Dani called and asked you and Tyler to pick some food up on your way back from wherever you both were. 

“Come on, we better go.”

As you took Tyler’s tub back to the cooler along with your own, he hopped down to the ground and waited for you. And from there, after the initial awkward moment, Tyler reached to your hips before slowly lowering you down until your feet hit the concrete directly in front of him. 

For a moment, the world seemed to disappear around you. 

Feeling Tyler’s fingers against the waistband of your shorts holding you steady, you felt yourself lean forward. With your eyes trailing up from his chest where your hands had fallen from his shoulders, all the way up to where his eyes moved from the lower half of your face to meet your gaze, a question popped into your mind. Well, a few questions. 

Did he feel the same?

Was he…did he want to kiss you, too?

Before you could get your answers, however, Tyler’s phone rang out loud. And the moment seemed to roll away as you and Tyler realised what was happening and stepped away from each other. 

“It’s…it’s Dexter.”

You nodded and stepped away. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

As Tyler watched you walk away, looking back at him every once in a while, he cursed himself for leaving his phone on loud. 

Looking down at the contact, he swiped to answer and scuffed his boots on the concrete as he cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Ty. Uh, I’m picking up a reading.”

Sitting in the truck, you looked at your reflection. The heat you could feel on your cheeks was clearly writing across your face. You could only pray Tyler thought it was from the sun and not from the twister of butterflies inside of you. 

From the rearview mirror, you watched him scurry around, grabbing a pen and a scrap piece of paper to scribble something down. Then he hung up and rushed towards the driver’s seat. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Get your seatbelt on.” Tyler told you as he pulled his own on and started the truck up. 

“Ty, what’s going on-”

“Dexter’s picked up some cells. We’re twenty minutes away. Fifteen if we hurry.”

The noise of his engine seemed to get louder until it joined in with the sound of the incoming sirens. 

You could both see it in the distance, gathering more track as it got closer. First it ripped through a baseball park for the kids, then the field and park beside it before heading towards the markets in the town. 

“The shelters are all full!”

You looked around you, as did Tyler. “The bar! They’ll have a cellar!”

The wind continued to pick up around you both, everyone’s voice becoming silent in comparison to the chaos around you all. 

Then you saw one of the tents take flight. 

“Tyler!”

He couldn’t hear you. 

“Tyler!”

He heard you as you forced yourself closer, but before he could react, you pulled him down just before the tent swooped lower and took your both out. Rolling along the ground, the tent cover ripped away and went sailing through the air and down the street along with the metal stand. 

“Are you okay?”

Tyler was above you, checking you over. But you just nodded and your attention turned towards the end of the street. 

“We need to get inside.”

With Tyler’s help, you stood up and pulled yourself into the bar before he closed the door and directed you towards the cellar. As the door to the cellar closed behind you, a sharp pain came to the side of your head. 

“Come on, down here. We’ll be safe here.”

Tyler slotted you between the wall and himself, his arms wrapping around you securely. Every now and again, people let out small screams. More so when the tornado ripped through the town and battered against the cellar door. 

You gripped onto Tyler’s arm and clothes a little tighter, burying your head into his chest. Then you felt his arm reach from your back to your head, holding you against him, his cheek resting against the top of your head. 

Slowly, the wind disappeared and the battering of the door came to a stop. The only noises that could be heard in the cellar were people’s gasps and heavy breathing as they looked around as the swinging headlamp above them. 

“Do you think it’s over?”

“Maybe.” 

Tyler looked up and helped you up from where you stood. The stinging on your head seemed to get worse as you stood up and the blurry image of Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean square of fabric. 

You hissed.

“Sorry. Just keep pressure. You’re bleeding.”

For a moment you tried to look at it then realised you couldn’t. 

“I’ve got a med kit in my truck. Hopefully it’s still there.”

Eventually, you all got back outside. Boone, Dani and Kate appeared from across the street, a sea of people behind them. 

“Can you hold down the fort?” Tyler asked Lily. “I want to make sure Y/n’s okay.”

“Yeah, ‘course. We’ve got her med kit with us if you don’t have yours.”

Tyler nodded and thanked her before moving back to the sidewalk, his hand coming to your shoulder. “Come on, let's go and patch you up.”

Finding Tyler’s truck, he slotted the back of the flatbed down and lifted you onto the back. 

“I’m gonna grab my kit. It’s on the backseat.”

You just nodded, keeping the eye closest to the cut shut. Tyler disappeared for a moment but once he was back in front of you, he was a little less blurry. 

“Okay, let me take a look at this.”

“Are you okay?”

Tyler laughed a little as he examined your wound. “You’re the one bleeding here, Sweetheart. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Tyler chuckled. “Well,” he examined the wound further before reaching for the cotton swabs and cleaning solution. “It’s either me or another paramedic-”

“You.”

Tyler smiled. “Glad to know I’m a fan favourite.”

Then with a small warning, he started to clean the cut on your head. You hissed, lifting your hand to his other arm. 

“Sorry, I’ll be finished soon. I promise.” Tyler said as his thumb gently rubbed your cheek as it rested in his hand. 

“It’s okay. I trust you.”

Tyler smiled a little. “Am I still a fan favourite?”

The stinging settled and you moved back towards him and the cotton swab. “More than a favourite, but I might be biassed.”

You seemed to have shocked yourself but Tyler didn’t seem to react. Too much, at least. Maybe he hadn’t heard you. 

With little tape pieces, Tyler pinched your cut together before laying them across it. 

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

Tyler smiled, “I’m keeping my eye on you, but you should live.”

“Ah,” you smiled. “The three little words every woman wants to hear.” 

For a moment, it looked like Tyler was going to say something but then he turned back to his med bag. “We should probably head back. See if anyone needs our help.”

“You’re right.”

And you both did exactly that. 

The night sky had fully settled across the town by the time you and Tyler started helping out. And by the time you all got back to the motel, the moon was at its peak. Everyone headed for bed the moment you all got back. 

Except for you. 

Twenty minutes later, you stepped out of the shower for the second time that day, your hair wrapped in a towel as you got dressed into a spare set of clean clothes. 

Then there was a familiar knock on your door as you flipped your head over and pulled the towel from around your hair. 

“It’s open, Ty!”

“How did you know it was me?”

You gave him a tired smile. “I know your knock. Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to check on you.” He lifted his med bag from beside him. You nodded and he shut the door behind him before he walked across the carpet floor and sat beside you on your bed. 

With his fingers gently holding your head, he examined your wound. “How are you feeling?”

“The dizziness is gone and I can see you clearly again, so that’s something.”

Tyler smiled. 

“I am a doctor, Tyler. I do know what I’m doing.”

“I know.” Tyler nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to check up on you. You deserve to be taken care of, too.”

You smiled and gave him a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Well, it seems clean.”

“I did just have a shower.”

Tyler chuckled, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “Right. Well, you look okay. I mean, you always look okay. Beautiful, actually. But-”

“Ty.”

“What I mean is- it’s just that- your wound looks okay.” Tyler finally looked at you calmly again, his hand coming to your wound to let his thumb brush the wet strands of your hair away from it. 

“You always look beautiful.”

You felt yourself lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment until you heard his voice. Then your eyes met his. 

But no phone rang this time. 

No knock came to the door. 

Neither of you were trying to avoid the other. 

As his hand slipped through the strands of your hair, your hand reached out for his arm and you moved closer. Finally, his lips met yours in a tender kiss. It was soft then…searching. His hand that you’d reach for pulled you closer until he held you flush against him, your own hands reaching for his side as well as his jaw. 

With the kiss floating to an end, you felt Tyler’s nose nuzzle against yours, your eyes still closed as his forehead came to touch yours. 

Then you finally opened your eyes when you felt Tyler pull away for a moment. He was looking at you, that ridiculously endearing smile on his face as he looked at you and once again brushed the hair from your face. 

Then you felt yourself giggle. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing…just…I never thought this would happen.”

“Are you glad it did?” Tyler felt his heart trying to prepare itself for the worst. 

But you smiled. “I am…are you?”

Tyler felt a wave of relief wash over him. “If you only knew how long I’d been thinking about it…”

“Is that a yes?”

Tyler nodded. “That’s a yes.”

“So…if I asked you to kiss me again, would you say yes?”

“Yes.” Tyler leaned closer. “I’d say ‘yes’.”

Kissing you once again, your fate was tied with Tyler. A day where Tyler didn’t kiss you good morning, good night or just for no reason at all would never come into being. 

[lechrts]

Valentine. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Florist!reader

Summary: When a certain customer of yours asks for a special bouquet on Valentine’s Day.

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluff!!!! cute little florist reader yas!!!!

Vera’s Voice! happy valentine’s day!!! lando fluff to make ur day or wtv Haaiii :3 gonna pub some more later too!!!

The morning sun spilled through the large front window of your flower shop, casting a golden glow over the display of fresh blooms.

The scent of roses, lilacs, and eucalyptus lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee from the cup beside your register.

It’s Valentine’s Day—the busiest day of the year, but it felt like an oddly slow morning.

You barely had a second to breathe before the familiar chime of the bell above the door rang, signaling a customer.

You glance up from tying a delicate satin ribbon around a bouquet and immediately recognize the messy brown curls and striking eyes of a familiar and reoccurring customer.

A soft smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.

“Oh, Lando,” You greet, brushing a few stray flower petals from your apron. “Good morning!” Your soft grin lingered as he approached the counter.

Lando grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He looks comfortable, as if he belonged here, despite the slight contrast of his casual attire against the elegant floral arrangements around him.

“Morning,” His voice warm, like a gentle breeze on a spring morning.

You arch a playful brow. “And what brings you in today? Looking for something special? For… someone special?” You tilt your head teasingly, though you were begging deep down inside it was just a joke.

Lando chuckles, leaning against the wooden counter like he has all the time in the world. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You rolled your eyes, though the soft flutter in your chest betrayed you.

For months now, Lando has come into the shop nearly every Sunday when he’s in town. It was weird to see him on a Friday, but it was Valentine’s day after all.

At first, you assumed he just really liked fresh flowers, which was endearing in itself. But after a while, you joked that he must have had a house full of vases by now, and he’d just grinned and shrugged, offering no real explanation.

But little did you know.

Still, you liked his presence. The way he always struck up easy conversations, made you laugh on even the most exhausting days.

It was harmless, really. Except, lately, you’d caught yourself hoping his visits meant something more.

And that was dangerous.

“Alright, then,” You say, crossing your arms. "What can I get for you today? Any of your usual arrangements?

He shakes his head, pretending to think. "Actually, I’ve got a different request today."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do tell!”

Lando leaned in slightly, as if he’s about to share some big secret. "If you were a girl receiving a bouquet of your choice… what flowers would you like?"

Your hands stilled. “Me?”

Lando nodded, watching you too closely. “Yeah. What would you pick?”

You frown in thought, reaching out to gently touch a bundle of tulips on a display beside you. “Something soft but meaningful.” You pause, picturing it. “Tulips, for grace and renewal.”

“Maybe some dahlias, because they’re bold yet elegant. Some chamomile for a touch of whimsy, and sprigs of lavender for a calming, fragrant finish.” Your fingers skim the edge of a nearby vase as you visualize it. “Nothing too extravagant—just something that feels gentle and full of warmth.”

Lando hums, nodding as if committing every detail to memory. “That does sound perfect. Think you could put that together for me?”

You hesitate, curiosity bubbling up. He’s never been this specific before. You wonder who the bouquet is for—but you don’t ask.

“Of course.” You smile softly.

It is Valentine’s Day, after all. He’s probably seeing someone. You felt a slight pang in your chest at the thought, a quiet, unwelcome squeeze of disappointment.

But you push it down, telling yourself it’s silly to care. He’s just a regular, and you’re just the florist.

Still, the idea lingers as you get to work, selecting each bloom with delicate nature.

Lando stayed close, watching your hands move with quiet fascination.

“You ever get flowers?” He asked, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, surprised by the question. “Me?”

He smirks. “Yeah, you.”

You shrug. “Not really.” A pause. “I guess when you’re around flowers all day, people assume you don’t need any.”

Lando hums, thoughtful. “That’s a shame. Everyone should get flowers sometimes.”

You smile softly but don’t respond, focusing on tying the bouquet together. Once it’s wrapped in parchment paper and secured with a ribbon, you step back, admiring the finished product.

“There you go,” You say, offering it to him. “Hope she loves them.”

Lando pulled out his wallet, paid, and then—to your utter confusion—immediately held the bouquet back out to you.

You blink. “Wha…?”

Lando pulled a small envelope out his pocket, handing it to you. He offered a hesitant but kind smile as you carefully took the bouquet back, along with the neatly sealed card.

Unfolding the contents inside, your eyes softened at the words as you read them.

In neat but slightly rushed handwriting, nine simple words stared back at you:

Let me take you to dinner. Be my Valentine?

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you look up, your heart pounding.

Lando shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, but his grin remains. “So.. What do you say?”

You stare at him for a moment, warmth blooming in your chest like the very flowers in your hands.

“Well,” You murmur, brushing your fingers over the petals, “I do love these flowers.”

Lando’s grin lights up the room. “I would’ve hoped so.”

“Yeah, real smooth.” You flashed a smile, inhaling the scent of the flowers once more.

And now, you were no longer just the florist with the soft smile.

Tonight, you were his Valentine.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @pedriache @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[yuu-kantokusei]

Valentine's Day❤️

First year version

Characters: Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek

TW: cute, fluff, wholesome

♥️Ace Trappola

Ace isn't one for grand romantic gestures, but he also wants to make the day special in his own way. He teases you all morning, pretending to have forgotten about Valentine's Day, only to surprise you with an impromptu date at the Heartslabyul garden.

He smirks, holding out a box behind his back. "Oh? You actually thought I’d forget? How could I, when you’ve been blushing at every couple we passed today?"

Inside the box is a mix of chocolates—some gourmet, some oddly shaped—and a single playing card, the Ace of Hearts, with "Trappola’s Special Valentine" written on it.

"You better treasure that! That card’s got sentimental value, y’know." he says, grinning but looking away slightly, as if embarrassed.

Afterward, he takes you to play some games at the fair stalls set up by different dorms, winning a stuffed animal for you (after losing a few rounds first, much to his frustration). The day ends with Ace casually throwing an arm around your shoulder, laughing at how "lucky" you are to have him.

♠️Deuce Spade

Deuce spends weeks planning for Valentine’s Day, even getting advice from Trey and Riddle. On the big day, he shows up at your door, nervously shifting from foot to foot, holding a carefully wrapped box of homemade chocolates.

“I—I made these myself! Trey-senpai supervised, so they should be good. I hope…”

Inside the box, the chocolates are heart-shaped but slightly uneven, showing how hard he worked on them. There’s also a little handwritten note, written with intense concentration, saying:

"Thank you for being my precious friend. You make my days brighter. Please accept this small gift."

Afterward, he takes you for a motorcycle ride through a scenic route outside the academy, making sure you hold on tightly. At the highest point, they stop and watch the sunset together, his face turning red as he quietly mutters, "I’m really glad we met."

🐺Jack Howl

Jack isn’t one for sappy holidays, but he recognizes that Valentine’s Day is important, so he makes an effort. He finds a small but meaningful gift—a handcrafted leather bracelet with a wolf charm attached, something practical yet symbolic.

When he gives it to you, he scratches his ear, looking away. “This is… uh, something to remind you that I’ve got your back. Always.”

Instead of a traditional date, Jack takes you on a morning jog with him, where they share a quiet but peaceful time together. Later, he surprises you with a picnic under a large tree, bringing some homemade sandwiches and fruit.

As you eat happily, he watches you with a soft expression, muttering under his breath, “You should smile like that more often.”

If you tease him about it, his tail wags despite his flustered protests.

🍎Epel Felmier

Epel, despite his usual complaints about being treated as ‘cute,’ fully embraces the romance of Valentine’s Day. He invites you to a surprise horseback ride around Pomefiore’s flower fields, where he guides you gently through the scenic landscape.

At the end of the ride, he pulls out a small wooden box with a beautifully carved apple pendant inside. "I made this myself," he says proudly. "It’s apple wood from my family’s orchard. So even when you’re not with me, you’ll have a piece of my home with you."

They spend the evening watching the stars, sharing stories from their childhood. At one point, Epel, thinking you have dozed off, whispers softly, “I wish we could spend every Valentine’s like this…”

Little does he know, you heard him and smiled.

⚡️Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek insists that Valentine's Day is an insignificant human tradition, but deep down, he takes it very seriously when it involves you. He prepares a dramatic, formal speech about your “importance” in his life but keeps getting flustered halfway through.

“Ahem! I— I wish to bestow upon you a token of my— No, that’s not right! CURSES!"

Eventually, he simply hands you a carefully wrapped book—a rare edition of a famous knight’s tale. “This story… It’s about loyalty and strength. You remind me of the hero.”

Despite his usual loudness, he spends the day unusually gentle, guiding you through a serene walk near Diasomnia’s quiet gardens. By the end of the day, he clears his throat, trying to look serious.

“You—You are truly exceptional, And… I shall protect you for all eternity!” His face turns red as he abruptly storms off, embarrassed.

[manicmanuscription]

I Got You Sweetheart

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You suddenly have intense flashbacks and the only thing to help calm you down is your mate, Rhysand.

Word Count: 1544

Warnings/Tags: PTSD, mentions of torture (only vaguely described), panic attacks, fluff.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @seradika-graphics

Today was a good day.

Today was supposed to be a good day. 

The soft summer sun had the  beautiful carved roads of Velaris glistening, bricks shining with a renewed vigor. Flowers hung from lampposts or sat in windows and it was perfect. 

I didn’t know when it became too much. When the light and soothing chatter from pedestrians became a jackhammer in my skull. 

When the warmth suddenly became blistering, my clothes started sticking to my skin and soon I was suffocating. Too much, too much, too. much.

Everything was too bright and blinding. I stumbled in people’s paths in my desperate attempt to escape the world around me. Everything in my instincts told me to run as my mind was harshly thrust into dark memories. 

The kind and smiling faces of my people morphed into those of my old tormentors. Children giggling turned into a dark laughter as my skin was split open with a harsh edge of a dirty blade as they had tortured me. The bindings that held me three hundred years ago felt fresh on my skin, the phantom pain intensifying as if it were merely moments ago. My feet were pounding against the stone. My mind is screaming at me to go, to get out. I needed to find a safe place, to escape this feeling of terror that had etched itself into my very soul. 

Go, go.  My mind screamed GO! before they caught me, before this feeling could somehow intertwine further into my heart than it already had. Broken bones and my own shattered screams echoed in my ears and I couldn’t. fucking. breathe. 

I could barely hear Rhysand’s comforting voice in my mind, barely noticed his tug on our mating bond over the sound of my trauma dragging my back in it’s terrifying trenches. Barely even noticed when he gripped me by the forearms and winnowed us to our shared bedroom. 

All I could see was the door and I ran towards it, the knob wouldn’t open and I spiraled even worse. Gods I was stuck again- 

I collapsed to the floor, pressing my back against the wall as I sobbed, my broken breathing the only sound in the room. My mate was kneeling in front of me, his hands hovering above my knees as if he wanted to touch me but wouldn’t as if he knew my overloaded system wouldn’t be able to handle it right now. 

Rhys whispered my name softly, trying to break me out of my hysteria. I was starting to get light headed from the lack of oxygen, black dots dancing in my vision as ragged gasps turned into full on hyperventilating. Rhys said my name again,

I think this time in my mind, pushing gently on my walls without being overbearing and making my flashbacks worse but it didn't break me out of my trance. I couldn’t fucking breathe. I was here, yet not. Voices all overlapping and drowning out everything else. 

Memories were pushing to the forefront of my mind and my entire body was shaking. 

Rhysand had never been more terrified, he hadn’t seen you like this in years and he had already tried all your practiced and safe response’s to these episodes so he could hopefully calm you down but nothing was working. So he grabbed hold of your mind firmly, he would never usually do this but this was an extreme situation, the last card he had to play.

Those dark tendrils wrapped around your traumatic memories and pulled them away, he willed your brain to make your breaths come in even waves instead of vengeful gasps, willed your body to stop shaking and replaced the panic with a feeling of safety. He curled himself around your mind, muting everything except for the familiar comfort of the mating bond, throwing love down it as his glittering magic pulsed around you. “Breathe.” He whispered softly, placing a hand over your heart. “Just breathe I’m here love, you’re ok.”

I did exactly that, deep breath’s in and out as my body finally started to relax with each inhale and exhale. I held him extremely tight and enjoyed the way his scent calmed me down.

There was nothing in this moment except his dark magic that sparkled exactly like the night sky seeping into every corner of the room. his arms wrapped around me, holding me close and just gave me a damned moment of reprieve. 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that in the quiet comfort of my mate. I hadn’t had an episode like this in a hundred years. Rhys was always the one to calm me down, always knowing exactly what I needed to feel safe.  Sometimes I hated touch, sometimes I needed it. Sometimes I needed him close and other times I needed him far, yet he was always there. 

Soon guilt settled in as my mind cleared, pulling away from that primal place of flight or fight.

He was supposed to be in a meeting with some of his high-ranking merchants and this wasn’t the first time he’d dropped everything to help me. I sniffled into his shoulder as my stomach twisted. Gods I was so overdramatic and clingy and-

“Stop it.” Rhys whispered against my skin. A wave of reassurance and love down his side of the bond spread through my chest, making me feel all warm and fuzzy. 

“I’m sorry.” I croaked out, my voice raspy from crying. “That word is banned if you remember.” His voice was light but I still felt the sincerity in his words. “I just, I don’t know what triggered it and..I mean..I-“ 

“Sshh.” My mate murmured. Leaning back slightly so he could look me in the eyes. I gripped on even tighter to his shirt at the almost loss of contact. He took my face in his large hands and titled my head so my gaze met his. 

“You do this little spiral every time after intense PTSD moments, I am not helping you out of obligation, I am helping you because I care about you, because I love you. Because you’re my mate, my wife, you are everything to me and you deserve to feel safe and happy. You deserve the world and being there for you is an honor, it is a gift and it helps me feel secure, knowing that I can care for you, protect you. I love you.” I didn’t miss the way his voice slightly wavered on the word protect.

Even though those males had taken me long before I met him I knew he still wanted to rip them apart all over again. His gaze was so intense and it had a familiar heat trickling down my spine. I could feel the truth in his words, see the conviction in his eyes and I slowly let go of the guilt that had tried to overtake me.

“I love you too.” I sighed. “I just..I hadn’t had an episode in so long, I mean that…event…was fucking forever ago and I -“ My voice cracked slightly and I took a shuddering inhale as the urge to cry hit me again tenfold when I started speaking. “I just thought I was healed, it was over, I’d never have to be so -broken- again.” 

Rhysand tilted my head so our foreheads were touching. “You have healed, you have done so much work and I’m so so proud of you baby, look at where you are now from yesterday. From last week? From two hundred years ago? You can’t put a timeline on healing, there are good days and bad days and it is important you have the support, especially for bad days and I’ll always be here. You’re not broken, you can do this. You’re safe baby. You’ll be ok, it'll never happen again.” 

I started crying again at his words, it soothes something inside of my roughened heart and he wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumbs. “You’re perfect just as you are.” 

I reached up and gently pressed my lips against his and he immediately opened up to me, letting me lead the kiss, feel in control and I sighed happily against him. I needed the soft intimacy. It was a balm to my soul and after a few seconds I laid my head on his shoulder once again. I was too tired for words but I pushed my needs to him down the bond and he responded immediately, lifting me up in his strong arms and tucking me in the bed treating me with such care I thought I was going to cry again. 

He curled himself around me and I laid my head across his muscled chest, listening to his strong heartbeat as those fingers drew comforting circles onto my shoulder. The panic had left my body and although I felt so tired from the whole exchange, my body shutting down as all the adrenline finally left and I could relax. I didn't feel as hollow as I usually did after these moments. 

No, I felt completely loved and cared for. Soon his rhythmic touch had me drifting off to sleep. 

I was loved, I was cherished for, I was safe.

[maplegyu]

THE WAY I CLICKED THIS SO FAST BECAUSE OF THE TITLE!!!!!??!?!

I RECOGNIZE THAT QUOTE ANYWHERE 😭 (its even the header of one of my sideblogs!!)

BUT I DIDNT WANT TO ASSUME SO WHEN I GOT TO THIS PART!!!!!! I ACTU SQUEALED

I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING. I KNEW WONU WOULD CONFESS IN THE BEST MOST CREATIVE MOST ROMANTIC WAY POSSIBLE BUT I WAS STILL WAS NOT PREPARED WHEN I FINALLY READ THE FIC THROUGH!!!!!!! One of the best shortforms i've ever had the pleasure of consuming!!!!!

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting.

Of course the visions in my head for this was *the* Darcy hand clench scene

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

PLEASE THE WAY THE WRITING TRANSLATED INTO A VISUAL MONTAGE IN MY HEAD???!?! HOW COULD I NOT SWOON!!!! HOW COULD I NOT ROOT FOR THEM!!!??! MY GODDDDD the seed of wonu being an austen-coded man has forever altered my brain chemistry. I truly love any and everything remotely austen-adjacent!!!!

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

Just stellar writing and imagery all around. One of the first things i thought was that this is such a fantastic example of figurative language! 💖

This whole scene... god ITS LITERALLY MY VERSION OF READER'S: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

THE CONFESSION WAS SO GOOD AND CONFIDENT. THE FOREHEAD RESTING IS SO REGENCY-CODED I KNOW ITS MODERN DAY BUT THE CALLBACKS TO THINGS PLAYING OUT A LITTLE OLD FASHIONED PERIOD JUST FEELS SO ROMANTIC TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,”

I LOVED THIS LINE SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!

idk what it is... it made it feel like the stakes were extra high but wonu was just that sure/confident!

“You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

I loveddd this too!!! It was so cute and suchhh a mood! Hahaha

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

PERFECT FREAKIN ENDING. everything was just lovely from start to finish! this is perhaps my fave wonu fic ive read to date!!! 💖💖💖

Thank you for writing and sharing this 🥰

if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen. you hold your breath.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightly finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

[fuck1ng-queen]

Just Pretend

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: fake dating, best friends to lovers

Author comments: hi, besties! happy valentine’s day! this is the last one shot of this special week, closing with our bestfriend!noah. i hope you all like it! 💕

The sweet scent of melted chocolate and fresh flowers were almost literally everywhere. The city seemed to be bewitched by Valentine's Day, with decorated windows in pink and red tones and paper hearts in every corner. You always thought all of that a little exaggerated, but deep down it was difficult not to feel a little jealous when you saw the happy couples holding hands, laughing and sharing moments.

That morning, you woke up with your mind divided between two emotions: relief for not having to be worried about gifts or commitments and a bit of loneliness that insisted to appear that time of the year. While you were finishing your breakfast while scrolling your social media filled with romantic posts, your facetime called.

“What are you doing today?” You picked up and a face appeared on the screen. “If your answer is nothing, get ready, I’ll be right there.”

And then, in less than an hour, Noah, your best friend since forever, was at your door, with that carefree smile you knew so well.

“Are you really going to spend Valentine’s Day home alone watching movies?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, holding two cups of coffee which he had obviously stopped to buy on the way.

“I don’t see a problem in it.” You answered, arching an eyebrow while you got your coffee from his hand. “Some of us don't have a romantic date to celebrate.”

He laugh, nodding.

“Me neither for your information. But that’s why I had a great idea.”

“Hm, this is always dangerous…” You joked, crossing your arms.

“Let’s pretend we’re a couple!” he announced, as if he had just found the cure of a rare disease.

You blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“Think with me: several stores and restaurants are giving discounts and good conditions for couples today. We could turn this into a funny adventure. Who needs a real date when you can break the system with your best friend?”

You straightened your eyes to him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life.”

“Ridiculously brilliant!” he corrected, with that mischievous smile that always succeeded to disarm you. “I mean, come on, this is going to be fun! Besides, you were really thinking about spending Valentine's alone, weren't you?”

Sighing, you realised he had a point. Spending Valentine’s Day with Noah seemed to be such a better option than spending the day home alone, mourning your luck in love, or more precisely, the lack of it. And, truth be told, the idea of pretending to be a couple with him had something intriguing you didn’t want to admit to yourself.

“Okay, I’m in” you said, trying to look indifferent. “But just because I want to see where this is going.”

“That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, taking you by the hand and pulling you out the couch. “First of all, you have to at least pretend you’re going on a date. Can you change your clothes and brush your hair? Second, we’re getting that 50% off brunch for couples.”

You laughed, disbelieved in what you just had heard. Noah was your best friend for so long that it hasn’t any filter between you anymore. He could say with any problem how messy your hair was. And honestly, you used to love that.

You ran up the stairs while he waited in the living room thinking about what to wear to match what he was wearing, and to be honest, that wasn’t that difficult, once both of you basically wore black almost every day. Without overthinking you got undressed, throwing off your clothes on the bedroom floor. While you were looking through the mess of your wardrobe you lightly wiped out some gunk from your eyes and applied deodorant. A dress wasn’t your first choice everyday, but it seemed to be a comfortable and good looking option. You dressed it up quickly, not caring too much about how the bra strap was showing behind the straps of your dress, they were the same color, anyway.

The black fabric went all the way down to your feet, but the slit in both legs made everything less formal. You rushed to put your hair up in a ponytail, put on some lipstick and mascara, sprayed your everyday perfume and took a pair of socks inside the drawer, heading down the stairs as quickly as you could.

“Wow, now you look like a girlfriend!” Noah commented as he saw you coming down the stairs, even barefoot, trying to look as indifferent as possible, when deep down something told him he had never repaired how beautiful you were with such attention. You couldn’t help but giggle at his comment. That was Noah. “Shall we?” He suggested as he saw you had finished putting your army boots on.

The sensation of going on a date with Noah was funny, strange even, but you were willing to enjoy the day. Something told you the day was going to be way more interesting than if you had stayed home alone taking roots on the couch.

The coffee you stopped first was small and cozy, with a well done decoration for Valentine’s Day. Felt hearts hung from the ceiling, and the tables were decorated with candles and small bouquets of flowers. You were quickly settled in by an employee who, when she heard you were a couple, gave you a warm smile and wished you a “happy Valentine’s Day”.

You felt your cheeks warming up by noticing the way Noah bent himself in your direction, putting his arm on the chair back as if it was the most normal thing ever.

“Just to keep up appearances” he whispered with a smile, blinking at you.

Besides your initial embarrassment, you soon got in the mood. During brunch, Noah made a point to exaggerate on his part, holding your hand on the table and even offering food in your mouth. You laughed so much you began to forget that all of that was just pretend. However, there were moments - little things - that his gaze seemed to linger a few more than usual, or the touch of his long fingers seemed to be warmer than it should.

You have always had a complicity between you, coming from years of friendship. You remembered the day he appeared in your house with soup and blankets last winter, for you to get extra cozy while facing a terrible flu, even after a whole day of work. Or when he spent hours helping you to paint your living room and he ended up with more paint on his face than on the wall. There was also the night he caught you in the middle of the night during a party because you weren't feeling well, without asking anything, just carrying you home and staying by your side until you’re finally asleep. Little memories like these were the foundation of what you used to share, and made it all incredibly natural.

After the brunch at the cafe, you went to a chocolate store, who was offering a special price for couples. The employee has insisted for you to take a picture together so you could enter a prize draw, and, before you could say anything, Noah pulled you closer, involving his fully tattooed arms around you from behind and leaning his cheek on your head. The proximity between the two of you made your heart race, but you forced a smile to the camera, trying to ignore the weird, but familiar, sensation growing from the bottom of your chest.

Between activities, Noah made a point to make the mood light, always making you a joke or having a fun story to tell. However, you couldn’t help but let the little moments steal your attention: the way he threw his head back when he laughed about something you told, or how he ran his hand through his hair in a distracted way. Those details, such ordinary ones, now it seemed to catch your attention in a new way.

You ended up going to a fun fair that offered double tickets for couples. You pretended to complain when he insisted on getting a teddy bear for you at the shooting game, but the silly smile on his face when he noticed he had won took you by surprise. He gave it to you making the most exaggerated movements he could, bending as if he was a medieval knight.

When the day turned into night, you decided to watch a movie in a local cinema that used to exhibit the classic ones. Only romances today. Sitting side by side in the dark room, you could feel his presence like it was something tangible - his body heat, the light sound of his breath, the occasional touch between your hands when the both of you accidentally grab popcorn at the same time. There was something incredible intimate about sharing that space with him, even though none of you were saying a single word.

It was just when the day was coming to the end you figured out how much he meant to you. You were sitting on a bench at the park, observing the couples passing through you, when Noah broke the silence.

“Hey, thank you for doing this today. I really appreciate it.” He smiled, but it was something else, something in his eyes you couldn’t make out.

“No, I should thank you. It was way better than spending the day alone.” You smiled back, trying to hide how anxious you were.

There was a silence moment before Noah got to start talking again, his voice a little low and deep this time.

“You know… It doesn’t need to be just pretend, right?”

You felt your chest trembling, your heart just raced, and you turned to face him, looking for anything that could show he was joking with you. But he wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on yours, sincere and vulnerable in a way you have never seen before.

“What?” You asked, your voice sounding more like a whisper.

“What I’m saying is… maybe I wasn’t pretending the way I said I was.” He gave a nervous little laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Look, I know it may seem like something out of nothing, but I think it’s already time to tell you. I like you. More than just a friend.”

The world seemed to stop for a second while you were absorbing his words. Your heart was beating so fast you almost could hear it in your ears. Vou tried to say something, anything, but the words seemed stuck in your throat. Noah took your silence like hesitation and started to move away slightly, looking away.

“It’s okay, I understand if you won’t feel the same,” he said, his voice a little trembling. “I just thought I had to be honest…”

“Noah.” You finally found your voice, interrupting him. He stared at you, surprised. “You’re such an idiot.”

His almond eyes widened, but before you could say anything, you continued, a shy smile appearing on your face.

“How do you think I wasn’t going to notice? I was just trying to convince myself it wasn’t true.” You gave a little anxious laugh, just like he did moments before, looking away before finding his eyes again. “I like you too. For a while, actually.”

He stayed in silence for a moment, like he was trying to understand what was happening. And then, the large smile that appeared on his face was so genuine and full of relief that it made your heart melt.

“Really?” he asked, as if he needed the confirmation of all of that.

You nodded, and before you could say anything, he bent himself forwards and pulled you for a tight hug. His body heat was cozy, and you felt exactly where you needed to be.

When he moved away just enough to look into your eyes, Noah whispered:

“I think this makes the day even more perfect.”

You laugh, feeling the happiness overflowing in a way you couldn’t help.

“Maybe the best Valentine’s ever.” You agreed, and he smiled before laying his forehead on yours.

“What about we become this official?” he suggested, his voice low and fulfilled with expectation.

“Now we know we have both been pretending, I think it’s about time” you just answered.

And then he leaned in, pausing for a moment as if he was asking permission before touching you, before brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, but full of feelings that seemed to have been hidden for so long. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to dive into that moment, while everything around seemed to stop.

When you parted, just enough for him to look into your eyes again, Noah smiled in that carefree way, Noah’s way. But now something was different, it has a special sparkle.

“Definitely the best Valentine’s ever” he murmured, and you couldn’t help but give a little giggle, feeling your heart light and full of joy.

The night seemed a little brighter now, and, while you walked back home, holding hands for real, and not pretending, you knew that was the start of something even more beautiful.

.

Masterlist | Valentine's One Shots

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[nastybuckybarnes]

Homemade Lunch

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language, Arguments, sad feelings, fluff,

Word Count: idk but she aint too too long

A/n: based on a tiktok i saw but cannot for the life of me find to link. enjoy! <3

~*~

You huff out a sigh when the door closes behind you.

Shucking off your coat, you hang it up and tug off your mitts and hat next, putting them all away while you listen for your boyfriend.

He's quiet on a good day. On a day like today? When the two of you have been fighting more than you haven't been?

You begin to wonder if he's even home.

Carefully, you venture upstairs to confirm your boyfriend is, in fact, still in the house, sleeping in the bed the two of you share.

Silently, you close the door and head back downstairs, wiping your hands over your face a few times before pinching the bridge of your nose.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you head into the kitchen and grab Simon's lunch bag off of the counter, pausing when you feel the weight of it.

Brows drawing together, you open it up slowly, your heart dropping when you see he's packed himself a lunch.

A pack of instant noodles and a few protein bars are shoved carelessly in the bag, and it breaks your heart to see.

It's become a ritual now, you making his lunch for him every night so that he can head to work and not have to worry.

When he's actively deployed it saddens you to see the lunch bag sitting on the counter, awaiting his return.

But that sadness pales in comparison to what you feel when realization dawns on you.

He packed his own lunch.

Your argument from earlier seems pointless now, you can't even remember what you were fighting about. Not when your man, the man you love with your whole heart, truly thought you'd be too mad to pack his lunch.

Washing your hands, you get to work on making him lunch, your anger disappearing as you focus instead on putting together all of his favourite foods and snacks.

You work as quietly as you can, packaging everything with love and care.

Once his lunch is made, you give the kitchen a quick clean then get everything ready to make sure his morning is as smooth as possible.

Does he piss you off beyond comprehension? Yes, absolutely. In ways you didn't know a person could piss you off.

Do you love him more than you've ever loved anyone before in your life? Without question.

As you settle into bed facing his back, you can't help but lean forward and give him a gentle kiss.

Ever the light sleeper, he peels his eyes open at the feeling of your soft lips against his skin, his anger settling a bit at the tiny yet profound action.

~*~

Simon wakes up the next morning in a sour mood.

With his eyes opening not five minutes before his alarm is set to ring, things aren't off to a good start.

His mood only worsens when he realizes that all he's got to eat today for lunch is a pack of instant noodles, a few protein bars, and the stale crackers you like to leave in the bottom of the box.

It's nothing but willpower and discipline that gets him out of bed, into the shower, and dressed.

His gloomy mood gets worse still when he heads into the kitchen only to not find his lunch bag on the counter where he left it.

The kitchen is clean, by your hand no doubt, and he grinds his teeth together as he begins hunting for his lunch bag.

After almost five minutes, he yanks it out of the fridge, only to pause at the added weight.

Dry noodles aren't this heavy.

He sets the bag down on the counter and slowly opens it, his heart filling with warmth at the contents.

Instead of his bland noodles, there are several containers full of food, along with two of the juice boxes you like to keep hidden in the back of the fridge where you think he won't look.

On top of all of it, though, is a note scribbled in your handwriting with a dried tear drop tainting the paper.

He has to fight the stinging in his eyes as he reads over the words you've written.

He sets the paper down after a moment and squeezes his eyes shut, then carefully folds the paper up and tucks it into one of his many pockets before heading upstairs.

Skillfully silent, he makes no noise as he enters your shared bedroom, even less when he kneels on the bed behind you.

You inhale sharply when his hand dusts over your shoulder, looking over your shoulder only for him to immediately shush you.

"S'alright, love. S'just me. Go back to sleep."

You hum, resting your head on the pillow once more and snuggling into him when he climbs into bed behind you.

He wraps a strong arm around your waist and pulls you tightly against him, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you."

You peel your eyes open once more and glance over at him.

"I love you too."

[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Eighteen

I didn't think I'd go this long without posting for this, or at all, but life kinda killed me ngl, and so did school. But I'm alive and here's another chapter of our favorite boys, plus y/n!

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader Summary: We get down to business, and y/n starts her first day as an official member of Ateez! wc: 1.6k AU: a/b/o Genre: Fluff/Angst warnings: pet names, fireman carrying, scenting, mentions of being anxious and embarrassed, I think that's it! masterlist

 Y/n was woken up by the sounds of footsteps in the dorms, opening her eyes to find that she was still embraced by San.

“Good morning baby, did you sleep well?” The beta asked her, already awake. A bit too disoriented still by the cacophony of noise, and still a bit overwhelmed from the last time she was awake, she just nodded. San chuckled before explaining the chaos, “It’s a bit loud, isn’t it? This is what mornings are like when we forget that we have to be up at a decent hour. You should go ahead and get up too, we have to go into the company today, for you, to start preparing for our next comeback.”

Y/n slowly sat up, watching as the others ran around the dorms, a couple of them running around from one part of the dorm to another, too busy to notice that she was awake. She groaned as she sat up further, feeling her body protest, but she sat up fully, as San’s hand came up to support her back. She smiles gratefully at the beta, before pushing herself off the couch, and reaching back to pull the bulkier man up as well.

“We should get dressed ourselves, shouldn’t we?” She asked him, to which he nodded in response.

The two of them walked down to her room, the beta leaving her there as he walked further down the hallway to his own room. She entered her room, finding that one of the others must have unpacked a few of her things, and from the organization of it all, it was Seonghwa who did so. She found that her clothes were still packed away, which she was grateful for the elder omega respecting her privacy.  She quickly picked out an outfit, finding one that was comfy yet also not too casual looking, and that was also easy to move in. She quickly packed up a bag with everything she needed, including another change of clothes, just to be on the safe side. Emerging from her room, she heard voices from the main room of the dorm, and once she got there, she found that everyone but Jongho was there.

“Good morning y/n-ah, how are you?” Seonghwa asked, coming over to her when she was noticed. “Good morning Seonghwa-oppa,” she said, “I’m doing well, I’m a bit nervous though.” She admitted, feeling able to share her feelings with her fellow omega.

“It will be okay. Today is mostly a show you the ropes day, and also for Hongjoong to try and insert you on the track as well, even if it might be a bit too late to get you in for any of the album material. But with an upcoming tour next year, it’s easier to get things done now, than to wait.” Seonghwa explained, trying to ease her nerves.

Hongjoong caught everyone’s attention as he stood up. “The vans are here,” he announced, “Everyone grab your things and head downstairs.” That spurred everyone into moving, as everyone shuffled to grab their bag or bags and leave the apartment. Y/n slung her own bag onto her shoulder, and with Seonghwa’s guidance, left the apartment. Yunho followed behind the two of them, and when they reached the first floor, headed into the second of two vans. When y/n climbed in, she found that San was the only one inside. He beckoned here to sit next to him, and she did.

“Did Seonghwa-hyung tell you what we’re doing today?” He asked, turning to look at her. Y/n nodded, replying, “He told me that today was getting me used to what will happen now, and also for Hongjoong to play around with where I’ll fit in for your songs.” “For our songs,” Yunho interjected, before going back to scenting Seonghwa in the row ahead of where y/n and San sat.

And with Yunho’s words, the car fell silent for a little while, everyone focusing on their phones or the view outside, since they would likely be locked away in the company building for the rest of the day.

Seonghwa leaned his head on Yunho’s shoulder as the alpha’s arm wrapped itself around the pack omega’s shoulders, while San silently showed y/n his social media, while also explaining the likelihood that she would be getting access to her own accounts and the like over the next few days, once the company had created them. Yunho glanced back at the two behind them, before looking down at Seonghwa. “You’re worried for her, aren’t you?” “Of course I am. Just like I worry for the rest of you,” Seonghwa replied, “She’s one of us now, so one of mine to take care of and worry over.” “I know. But you have us to help, so please don’t try and take it on all by yourself, hyung.” Yunho reminded him, and before Seonghwa could reply, the van was pulling in front of KQ.

The other van had already arrived and the other members had already headed inside, so the four quickly climbed out of the van and made their way inside. The others thankfully hadn’t gone far, finding them standing around the elevator, seeming waiting for them to arrive. Hongjoong came up to Seonghwa first, scenting the omega like Yunho had in the car, and once he was satisfied, moved onto scenting Yunho, the other alpha melting under his pack alpha’s actions.

Hongjoong moved to stand in front of y/n, smiling at her. “Would you like me to scent you as well?” He asked, slightly unsure. Y/n thought about it for a moment. They did say last night that she could have it if she wanted, and she really did. His scent was so nice and the thought of having him scent her sounded so good right now. She found herself eagerly nodding in reply to his question, her face heating up when he chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Come here then,” he said, beckoning for her to come a bit closer and she did.

His hands reached out, scenting her wrists with his, smiling and relaxing as both of their scents bloomed, before he slowly leaned in, scenting her neck as well. Y/n could feel herself becoming putty in the alpha’s hands, reaching out and gripping his hoodie for some stability. Hongjoong pulled away once he noticed her grip on him, as the omega in front of him whined at the distance between them now, enjoying the closeness. By the time y/n had gotten her wits back, the other members were standing behind Hongjoong, smiling at her, though there were a few chuckles at her reaction. She looked away, a bit embarrassed by how quickly she melted.

“Awww, it’s okay,” San comforted her, “We all had the same reaction when hyung scented us for the first time.” Still flustered, she looked down, until Wooyoung came up next to her and grabbed her hand.

“It’s okay, baby omega. We find it cute how you melted into hyung.” He told her, tugging her into a hug.

“Well, now we should get down to business, yes?” Yunho said, stepping in and pulling the attention away from y/n.

“Yes, and we’ll be stealing y/n to go over choreography,” San said, with Yeosang and Wooyoung nodding in agreement, with the latter moving to stand behind her, his hands moving to rest on her hips. “Wait, we need to take y/n to go over her lines for the upcoming comeback.” Hongjoong cut in, to which the three whined in protest.

“That can be done later, hyung. We should get y/nnie up to speed with the choreography, since she likely can’t be added into the official tracks right now.” San said. In an almost seemingly planned out move, Mingi appeared in front of y/n, swooping the omega off of her feet and up over his shoulder. As the tall rapper moved into the elevator that had just opened up, she could see Hongjoong follow them, telling the others, “We’ll see you later!” before joining Mingi and her in the empty elevator car. Once the door was shut, Mingi set her gently back down on her feet.

“Sorry for that, firecracker, but they would have done the same thing if we had let them.” Mingi apologized, reaching out and ruffling her hair, to which y/n batted his hands away. This made the man chuckle, though before the omega could say anything in retort, the doors opened and Hongjoong reached for her hand, pulling the younger one out of the car and down a familiar hallway. She recognized where they were, and realized that she was back in the same hallway that they had been guided down to see the two idols that first day at the company.

However this time, she was led past the other studio, to a door a little farther down. “This is my studio, and where we’ll be working today,” Hongjoong explained. “My studio is two doors down,” Mingi cut in, as they all ushered themselves into the studio.

Hongjoong sat down in his chair, as Mingi took the one next to him, while y/n stood, unsure of where to go or sit. The leader turned around in his chair, smiling at her to try and ease her nerves. “Sit down on the couch, yeah?” And after she had done so, he spoke once again, “Now, let’s figure out where exactly you fit in our songs.”

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[theclowningbusiness]

An X-Men Valentine

A Valentine gift for my Logan babes <3

I'm picturing Trilogy Logan, but lowkey just imagine who you want, we're all sluts for this man in any form. I think this is gender neutral, but if I missed something just tell me.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Tropes: None ?

Warnings: None really, dick jokes

Other tags: Logan being a good partner, x-men merch as a joke

Background: You’d been planning on spending Valentine’s with your boyfriend, Logan. However, Charles had a mission that you had to go on, so your plans are pushed aside.

Description: Returning home from a mission in the middle of the night on Valentine’s Day wasn’t your idea of a romantic way to celebrate the holiday. Logan somehow makes it feel perfect anyways.

    You’re not sure you can remember a time that you’d been so happy to return to the mansion. The mission had been more taxing than expected and you were exhausted. Thank god you’d showered before the trip home, because you were ready to crash.

    A yawn left your mouth as you walked towards Logan and your shared bedroom. You assumed Logan was already in bed, and you absolutely couldn’t wait to join him.

    Approaching the door to your room, you could see that light was still leaking out of the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. Apparently Logan wasn’t already in bed. You shrugged it off, figuring that he had decided to wait up for you. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, after all.

    You opened the door, walking in and dropping your bag on the floor. As you closed the door behind you, your brain finally registered what was in front of you.

    Logan sat at the end of the bed, wearing some ridiculous Valentine’s day pajama pants that you’d gotten him last year as a gag gift. He’s opted out of putting a shirt on. It wasn���t like he wore one to sleep in, anyways.

    “Now this is something to come home to,” you smiled, walking over to stand between his legs.

    “Figured we missed having a special date,” he shrugged, his hands sliding up to rest on your hops. “Thought we could at least have some time to ourselves now that you’re home.”

    “You’re sweet,” you hummed, sliding one hand through his hair, playing with it gently. “I’ve been waiting to come home to you all day.”

    “Why don’t you get changed into some pajamas and come to bed, then?” He suggested, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your stomach through your shirt.

    “That is the best idea I’ve heard today,” you nodded. “I’ll be right back,” you added, reluctantly pulling away from him to cross the room and look through your dresser for some pajamas to wear.

    “I already got your pajamas out,” Logan spoke up. “They’re in the bathroom on the counter.”

    You turned to face your boyfriend, narrowing your eyes. 

    “If I go in there and find lingerie on the counter, you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m way too tired for that,” you joked, though you’d never mean it. There was no way you’d kick Logan out of bed.

    “It’s not,” he assured you, his lips quirking up in a smile. “Just go change and come back.”

    You shook your head, chuckling softly as you made your way into the bathroom. Just as he’d said, there were clothes on the bathroom counter for you. As you got closer, you spotted a small card on top. You snorted softly when you saw the design. It was a cartoon of Logan in the Wolverine suit, claws out and all, with the words ‘Lookin’ sharp, Valentine’ written out beside it.

    Of course he’d gotten you a silly Wolverine card. He knew that you found any X-Men themed things funny. It was always amusing seeing your closest friends advertised on anything. From cereal boxes to comic books to t-shirts.

    Still smiling, you opened the card to see what he had written inside.

    ‘I know this isn’t what you expected, but I hope I can make it a good Valentine’s. Love, Lo.’

    You let out a content sigh. Logan was a big softie underneath all that muscle and gruffness. Placing the card to the side, you moved on to the shirt that was laying on the counter. Picking it up, you realized that it was all black aside from a small red heart on the left side of the chest. It was at least two sizes too big for you, perfect for sleeping in. Even as you held it slightly away from you as you looked at it, you could tell that it smelled like Logan.

    Putting the shirt back down, you noticed that something had been underneath it. Underwear. Not some uncomfortable lingerie, but your favorite kind, the comfy ones that always fit just right and happened to look great on your ass. They were clearly new, and they were red to match the heart on the shirt. Chuckling softly, you slipped off your shirt and bra, followed by your pants and underwear.

    Once you were stripped out of your clothes, you slipped on the underwear and shirt that Logan had put out for you. The outfit made the perfect pajamas, especially after the day you’d had. 

    You took a breath through your nose and it only took you a moment to realize that you smelled like Logan. More than you’d noticed originally. You lifted part of the shirt to your nose and took a deep breath. It was definitely Logan’s scent, and it was strong. You’d ask him about it when you went to bed.

    Moving as quickly as possible, you went through your nighttime routine. You were more than ready to just curl up with Logan for the night. Once you were done, you finally emerged from the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom.

    You couldn’t help but smile when you saw Logan sitting on the bed. He had moved, now leaning against the headboard as he read a book.

    “Thank you for the gift, love,” you said softly as you climbed into bed next to him. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “And the card, I’m totally framing that one.”

    “Thought you’d like it,” he smiled, putting his book on the bedside table and turning his attention to you. “You look good in that shirt,” he added before leaning in to place a proper kiss on your lips.

    “It smells like you,” you commented as you pulled away from his lips.

    “I know you like wearin’ my shirts,” he replied, “So I wore it to bed last night while you were gone. Figured you’d like it if it smelled like me.”

    “God you know me so well,” you grinned, pecking his lips. “I couldn’t ask for a better Valentine, you know that?”

    “Neither could I, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Before we go to sleep, I’ve got one more surprise for you.”

    “Oh yeah?” You asked, raising a brow. “Would it happen to be another kiss?”

   “No, but you can have one of those too,” he hummed, leaning in to kiss your lips one more time before standing up from the bed.

    “Where’re you goin’?” You frowned.

    “Just wait,” he chuckled. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

    Before you could reply, Logan was pulling at the string of his pajama pants. This had taken a turn. He gave his hips a little sway, a laugh leaving his lips.

    “I get a strip tease?” You snickered, “Now this is a gift, honey.”

    “Not a strip tease,” he shook his head, dropping his pajama pants and stepping out of them. He was left in nothing but black boxers.

    “If you’re about to tell me that your dick is the present, I’m going to throw something at you.”

    “The present isn’t my dick,” he shook his head. He turned around, facing away from you.

    You were confused, but you weren’t going to pass up a chance to ogle at your boyfriend. Your eyes slid from his broad shoulders to his waist. He must’ve been carved by the gods. Letting your eyes fall even lower, you found the ‘gift’ he was talking about.

    Right on the bowers, over his left asscheek, there was a bright red heart.

    Even if he didn’t show it often, you enjoyed when Logan was goofy around you. You laughed softly, rolling across the bed so you could reach out and give his ass a small squeeze with one hand.

    “I like my surprise,” you smiled. “Gives me a nice target for when I wanna smack your ass.”

    “Watch it baby, I smack back,” he chuckled.

    Logan turned back around, a smile on his face. He waited for you to move before climbing in on his side of the bed again, facing you this time. As soon as he was comfortable, he pulled you into his chest and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

    “I know it isn’t what we were originally thinking of when we talked about our Valentine’s plans, but this is perfect,” you said softly, looking up at Logan and kissing the underside of his chin.

    “We could’ve spent today on a mission in the middle of nowhere, as long as you’re there, it’s a good Valentine’s to me,” Logan responded, tilting his head so he could look at you.

    “You’re a real sweetheart,” you grinned, closing the distance between you to give him a gentle kiss. “I love you.”

    “I love you too,” he replied quietly, pecking your lips once more before fully pulling away. He reached over to turn the lamp off. Now that the room was dark, you were sure you’d only last a few minutes before sleep took over.

    “We’ll have our Valentine’s date tomorrow,” Logan hummed out, and you could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke.

    “Can’t wait to give you my gift,” you smiled softly, closing your eyes and tucking your face into his chest.

    “I can’t wait to give you mine,” he returned. “But for now, you need some rest. Goodnight, honey. Happy Valentine’s Day.” His voice was low and smooth and it had you ready to pass out.

    “Goodnight, Lo,” you sighed out happily. “Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

    Maybe it wasn’t the most normal way to celebrate the romantic holiday, but as mutants, nothing was ever really ‘normal’. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.